Books, Writing

Steamy Saturday — Pharaoh’s Kiss

WARNING! A Five-Chili Steamy Scene Lurks Below!
If you aren’t ready for your phone to catch on fire, click away.

In Love’s Curse, Tarek and Emma are haunted by the memory of a couple from Ancient Egypt. It pulls them together in ways neither can voice. This excerpt was cut from the finished book where a Pharaoh’s son and a priestess find a moment alone in the garden.

🌶️ MF
🌶️ Fig Licking
🌶️ Goddess of Love
🌶️ Aching Need Across Millenia

Leaping over the sacred walls, my heart stills when the ground sacred to the gods welcomes my soles. The infuriating buzzing of palace flies fades from my mind as the light of the moon casts upon a goddess in white walking among the trees. I dodge under the bowing branches, the trees heavy with fruit, and peer from between the leaves.

No matter how many stolen glances I’ve taken over days, months, years, they’re never enough. Beauty is a common and inefficient word for her face. There are no jewels that could compare to the vibrancy of her eyes. No linen, woven by the finest hands, could ever be softer than the fullness of her cheek. And no master craftsman could sculpt a finer curve than Hathor did for her backside.

Her delicate fingers reach into the branches, plucking free a fig that she dares let touch her delicate lips. Juice dribbles off the side of her mouth, causing mine to water. I clench my hand around a branch, straining for a better look. The stars are playing me the fool, winking in and out from the clouds above and hiding her in the shadows. I lean closer, my toes on their tips, my body as rigid as a hollow reed.

Gently, she catches the sweet nectar with her thumb and brings it to her mouth. As her lips curl around it, the tip of her tongue swirls out and a groan escapes from mine.

There is no gasp of shock, only a soft chuckle. The waves of braids knotted behind her turn in the still night, and my Mayati recites, “Lady of Two Lands, cast your gaze upon me, your loyal supplicant.”

I toss my sandals to the side, walking silent as a shadow across the garden. Mayati turns fully from me, her hands extended to the heavens. “Mother of us all, I ask you to bless upon me the happiness of life. Give to me the joy of laughter.”

She stands transfixed at the stars, her dress caressing down her curves. The waist is barely clasped together by a small golden catch, revealing the perfect skin rounding the sides of her breasts. “And most of all, I beg you Hathor, to bring me…love.”

I wrap my hands around her hips and she walks back to me. My ravenous fingers do not chastely circle over her dress, but traverse below her linen to the quivering belly. Her backside brushes against me, lifting my shendyt so the swell of her buttocks cradle my thickening arousal. Bending closer, I whisper, “My eternal love.”

Her fingers lock to my skull, worrying the closely shaved skin as she presses me to her neck. I need no encouragement, my lips craving the taste of her for torturous weeks. Kissing down the delicate swoop of her throat, I curl my hands under her breasts. Mayati squirms on her small feet, pressing her chest into my hands, and her buttocks into my loins. “Thank you, Hathor,” she whispers, turning in my grasp.

It is the priestess who kisses me. Who takes me in her hand, finding no undergarments in the way beneath my shendyt. I am marble in her palm, unfinished and raw, requiring the polish that will make me shine. But Mayati is perfection in all matters.

Slipping open the knot at the back of her dress, I take her lips in a kiss juicier than the ripe figs around us. As the linen tumbles to the ground, my heart skips a beat. No matter how many times I’ve been gifted this sight, I want to drop in supplication to her perfect form. My palm rounds over her breast, barely glancing against it as if I fear I’d be struck down for desecrating such a goddess.

Mayati has other plans. Rather than let me grovel at her feet, pleading for a single touch of her fertile delta, she pushes me to my knees. I buckle, my chin tipped up as my eyes refuse to break from hers. While lowering onto my lap, she runs her hand over my testicles, gliding them in her palm.

“What took you so long, Kenamon?” she asks, jerking my manhood to her.

I open my mouth, about to explain, when she plunges herself onto me. There is no river more welcoming than what Mayati provides, her juices pooling across my thighs. I cling to her, a groan of uninhibited lust erupting from my lungs. She wraps her hand to my shoulder, her back arching as my beautiful love begins to sway on top of me.

