Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

by Greta Gilbert

‘Nor will mine. There is much to think about,’ he said.

  ‘And so little time.’

  He moved to rise once again. ‘I am going to begin organising the corridor now and—’

  She placed her hand upon his arm. ‘That is not what I mean.’ Her voice was thick. ‘Will you not lie beside me for a while?’

  Confused, he lay back down beside her, noticing that she did not take her hand off his arm. ‘Tomorrow at this time, we will be sneaking out of the valley,’ she observed.

  He laughed. ‘Or running for our lives.’

  ‘Are the Medjay guards as dangerous as they say?’

  ‘Worse,’ said Intef.

  Aya gasped. ‘If they catch us...’

  Intef touched her hand. ‘We will have our bows.’

  ‘And each other.’ She lifted her hand and entwined her fingers with his. ‘You have taught me so much, but I feel as if there is much more you can teach me.’

  His heart thumped. ‘What is it that you wish to learn?’

  She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. ‘Everything.’

  He felt as if he had just been pushed over a cliff. Her lips were so soft on his hand. ‘What do you mean, Aya?’

  ‘I wish to wander the marshes with you,’ she said. ‘Will you take me to them? Will you show me the way?’

  Intef placed his free hand over his mouth to test his breath. He needed to be sure he was not dreaming. ‘Aya, do you understand what you are asking?’

  ‘I understand. I only ask that you do not sow your seed. I cannot risk it.’

  ‘But...the tomb...your Pharaoh...’

  ‘I do not believe Tausret would be troubled,’ she said.

  ‘Apologies. I do not understand. I thought—’

  ‘Intef, I wish to live. Just once, before I return to my duty. Last night I thought you had died and...’ She paused, squeezing his hand.

  His heart thrummed, filling with some unrecognisable emotion.

  ‘I will confess that Pharaoh did not want me to return to my duty at all,’ she said.

  Intef nearly choked. ‘What?’

  ‘She made me promise once. After her death, she wished for me to live, to be free.’

  ‘Why did you never tell me that?’ asked Intef. They were the words a mother said to a daughter, further proof of Aya’s identity.

  ‘She said those words without knowing the future. How could she have guessed that her heir and her very afterlife would be threatened, and me the only one that could save them both?’

  ‘But you must keep that promise, Aya, you must live. You must—’

  ‘If I did not do right by Pharaoh, than what is my life worth at all? You feel the same about your family, no?’

  Intef could not argue. ‘You are a good woman.’

  The very best.

  ‘And you are a good man,’ Aya said. ‘I see that now. And here we are, both of us with the duties that await us,’ she said. ‘But we have this night—our last night together. I do not expect you to help me protect the heir. You have given me the ability to do that on my own. And I know you do not wish to be friends. But I have this...longing for you that I do not understand. I am only asking that we—’

  * * *

  ‘Shh...’ he said. ‘No more talking.’ He could not listen to another word, lest his body die by a thousand quakes. In a single motion, he sat up and straddled her. It was the same position he had assumed their first night in the tomb. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, half-expecting to discover an arrow in her mouth.

  Instead he found a soft, wet garden of lust.

  It was as if she had taken their kiss from that first night and let it build inside her like a storm. She kissed him with enough passion to split the sky. She arched her body against his and he felt lightning shoot through his limbs. She swept her tongue through his mouth and he felt thunder in his bones.

  ‘For one so inexperienced, you are rather good at this,’ he said.

  ‘I have had the best of instructors.’

  He pulled her lower lip into his mouth and sucked it. He was rewarded with her soft intake of breath. He pulled up her sheath and helped her lift it over her head, and there were her wondrous breasts—he could look at them all he liked.

  And so he did. He gazed at the two small shapely mounds, like a drinking man gazing at two fine glasses of wine. He wanted to drink her in, all of her, and promised himself not to spill a drop.

  He wrapped his lips around her nipple and heard her moan as his tongue caressed and teased. He moved to her other nipple, squeezing her flesh in his hands. ‘Oh gods, what are you doing?’ she said lustily.

  ‘I am going to make you melt,’ he said.

  Desire pulsed through him. He fumbled with the knot of her loincloth, aware he was moving far too fast. He could not help himself.

  He sent a silent prayer of thanks to Hathor, then pulled the garment free. She lay atop his bed sheet completely naked now and, because he could not see her, he determined that he was going to learn her body by kissing every part of it, leaving the best for last.

  It would not be easy. His desire was already fully erect. It yearned to reach her paradise. But this was only her third time. It was also quite possibly her last time. He wished to make it unforgettable.

  He began his important work at her feet. He massaged her soles with his hand, then kissed each of her toes one by one. He kissed slowly up the insides of her calves, then placed two long, soft kisses in the crooks of her knees.

  ‘That is lovely,’ she said.

  Encouraged, he kissed up to the tops of her thighs and up and down both her arms. She was beginning to relax. He kissed her hands—sucking each finger—then went on to her shoulders, where he kissed just along the delicate bones.

