by Diana Ballew
Alia’s eyes widened, as she acknowledged how tiny she was compared to him. His whole body was tuned to be a great warrior, trained for battle. Strength and power emanated from every part of him, including that which lay concealed beneath his kilt.
He chuckled at her shocked reaction. “Do not be afraid, I meant what I said, no harm will come to you.” Stepping back, he led her to the pallet and lowered her until she reclined with her head resting on a mound of pillows. Capturing her eyes with his, he locked on and maintained his hold as he slowly removed his belt and kilt.
For the first time, she truly recognized the man in the god. As she stared, the perfect vision before her stole her breath and replaced it with an all-consuming fire. Tanned and strong, his muscles glistened in the wavering light of the lamps. She held her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she quickly glanced lower. She’d seen naked men before, of course; nudity was not uncommon in this land of such stifling heat. Many of the slaves wore next to nothing, as did some of the ceremonial dancers and priestesses she’d seen since coming to live in Neferure’s house. Indeed, the first time she’d served at Pharaoh’s table she had felt terribly uncomfortable with her own lack of attire. But this god, her pharaoh, was the most overwhelming sight she’d ever seen.
Taking a goblet of wine from a low table, he sat beside her and gestured for her to drink.
“Just a little,” he warned as she gulped the warm, sweet liquid, “I merely want you to relax.” She nodded, and sipped more slowly. After she’d taken another small mouthful, he turned the cup so his lips touched the place where hers had done, and keeping his gaze fixed upon her face, he too drank.
With measured deliberateness, he set the cup aside and lowered himself until he lay beside her. A shiver raced unbidden through her as he curved the length of his body along hers. He slid his arm under her shoulders and brought her up to his kiss, delving into her softness and warmth. He took his time tasting, drawing her ever closer, until his hard strength seemed to absorb her. His free hand roved over her neck, tracing the pulse, softly setting every nerve afire. As his fingers moved down, over her breasts and toward the flat plane of her belly, she couldn’t fight the desire to lift herself to him. Wherever he touched, her skin burned with a passion she didn’t begin to understand. All she knew was that it made her quiver and crave to be closer, to slide her body against his, needing to learn his shape, his warmth, the texture of his skin.
When he broke the kiss, she groaned faintly as if he’d taken away her lifeline. Her mouth found his shoulder, tasting the saltiness, scoring the hardness of muscle with her teeth. Beyond herself, she followed an inner voice that, in that instant, seemed wiser than anything her mother had told her. “I want ...” she began, though she didn’t know how to express that need.
“I know, sweet one. I, too, want — but we must take our time. Am I right in believing you have never known a man?”
Alia’s eyes sprang open, but she couldn’t speak. Slowly she shook her head, and then gloried in the smile he gave her in return.
“Then we must be slow and take great care if we are to avoid causing the pain that comes with the first time.” His lips skimmed down her neck, leaving a damp trail in their wake, and again she became lost in raw sensation. Every fine hair on her body seemed to rise up and shiver. She threaded her fingers in his hair and held on, seeking to stop her hands from shaking.
As his mouth closed over her nipple, she nearly leapt off the pallet. Stinging darts of pleasure fired through her breast and flew downward to pool in the heaviness of her loins. How he knew, she didn’t quite understand, but his hand followed the exact path of those darts until his fingers rested between her thighs at the place where all the heat converged. His fingertips began to explore. She wanted to cry out, yet her throat refused to work. Instead, she gave a slow, quivering sigh as his fingers found her secret place. Her hips lifted of their own volition, opening her to his gently roving fingers.
Running his tongue back up her throat, he found her mouth and plunged deeply, filling her even as his fingertips began to fill her core. The rhythm set, his tongue and fingers delved in unison, each time a little deeper, filling her more completely until she could no longer consciously separate the sensations. Her hands fisted in his hair, wanting to wrest herself away and pull him closer all at once. She writhed as she felt him press a second finger inside, stretching her to an exquisite fullness.