“Forgive me,” I sputter, my body burning hotter than the chariot of Ra with every sway of her hips. “Only a fool would make you wait.”

“Well.” She pauses in her delectable torture and dots her fingertips down my panting chest. “A good turn for you that I love a fool.”

I slip my fingers between her cleft, watching Mayati’s eyelids flutter when I reach the pearl below. Her lips fall open, not in the sweet breath of prayer, or the tender smile for her Goddess. No, they part as if she has to scream her pleasure to the whole Kingdom. I press on the curve of her back, grinding her into my lap while dancing my fingers against her.

With pride and power returning to my legs, I thrust with her on top of me. Gasping, Mayati tucks her feet up, putting all of her weight upon me. But I don’t care. My need is greater than any challenge she can give me, my ache to watch her come undone. Digging into her tailbone with my palm, I sway her hips side to side. It sweeps her delectable channel against me and I bite my tongue to keep from exploding early. The panting of her chest, bouncing her breasts just beyond my touch, is a deadly temptation.

“Do you love me?” I ask, increasing the sweep of my fingers over her.

She does not answer, her eyes closed tight, braids slapping against her back. I raise the both of us higher, my thrusts deepening. Mayati gasps, the length of her neck shivering.

Punctuating with a thrust that should send me spiraling, I ask, “Do. You. Love. Me?” The fear that her answer could be no keeps me from losing. I curl my toes inward, watching her body shift from the usual warm brown to a burning flush as if dawn’s light landed only on her.

“Ken…a…mon.” My name sputters from her lips and she stares into my eyes. “Always.” Her body trembles from the base of my manhood up to her eyelids. I feel a smile trying to take hold, to turn me giddy with glee as I watch this Goddess succumb to my touch.

But the need is stronger.

Tipping her back among the wildflowers and plump figs, I lift her trembling legs. With my hand clamped to her thigh, I extend one up into the air. Mayati watches, her face glistening from exertion. “You’re mine,” I say. No, I demand of the Gods themselves.

“Yes,” she whispers as I lay her ankle behind my head. Like I am testing the strength of a spear, I worry my flat palm up her other leg. Mayati gives in to my power, pointing her toe to form the tip. She is my weapon, she is my shield, she is my everything.

I feel her thighs clench, her muscles shifting to slot her leg with the other. But I tighten my grip, my fingers clutching around her calf and I push her leg back to her chest. Mayati cries out in surprise. As her bottom rises to follow, I thrust myself inside of her.

The cry shifts to a moan. Stars burst inside my head, my body aching for me to give in. To nestle with her in my arms, to slowly kiss and caress her skin, lost in the tenderness of her body until mine can express itself in only one fashion. But the wily priestess who’s kept me on my toes for four years reaches up and clutches her ankle.

She tugs herself wider, sending me deeper inside. My entire being shifts. The boy who’d followed and fallen for the pretty girl in the market fades away to a man of certainty. All the playing, the stolen moments when the others weren’t looking, built the foundation of only one truth.

She is mine.

“Mayati!” I cry, pounding my knees into the dirt. She welcomes me, pulls me under. I know her hands over my scalp, always searching for that princely knot I’d lost long ago. A groan traverses the whole of her body, her head tipping back so her braids fan out among the figs.

There is nothing in this world that can keep us apart. No decree. No politics. No priests. No Gods. I would fight them all until the Nile ran red with blood.

I am hers.

“Blessed heavens!” I spout, spilling over into her. Whimpering, I collapse to her perfumed body. Her hands sweep around me, holding me tight as my being pumps inside of her. I grow aware of her lips pressing over me, the kisses plentiful and fervent.

Pulling from my crumple, I gaze down at the woman not as if I have her pinned to the ground. In the midnight garden, with the moon glinting on the jewels in her hair, she looks to be floating through a river of stars. A goddess who dared to entertain a hapless mortal stumbling into her light. Her flushed lips twist, forming a smile of contentment and my path is set.

“Nothing will take you from me,” I declare.


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