  He felt as if he were worshipping a goddess. He silently begged for her good favour as he kissed her holy throat, then kissed up and down her sacred neck.

  ‘Oh, Intef,’ the goddess breathed and he moved on to her ear and breathed his lust into it like a secret.

  He kissed slowly down her chest—small, thoughtful kisses, for he did not want to rush. He was doing more than simply learning her body, he was attempting to chisel it into his mind. He wanted to remember it for ever.

  He kissed all over her hips, letting his mouth hover over her desire so she might feel his breath on it. He heard her breaths becoming heavier.

  He moved his head between her knees and began to kiss her inner thigh. One kiss, two kisses. Up he went, closer and closer to her desire.

  Her legs squeezed together, trapping his head. She laughed nervously. ‘What are you about, my dear soldier?’

  ‘The more you can relax, the more pleasure you will feel. But you must trust me. Can you trust me, Aya?’

  She nodded. ‘Just please...go slowly.’

  He smiled. ‘I will go so slowly that you will be begging me to go faster.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She doubted he could fulfil such a promise. Still, if the act of coupling with Intef made her feel anything like his kisses had been making her feel, then perhaps she would become a beggar.

  She knew what came next, of course. Of all the people of the world—the Egyptians, Libyans, Nubians and Asiatics—it was the Egyptians who were the most open about it. And why should they not be? It was natural—like breathing or eating. It just happened that Aya had been too busy all these years to take very many bites.

  Now she hurriedly tried to recall the things she knew. She had engaged in the pleasures of the flesh several times, so why did she not understand what he was doing now?

  As he began kissing slowly up her thigh, she started to have a clue. They were not just kisses he was placing on her skin, but tiny fires. They smouldered and sparked, causing other fires to break out in other places, until she began to feel as if her whole b
ody was burning.

  And yet he was kissing her so very slowly! Maddeningly so. But did she really wish for him to speed up? No. Yes. Gods, she did not know what she wanted. Meanwhile, he was moving relentlessly up her inner thigh. He seemed to be telling a story whose conclusion would soon be reached.

  Was this a story she wished to hear? Did it have a happy ending? She was tensing again. Perhaps this was a bad idea. She really did not expect this particular part of it, though of course she had experienced the other thing at least twice. Blessed Hathor, what had she got herself into?

  ‘Relax, my goddess,’ he said. ‘Let me take you. Let yourself feel how much I want you.’

  He plunged his head back between her thighs and continued to kiss. And then he was there. Right there. Kissing between her legs. Kissing her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She squeezed the sheets in her fists and felt a rush of pain that was pleasure, that was torture, that was also ecstasy.

  And then she felt his tongue—hot and wet and moving inside of her. Touching her. Tasting her. She sat up in alarm. ‘Surrender to me, Aya. Let me give you pleasure.’

  She lay back and opened her legs just a little bit more. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is it.’

  Perhaps she gasped. Maybe she moaned. She could have cried out. She did not know, for her awareness had collapsed into the exact size and shape of a man’s tongue.

  Cursed Seth, this felt wondrous. Why had the women at court never gossiped about this particular...pleasure? Why had they said nothing of the terrible ecstasy, the mind-numbing bliss? Not a word! Though perhaps Aya had just not been listening.

  Oh, sweet river. She was all mixed up and growing warmer and warmer by the moment. Evil man. With each sweep of his tongue he seemed to be coaxing her yearning. She began to move her hips, trying to encourage him in his pursuit.

  ‘Yes, that is it, Aya,’ he said, but he seemed to be slowing. She was moving her hips, but his tongue was no longer moving with them.

  ‘Yes, Intef,’ she said, trying to encourage him, but he was no longer giving her what he had just taught her to want.

  He withdrew his tongue and hovered over her. He was retreating from her, even as her whole body seemed to be crying out.

  ‘Please, Intef,’ she gasped.

  He moved away from her. She could no longer feel him touching her.

  His voice came out of the darkness. ‘What do you want, Aya?’ he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  ‘I want you,’ she said. She felt ragged, desperate. She needed to feel him again. Soon.

  ‘I will give you what you want, but first you must say the words.’

  ‘I beg you.’

  She could practically see his triumphant grin. He moved over her and she felt his legs straddle her hips once again. He lay atop her with all his weight and in the crush of him she could feel his desire pressing against her stomach.

  Its presence seemed to infect her with a kind of fever. She felt ill with the want of him. So this was what she had been missing all these years. A man’s desire and a desirous man to go with it.

  There was no light, yet she was delirious with visions of him—an enemy, a lover, a dangerous god hovering over her, ready to take his fill.

  She wanted him to take it. She wanted it so badly that she felt if he did not do it soon she might burn up beneath him.

  He braced himself on his arms and pulled back his hips.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she added. ‘I beg you.’ She could hear the soft tumble of fabric as he removed his kilt. He hovered astride her. She could feel the tip of him brushing up against her. He reached his finger down and gently stroked her, making her shudder. ‘You are so wet,’ he breathed.

