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Row sucked every drop of Romeo’s come with hungry little grunts, and he continued to fuck Romeo’s hole with his cocks even after they stopped pulsing. He pawed and kneaded at Romeo’s thighs, his tentacles squeezing all around him as the last few shivers of their orgasms faded.
“God, fuck… wow.” Romeo couldn’t catch his breath—wait, was it really breath while he was underwater? Was it not being able to catch enough water? He laughed at the thought, a bit hysterical from the waves of pleasure and the rush of such a strong climax.
It had been absolutely amazing, and he was glad they were floating in that pool because he didn’t think he would have been able to lift his head right now.
“Are you all right?” Row pulled Romeo against his chest. He hugged his waist, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, I’m so good.” Romeo draped his arms over Row’s shoulders. “I think I’m just gonna float here and wait for my brain to come back on.”
“Are you all right?” Row asked worriedly. “What’s wrong with your brain?”
“Not a damn thing except you just fucked it out sideways.” Romeo laughed.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“You were amazing.” Romeo kissed him firmly. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve never come like that. I’ve never feltanythinglike that.”
Row ducked his head. “I am glad you are pleased.”
“You’ve pleased me twice already.” Romeo ran his fingers through Row’s long hair. “I guess we’re technically even since you came with two cocks.”
“Oh? Is this how men handle the good parts? Try to keep score?”
“Well, not exactly but—”
“So, I need to make you come two more times before I give you my cocks again.”
Romeo grinned. “If you insist.”
Row slid a tentacle down Romeo’s chest. “You’ll need to rest first, I suppose.”
“Give me fifteen minutes and some of those Skittles from that damn MRE and I’ll be ready to go.”
Day 11
He’d always admired the statues, and he enjoyed how tranquil and peaceful their carved expressions were. That is, until they blinked.
Tranquil
Being an archeologist was all Brendan had ever wanted when he grew up. While it had turned out to be more reading in a library than adventuring through the jungle like he’d always imagined, his years of intense research finally paid off—he was in charge of his own excavation deep in the Valley of the Kings. The Egyptian government had been impressed by his knowledge and his passionate theories, and they were allowing him to search for the long-lost tomb of Pharaoh Ramses VIII.
After two grueling weeks of moving sand from one pile to another, the team hit stone.
He’d found it!
By the time the sun was setting, Brendan and his team had dug out the ancient stone door. The cartouche was too faded to read, but it was in the right location to be Pharaoh Ramses VIII’s as per Brendan’s research. The team pried the door open enough to have a peek inside and reveal a long hallway, but further exploration would have to wait until the morning after a good night’s sleep and the return of daylight.
Except Brendan could not possibly wait that long.
As soon as everyone else had retired to their tents, Brendan slipped right back out again. Under the glow of the moon, he snuck back to the tomb with a bag of tools and his flashlight. He snuck through the narrow opening of the door, pausing to take a deep breath.
He was breathing air no one else had for thousands of years, and his heart swelled with pride knowing that he was the first to set foot here since the pharaoh had been laid to rest. All those years in a dusty library had been worth every tedious second, because he was standing now in the dusty tomb of the pharaoh he’d been searching for.
Flashlight guiding his way, Brendan crept down the hall. It took a sharp left into a new chamber, and he was worried when he didn’t see any artifacts. Graverobbers may have already been here before and taken anything of value. The chamber was small, definitely empty, but there was an archway leading into another room.
This one was much larger, and there was a grand throne perched on top of an elaborate dais right in the center. Sitting there was the biggest mummy Brendan had ever seen—a beast of a man with a golden cartonnage, the funeral mask, sculpted to look like the head of a tiger. He was wearing a linen shendyt, a kilt-like loincloth, over his intricately wrapped bandages, and Brendan guessed that in life the man must have stood well over seven feet tall.
Brendan approached slowly, his heart pounding as he looked over the fiercely painted eyes of the cartonnage.
