Chapter 221 - 222: Please what, little temptress?

Words : 1066 Updated : Oct 8th, 2025

Chapter 221: Chapter 222: Please what, little temptress? Warning: This Chapter contains intense sensual tension, explicit touching, and mature themes. Read responsibly. ... Her chest rose with every breath, each inhale just a little more shallow than the last. She could feel the heat pulsing between them, wrapping around her like a second skin. It was too much—too still, too close. Her voice trembled when she finally found it. "What... what are you doing to me?" she whispered, her words breathy, barely above the breeze rustling through the trees. Zyran’s eyes didn’t leave her lips. Not once. His expression shifted, deepened, sharpened into something darker. Possessive. "Punishing you," he said lowly, the words falling from his mouth like velvet smoke. Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to do something—pull him closer or shove him away, she didn’t know. Her heart beat faster, her legs pressing together involuntarily. "W-Why?" she asked, her voice cracking halfway through, sounding so small and sweet even to her own ears. Zyran leaned in, his presence swallowing her whole. One of his hands slid slowly—so slowly—to the curve of her waist, resting there like he owned it. His skin burned through the thin fabric of her dress, the warmth of his palm branding her. "For also punishing me," he murmured near her ear, the heat of his breath teasing her skin. She blinked, confused, dazed, her head spinning too fast to hold onto reason. His words coiled through her like smoke, wrapping around her logic and squeezing it tight until there was nothing left but raw sensation. "Punishing... you?" she echoed, trying to keep her voice firm, but it betrayed her, trembling under the weight of his stare. Zyran didn’t reply, not right away. He simply watched her, gaze falling lower, trailing down the slope of her neck, lingering on the sharp rise and fall of her chest. She could barely breathe. And gods—her nipples. They were hard, achingly so, peaking through the fabric of her dress like they had a mind of their own, tightening under his gaze like they knew he was watching. She gasped softly when his hand moved—slow, deliberate—and brushed over one of them through the fabric. Just the lightest touch. But it felt like fire. Then his eyes rose to meet hers. Dark, burning, unapologetic. His finger stayed exactly where it was, lightly teasing that one aching nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. He didn’t rush. He didn’t even pretend to hide what he was doing. His touch was lazy, cruelly gentle—like he was savoring her unraveling. And Isabella... moaned. The sound escaped her before she could swallow it, shame it, bury it deep. It slipped out soft and breathless, the kind of sound that felt like sin on her lips. And gods, the way his eyes sparked in response—like he’d been waiting, like that sound was a reward—made her thighs press together as she instinctively leaned closer into his chest. Her body moved before her brain could stop it. She wanted that warmth again, that heat. Needed it like oxygen. Everything in her mind was a tangle of warnings and what-ifs, but none of them could compete with the feel of his hand or the way his eyes locked onto hers with such unbearable intensity. He was looking at her like she was already his. Like he was claiming her with just a stare and a single teasing touch. She could see everything in those eyes. Lust. Hunger. Possession. And something else. Something deeper. She was supposed to push him away. She should have screamed. Shoved him. Slapped him and run far, far from this place, from this beautiful stranger whose touch was melting her will like candlewax. That was the right thing to do. The smart thing. The safe thing. But her body refused to move—except to press closer, trembling against him. Because she wanted this. She wanted him. And she wasn’t going to deny it—not to him, not to herself. Not when his touch made her feel alive in a way nothing else ever had. Her breath hitched again, heart thudding against her ribs like a trapped bird. But still... this was wrong. So wrong. Her mind shouted it from behind the haze. The rational part of her, the part that still remembered rules and danger and the weight of logic, whispered: This isn’t right. He was dangerous. Mysterious. Otherworldly. And whatever this was between them wasn’t normal. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not since the first day she saw him, standing with that unreadable smirk and those impossible eyes. He had been burned into her memory, haunting her thoughts like a fever she couldn’t shake. No matter how she tried to fight it, he lingered. And here he was. Touching her. Smirking like he knew every thought racing through her clouded mind. She bit her lip hard, trying to find a thread of control. Zyran chuckled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through her chest like a secret. "Don’t look so conflicted, little temptress," he murmured, still watching her with that maddening calm. "You’re not the only one suffering." His thumb moved in a slow, maddening circle, and her knees nearly buckled. Her hands found his chest before she could think. Not to push him away—but to steady herself. "Please..." was all Isabella managed to say, her voice breathless, shaking with the weight of everything she didn’t have the courage to say aloud. Zyran’s lips curled into a wicked smirk. He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her ear, his voice a velvet threat that slithered down her spine. "Please what, little temptress?" he murmured, his fingers still tormenting her with the lightest touch. "Please stop...?" His lips ghosted along the curve of her jaw, not quite a kiss, not quite innocent. "Or... please more?" She inhaled sharply, her lashes fluttering as her knees wobbled beneath her. Gods, she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even remember her own name. The way he was looking at her, touching her, speaking to her like he already owned every inch of her skin—it was too much. Too much... and still not enough. But before her body could answer him—before her brain completely unraveled and she gave him everything— A voice, clear and calm, cut through the haze like a knife. "Isabella."

Chapter 221 - 222: Please what, little temptress?

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