Relishing her unguarded response, he retreated a little once his fingertips encountered the barrier he needed to breach. Lifting his head, he looked into her face. Her eyes glowed back at him with passion and adoration. And, dare he think it? Love? Could it be that she had begun to feel as he did?
Blessed by all the gods if that were true.
He lowered his mouth and played at her lips as he gently pressed his fingers more deeply, hoping to slowly stretch the membrane aside. Despite all his best intentions, she arched up to him so suddenly; he felt the thin membrane tear. He stilled his hand as her eyes flew to his, a frightened whimper escaping her lips. He hugged her close, whispering of love, begging forgiveness.
“The pain is over,” he assured her as ran his tongue along her full lower lip, swollen from his kisses. “Trust me, my flower. Now comes the pleasure.”
Again he began the rhythm, quickening as she rose to meet his hand. His long fingers plunged ever deeper as his thumb set about teasing that place that would bring her the ultimate joy. He felt her hands grasp and knead his shoulders as he built the tempo, and he rejoiced as her nails dug into his skin to score his flesh, marking him as her own.
Without warning, Alia shattered in his arms, crying his name as her whole body quivered. He rolled over her to position himself between her thighs and watched the rapturous expressions cross her sweet face. As she pulsed around his fingers, he withdrew his hand and slid home, unable to stifle his own groan as he felt her inner muscles grip him tightly in her sheath. Instinctively, her thighs wrapped around his hips and drew him further inside her heat. His hair fell about her face, curtaining them in their own private world of emotion. Words of love swam about in his mind but he had no time to voice them. His body screamed its urgency, blistering away all thought. Buried to the hilt, he rocked once, twice, then his whole body began to tense, tightening to the point where he could no longer hold his control. The base of his spine and the tip of his penis began to tingle and burn. He arched and quaked as he erupted into a chasm of bliss, filling her with his seed.
Resting his face in the curve of her neck, he lay over her and shuddered for long minutes. He was distantly aware that his weight must be heavy on Alia’s small form, but he felt so drained, nothing could make him move. Besides, he craved her still, and couldn’t bear the thought of separating himself from her.
Now he understood a little of what his wife and Ineni felt when they showed their love for one another. He wanted to laugh out loud — at the world — at anyone who’d ever felt what he now did. How many times had he coupled since he’d first been taught the ways of lovemaking? He knew it was beyond count. And yet, he also knew this was the first instance he’d actually loved. All the rest faded from memory. The beautiful young woman in his arms was his destiny — he felt joined to her more surely than to his own hand or foot, and he’d more readily lose either than his beloved Alia.
“So, what can you report?”
The man was a cousin of her mother’s, and Sitiah had found him an able spy. He had a talent for sneaking about the royal precincts unnoticed, discreetly observing the people around him, and she paid him well for his loyalty.
He rubbed his whiskered chin and grinned. “You will offer gold when you hear what I have to tell you, Sitiah.”
She sat up, her eyes snapping. “I will pay what your information is worth. Now speak!”
The grin widened. “I watched, as you ordered, and saw a soldier from the king’s private bodyguard go to Neferure’s apartments. He took a small piece of linen, which had a picture of a goose
painted on it. When he showed it first to the queen’s steward, then the girl, she followed.”
“So?”
The man frowned. “I think, Sitiah, that the cloth is a signal that she should come.”
Sitiah’s eyebrows rose speculatively. “Hmmm.” She stood and paced across the room and back again. “Perhaps — yes, perhaps you are right — but we must be certain. Keep watch, we shall see if he uses it again. If he does, it could work to our advantage.” She removed the fat gold bracelet she wore and tossed it to him. “Return the minute you have more to report.”
He nodded, then turned away before she could change her mind.
But Sitiah didn’t even notice his rapid exit. Barely able to stifle her fury, she ran to a nearby table and swept the contents from it with a violent swing of her arm. A heavy vase clanged to the floor, scattering water and flowers in every direction.
