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“Up and down and back and forth as she rides me. Hold her still even when she thrashes away as I fuck her hard and deep from behind. On her stomach. On her knees. Or when I pin her against a wall and slowly tunnel into her.”
She was mewling now, moaning helplessly, as if she wasn’t even aware of the sounds she made. She simply couldn’t control them.
He relentlessly continued on.
“She’s too small to move me; she can only suspend there and take it, her weight supported in my arms. Take my cock however I want, however she needs. She knows I will give her everything. Always. She knows she’s perfectly made, just for me.”
Heba whimpered and shivered against him. He could smell her orgasm even before he lowered a hand beneath her tunic and felt her slick cum and clenching slit with his fingers.
Roughly, he slid two fingers inside her heat, letting her pulse around the intrusion, knowing she wished for something thicker and longer instead but was grateful to have any part of him inside any part of her.
“Now,” he growled.
“What were you saying about prettiness and height? And other women who might look my way?”
“W-what?” she uttered dazedly, her eyes entirely unfocused as she stared wide-eyed into his.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with satisfaction, pumping his fingers rhythmically, rubbing against that special spot just beneath her mons from within to prolong her crest.
“There should be no thoughts of other women, little cat. You should know better than that.”
She gurgled an incoherent reply, her eyelids fluttering as if her eyes wanted to roll back from the pleasure he stoked continuously inside of her.
Finally, he pulled the digits out, raised them between them to show her the dripping dew of her own body, of her unquenchable thirst for him. Slowly, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, then cleaned between them with his tongue.
She watched him unblinkingly, mesmerized. Even her breath seemed to stall.
“Mmm,” he rumbled.
“Tastes like heaven. Do you know a woman who tastes like this? Perhaps if I met her at the festival and she asked me to dance, I would consider it twice. What do you think? Shall I see her there?”
Heba’s mouth dropped open but no sounds came forth.
Before she could find the words, Shai pushed away from the rail and gave her one last lingering look, then walked—no,strutted—confidently away.
And if the granite erection tenting his tunic put a crimp in his stride, well, it was well worth it.
Chapter Twelve
“We loved with a love that was more than love.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
The festival was in full swing when Heba, Shai and a dozen warriors made their way through the freshly-swept dirt roads.
Senenmut, Pa-Nahsy and the remainder of their contingent opted to stay behind to guard the ships. There were valuable gifts for the king of Punt on board, after all. And the ships themselves were worth twice their weight in gold.
The port provided ample entertainment even far removed from the main town. There was rich food, wine, music and comfortable beds to be had. Heba’s trusted officials would have their share of comforts after a long voyage.
Now, flanked on each side, front and back by Shai’s men, though they wore common clothes and blended with the gathered crowds, Heba felt safe and anonymous in this foreign land. And perhaps there was safety, too, in anonymity.
Boldly, she walked beside Shai and reached for his hand.
He glanced at her with surprise, his long fingers lax in hers.
She had never touched him in public, not like this.
Their intimacies on the ship didn’t count, for they were amongst trusted friends. Here, although they were surrounded by strangers, they were still in public, in the open. And while in public, her role was that of Regent of Egypt, not Heba the woman.
