Lion Head Mesa forty-second

Her voice was just as feathery, just as scorched. Swiftly, her eyes broke down to his face before returning to his pupils. Eager to him.

"Yes."

He teased.

Not only had he touched her chin, but her mind. He would make her think about it. He would make them wait and make her have the decision of coming to him. On her terms, under his order, when the sun fell and when the flickering of this flame grew all too strong, she could come. Then, he had will and restraint. He had a mind and a body. Now she could only fester. Now he could only fester.

He played a game.

Then he truly had her focus, her attention, her thoughts. Where he had her ears and eyes before, now he had her mind and he rattled it. Why, why, why. Why did not matter. She did not mind why. What only mattered was that pit in her chest and stomach that was filled and devoured by his thoughts; thoughts he carefully put upon her lips and that she ate.

Now every hour she would think.

Now every hour she would wait.

Now every hour she would want.

Now every hour her veins would sting.

Now every hour her head would ache.

Now every hour she would wonder.

Now every hour she would break, and it would build her all the same.

Dropping her head, a final lap at the cup she drank from had been cleaned in a swipe of her tongue. Rising, she pinched it between her teeth and departed without looking to him again. Instead, he would only see the back of her dipped neck as she turned her back on him and removed herself from his space. Long legs moved slowly, lightly, carefully, and he did not see her eyes again in her leave. Instead, she took a quick glance to the surrounding walls from the corners of her eyes. He could wait.

Senmut made a decision.

He made it fun.