Lion Head Mesa the [m]arble hall

"not at all." his breath, caught, mellowed; he pulled her close and ran polished claws through the obsidian of her flank, leaving a quartet of satin furrows; "i have lain with no one since a fellahin, a while ago, and not one who is here now."

carnality was something rarely sought; senmut did not question his past decisions to be chaste, believing it had led to this sort of moment, where every year of celibate piety had been given back to him at once, sevenfold, enthralling every part of his flesh until only to think of what they had done sent desire scorching like new wine in his blood.

his tongue smoothed the moisture of her nose; he lay back against the richly pelted cushions and sighed, sated in heart but with his wondering about her still thirsty, still unglutted.

"are you so devoted to all princes?" senmut teased in return, melted against the soft warmth of legend, who had indeed become her name!