Ninsara didn’t give Zephyr time to think. She wrapped her hand around his cock and shoved him toward her sleeping platform.
Zephyr hit the platform with a low grunt. “Then take what’s yours, Commander,” he said.
Ninsara slapped him once. “Don’t you dare order me.”
She climbed onto the platform and straddled his hips, she braced her hands on either side of his head and lowered herself until her slick heat rested along the length of his cock — not taking him in.
Zephyr groaned, hips twitching upward. Ninsara immediately pressed a strong hand against his chest.
“Still,” she ordered. “You belong to me tonight. Not the temple. Not their rites. Me.”
She reached down, wrapped her hand around his cock, and angled it. Then, in one smooth, powerful motion, she sank down halfway — tight, scorching heat enveloping him.
Zephyr’s head fell back.
She rose and dropped again, taking him deeper, until her ass rested against his thighs and he was buried to the hilt inside her.
She began to ride him with commanding rolls of her hips. Not fast. Not frantic. Deep, powerful strokes that used every inch of her strength. Each downward thrust made her breasts bounce heavily.
As she leaned forward, her full breasts hovered near Zephyr’s mouth, and he switched between them, sucking, biting, pinching without hesitation.
A low, guttural sound escaped her.
They both groaned as her tight, wet heat enveloped him.
“Fuck…” Zephyr breathed.
Sweat began to glisten across her sun-browned skin. A strand of her thick hair had come loose and stuck to her neck.
On the next downward thrust, he bucked up hard to meet her.
Ninsara gasped sharply. Her grip on his wrists tightened almost painfully.
Again he did it — meeting her stroke for stroke, driving upward while she came down. The new rhythm became brutal.
Ninsara cried out raw, almost angry in its intensity as her orgasm slammed through her. Her walls clamped down around him like a fist, pulsing violently. Her thighs locked around his hips, holding him deep as she rode out every wave.
The feeling of her coming so hard pushed Zephyr over the edge right after her. He groaned her name as he spilled deep inside her, hips jerking upward with every pulse.
For long moments, the only sound was their ragged breathing.
Ninsara’s arms slowly came around him, holding him close. “That seed… was more than I expected,” she said. “No one has ever pushed me like that.”
Zephyr kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw. “Good. Because I’m not planning on stopping.”
She huffed a short laugh. “You talk too much.”
Outside, dawn light began to seep through the stone edges of the chamber.
Then Zephyr shifted, hardening against her.
Ninsara froze for a breath. “How…” she began, but didn’t finish it.
Zephyr exhaled against her shoulder. “Again.”
And in one motion, he turned her onto her back and took control.
In the deepest sanctum beneath the Temple of Inanna, where even light felt like it had to ask permission to enter, Enheduanna sat before a low obsidian altar.
A single brazier burned with a blue-tinged flame.
She placed two small figures on the stone.
One shaped with broad, controlled lines. Ninsara.
The other was narrower. Foreign in its shaping. Uneven at the shoulders,
Zephyr.
She touched the first figure and traced a sigil into its chest—slow, deliberate, almost affectionate.
She turned to the second figure and pressed the stylus into its neck, carving a shallow cut that split the clay without breaking it apart.
“Inanna, witness what pride refuses to see.”
Then she reached into a small bowl beside the altar. Ash. Red clay dust. Crushed resin that still carried the scent of burned sanctity.
She rubbed it across both figures.
“Inanna of the eight gates,” she said, “strip illusion from flesh. Strip defiance from foreign clay. Strip will from what was never meant to stand equal.”
She lifted the broken clay figures and cast them into the brazier, where the blue flame swallowed them whole with a soft, cracking hiss.
“Let her keep him for now,” she murmured. “The longer she clings to him, the harder she will fall when I tear him apart.”
Meanwhile Aylin after careful thinking let the fragments fall into a small flame. The seal curled and blackened, releasing a brief scent of burned earth and resin.
As it collapsed, something inside the markings caught her attention—a pressed impression beneath the seal’s outer layer. Not text meant for casual reading, but a direction.
Her eyes narrowed.
Aylin glanced around the corridor, calculating distance, movement, presence. No witnesses worth noting. No immediate surveillance that mattered.
She adjusted her cloak once and moved through the shadowed temple corridors like someone who belonged there — shoulders squared, spear left behind, only a dagger at her hip.
Ila-Seret was already waiting. When she turned, her gaze sharpened instantly. “You are not the Commander.”
Aylin met her gaze without flinching. “No. I am not.”
Ila-Seret studied her for a long moment. “Then why are you here, soldier?”
Aylin stepped further. “The Commander received your message. She is… occupied with urgent matters tonight. She sent me in her stead. I speak with her authority.”
A faint, knowing smile touched Ila-Seret’s lips. “You speak with her authority,” she repeated, “How convenient. Especially since that message was sealed and meant for her eyes only.”
Aylin didn’t blink. “Seals break easily in Uruk these days.”
Ila-Seret’s eyebrows rose. “You are bold,” she murmured. “And ambitious. I wonder… does the Commander know this?”
Aylin’s pulse spiked, though nothing showed on her face. “The commander knows everything. So either say something useful, or stop wasting time.”
Ila-Seret tilted her head. “The High Priestess grows more dangerous,” she said. “She wants him broken or discredited. If the Commander wishes to protect him, she will need allies inside the temple.”
“And you’re offering to be that ally?” Aylin asked.
“But I will only speak directly with Ninsara. Not her ambitious shadow.” Ila-Seret eyes flicked over Aylin’s body. “Though… you may prove useful in other ways.”
Aylin’s hand rested on her dagger, already half-turned. “I’m staying with Zephyr. If the High Priestess crosses a line, she’ll have to get through me.”
Ila-Seret paused her mid way. “That’s exactly why the Commander was needed. She thinks in strategy. You react.”
Aylin made a low, restrained sound in her throat but didn’t respond.