  ‘Is that good?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think—’ she began saying, then felt his lips upon hers once again.

  ‘Do not think,’ he breathed into her mouth.

  He was lying heavily atop her, kissing her, when she felt the tip of him push into her just a little. She startled, but the weight of his body prevented her from moving much. He pulled out of her. ‘What is the name of your bow?’ he asked her.

  She laughed. ‘You already know the name.’

  ‘Indulge me,’ he said.

  ‘The Goodly Thief.’

  ‘Tell me how you ready your Goodly Thief for its delicate work.’

  She smiled and felt her limbs relax. ‘Well, first I select an arrow from the quiver.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I place the arrow on the nock.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Then I make sure that the tip of the arrow is lying properly on the bow rest.’ His desire hovered just outside her entrance, poised.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What next?’

  ‘Then I check the angle of my body and move my bow into position,’ she said. He raised himself up and braced himself on his arms above her.

  ‘And then?’

  Her desire had begun to throb. ‘I know what you are about, cunning man,’ she said.

  ‘Do you really?’ he asked, and in that moment he pushed himself inside of her and she was full of him.

  * * *

  He was overcome with sensation. ‘Blessed are the gods,’ he murmured. This woman. This woman, this woman, this woman. Pangs of lust catapulted through his body. It was all he could do to speak her name. ‘Aya...’

  ‘Intef...’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aya said, gasping. ‘I am...quite well.’

  He bent to reassure her with a kiss and was met with something greater than reassurance. Passion seemed to pour out of her.

  ‘Ah, my love,’ he said. ‘Where have you been all these years?’

  He began to move inside her, as slowly as he could. This was only her third time, he recalled, though he felt rather new to the situation himself. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Aya.

  He could hardly believe his feelings were real. After his father had died, the only lust he had felt was for revenge. Over time, that lust had turned to stone and, lately, that stone had eroded into dust. He had felt so low for so long, he hardly knew what real happiness was. Now, buried beneath the earth, he felt as if he were flying.

  ‘Aya...’ he breathed. He began to move inside her. Her soft, warm depths enveloped him and, with each successive thrust, he felt simultaneously closer to her and also closer to the moon. He wove his hands with hers and watched her beneath him. He wanted to remember this moment for ever.

  It could not last. He was too aroused. His body yearned for release. He was moving faster, gathering his rhythm. He needed to bring her with him, but he was already far above her, pumping his wings.

  ‘Oh, Aya, forgive me,’ he cried. She felt so good and it had been so long. He could not wait for her. He could only squeeze her hands tightly and pull himself out of her as he reached the hot vent of air and began to soar.

  His body quaked. His stomach lurched. His mind split in two. There was no darkness, nor was there any light. There was only air—perfect, buoyant air—ferrying him into bliss.

  He spilled himself on her stomach, then collapsed beside her. For many moments, he could not feel the floor. ‘Aya, I am sorry,’ he uttered at last. ‘That was not how it was supposed to be.’

  ‘But it was wonderful,’ she said, and there was enough wonder evident in her voice for him to believe her. And yet he knew she had no idea.

  ‘I did not go slowly enough. I did not give you your pleasure.’ He wiped her stomach with the bottom corner of the sheet.

  ‘You did give me pleasure,’ she said. ‘It was all pleasure.’

  ‘You do not understand. I did not do my duty.’

  She giggled. �
�My pleasure is your duty?’

  ‘You have no idea how I can make you feel, Aya,’ Intef said. ‘How I will make you feel!’

  ‘You have already made me feel so much pleasure,’ she said, but he could hear the yawn in her voice. She reached for her loincloth and he heard her tie it back into place. ‘Gratitude,’ she said. She rolled over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘For showing me the marshes.’

  It was as if she had just thanked him for pointing out a good fishing hole. He ran his hands through his hair. No, no, no: this was all wrong. He was not done yet; he had hardly just begun. He reached to pull her atop him, but she was nuzzling herself inside the crook of his arm and in moments she was asleep.

  * * *

  He spent the next several hours making all sorts of vows. He would correct this injustice and soon. He would give her pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced. He would show her the moon, then give her the stars on a platter.

  So consumed he was with this new purpose that he did not even notice himself falling asleep.

  * * *

  The next time he opened his eyes, the chamber was filled with light.

  Morning. He should have been glad for it, but he only wished it would go away. He had wrapped his arms around Aya in the night and her backside was pressing into his hips. Somehow their legs had become entangled. He could not decide which limb belonged to whom—and he did not want to decide. Not ever.

  He needed to visit the latrine, but he ignored the urge. He squeezed her closer. He needed another night—that was his first thought. His second thought was that he needed many other nights. His third thought was that the gods were cruel and that the moment he left her side it would all be over.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. It was a mix of dust and hibiscus oil and her own special musk. He felt certain that he had never smelled anything quite so appealing.

  He wanted to taste her, so he lifted her hair and placed his lips at the base of her neck. Pulling away, he noticed her tattoo. The mark was quite small—a circle no bigger than his thumb and, inside the small circle, a triangle.