“By all the gods! How dare she!” Her mind filled with pictures of him making love to that stupid whore. She spat on the heap of flowers. “How dare they — he belongs to me,” she growled to herself.
“Tut, tut,” Arad said, as he slipped back into the room from the chamber next door where he’d hidden while the informant imparted his news. “It seems to me you are jealous of the girl,” he added with a patronizing smirk.
Sitiah turned her penetrating gaze on Arad and scowled, her face instantly transforming into an ugly mask. “Bah! ‘Tis not jealousy I feel, but anger. My future husband is not supposed to find happiness in her arms — not any woman’s arms!” She paced the length of the chamber and back again.
“But if your spy is correct,” Arad interjected with a grin, “it might provide us with the weapon we need.”
She gave him a hard glare before musing, “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the girl will damn him instead of blessing him. Mmmm, perhaps this is a positive turn of events after all.”
Arad watched Sitiah with a kind of morbid fascination. Her emotional swings were something to behold. She could go from rampant passion to volatile and vindictive cruelty in a matter of moments. What she did to her servants appalled even him — he couldn’t imagine what she might do to an enemy. He didn’t really fear finding out since his long-term strategy did not include her.
“Have one of the servants bring me a coat, Sitiah. Enlil should have returned to the city tonight, and I wish to learn of the progress of our plans.”
She pouted prettily. “But I thought we were going to have a little fun with that Nubian slave girl, Arad. Can’t you stay for a short while?”
“No, Sitiah, I cannot. If you wish to have sport with the poor girl, do so. I, for one, do not find beatings or whippings particularly arousing. Have the servant bring my coat. I’ll return once I have contacted Enlil.”
Chapter 8
“Are you well, my flower?” Menkhepere asked once their breathing had returned to normal. Their bodies remained locked together, and he was reticent to move, as just being inside her was the closest thing to ecstasy he’d known. “Am I too heavy?”
For the first time since their explosive coupling, Alia opened her eyes. She didn’t answer him — she merely smiled the sweetest smile he’d ever beheld. He stroked her lips tenderly then covered her face with fleeting kisses, unable to put into words what her smile of acceptance meant to him. All his life he’d held others at a distance. First as the priestly minor son of Tuthmosis, his father; then, after being raised to the state of living god, he didn’t dare let anyone too close — intimacy made anyone in power vulnerable. Even Neferure, one of his closest confidants, didn’t know his inner thoughts and feelings. She didn’t truly know the mortal man, only the pharaoh, the royal husband he pretended to be.
But now, with Alia, he knew he could finally drop his guard and let her see the real man. And just knowing she was his made the great burden of duty to his kingdom seem less daunting.
“I’m crushing you.” He sighed and rolled to the side, ensuring he still held her close.
“I like being crushed by you,” she ventured in a tiny voice, slowly rubbing her cheek against his shoulder like a contented cat.
“Then I shall make a point of crushing you often,” he murmured with a grin.
A bell chimed in the distance, and Menkhepere knew the night had reached its middle hour — signaling the time to return Alia to her own room before his most trusted guards went off duty; the fewer people who knew about his rendezvous, the better.
“Come,” he said, disentangling himself from her arms, “you must go back to your own bed, my flower.”
The look of pain that briefly crossed her features made him want to hide her here in his private rooms forever.
Kissing her deeply, he held her tight for a long moment before explaining. “I wish I could keep you here, my love, but I think it is best, until your attacker is found, that we maintain the pretence. It will be safer for you, especially when I leave in three days to subdue the northern revolt. I don’t know how long it will take, but when I come back, I promise, I will take you to wife, and you will have your own rooms.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t need my own rooms, or to be called wife. I just want to be with you. I want to stay with you always.”
Again he squeezed her to him — although she hadn’t yet professed her love, her words still filled him with such joy he wanted do as she asked and keep her with him always. If it weren’t so dangerous, he’d be tempted take her with him when the army left the city. To have her by his side at the end of a long day’s march, or after hours bent over maps arguing strategy with his generals, would keep him sane during the dark hours of night.
But no, he’d probably be signing her death warrant if he did so. He’d have to trust Rekhmire’s careful planning to guard her and the rest of his family until he returned.
Rising to his feet, he drew her to a small recess in the wall where a bowl of water and a number of small linen squares sat covered with fragrant herbs. Taking one of the squares, he shook away the herbs and dipped it in the cool water. Turning to her, he gently wiped her face and chest just as his mother had done to him when he was a child. Alia stood silently before him, obediently allowing his ministrations, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He rinsed the cloth a second time, this time tenderly cleansing her inner thighs. He handed her a larger square for her to dry herself while he tended himself.
When he’d finished, he embraced her one more time before retrieving her gown and shawl.
“Here, you must dress. The hour grows late, and so the danger increases. If it is safe, I will summon you again before the army leaves Thebes.” After covering himself with a short plain kilt, he went into the outer chamber.
Alia straightened the tie on her gown and drew the shawl about her shoulders, trying not to shiver. Although her heart was filled with such love for the man/god who had become her lover, a terrifying sense of dread settled upon her chest. What caused it, she couldn’t quite understand, but she had the horrible feeling that if he left her behind, she’d never see him again.
The expression he wore when he returned to the chamber shone right through her, and her fears were instantly swept aside.
Menkhepere took her hand and kissed the palm before cupping her face and lifting it for a lingering farewell kiss. She watched in amazement as he took a silver ring adorned with a scarab emblem from his smallest finger and placed it on her thumb. “If we cannot meet before I am to leave, I give you this protection as your king and your lover. Keep yourself safe, my flower. Whatever happens, I vow to return to you.”
A quiet cough from beyond the portal warned Alia they were no longer alone. The same man who’d escorted her to her destiny now waited to return her to the queen’s rooms. She took a step toward him, then turned and flew back into Pharaoh’s arms. “I love you,” she whispered as she placed her lips at the base of his throat. She felt his warm arms close around her and for just an instant, as he lifted her into his embrace, she became totally and completely consumed by a sense o
f joining.
Glancing up, she saw the light shining in his eyes, and she knew, though he couldn’t speak so in front of his bodyguard, he returned her emotions. “Go now,” he whispered as he set her on the floor. “It grows late. Wait for my summons.”
With a hesitant nod, she allowed the soldier to lead her away.
Sitiah’s spy followed at a discreet distance, noting how many hours the girl had spent in Pharaoh’s rooms. He smoothed the golden bracelet between his fingers and speculated as to what his next report would be worth to him. Maybe, once the girl was dealt with, he could retire to a farm beyond the city and take himself a wife.
The following day dragged by as Alia waited nervously to know if her Pharaoh would summon her.
“What is wrong, Alia?” Neferure asked when Alia had positioned her wig wrongly for the third time in as many minutes. “First you struggle with the clasp of my collar, and now you are making a mess of my hair. What makes you so uncertain today?”
Alia felt her cheeks begin to burn. “Oh, Mistress, I am sorry. I slept poorly and cannot concentrate. Please forgive my clumsiness — I will call one of the other women to help.”
Neferure reached across and stayed Alia’s attempt to leave. “That is not necessary, Alia. Just take a moment and relax. You are very tense.”
“Again, Mistress, I beg forgiveness.”
With a wave of her hand, Neferure ordered all the other attendants to leave the room. As Alia made to follow, the queen said, “Not you, Alia. I wish to speak to you in private.”
The burning sensation returned to Alia’s cheeks as she moved to stand by the queen’s chair. “Yes, Mistress.”
Motioning to a nearby stool, the great wife suggested that Alia bring it closer and sit by her.
“Now, young Alia, tell me what bothers you. Has someone again tried to attack you?”