Lion Head Mesa everybody loves you, baby [m]

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In her pregnancy, Toula had glowed and swelled like the bud of a rose, a transformation which Rashepses had scarcely before cared to observe. Now he found he did not tire of her fullness and the way he could no longer stretch his arms entirely about her belly. Their children had winded her, sapping too much of her strength, but with so little knowledge and the doctor's consistent reassurance, he had little reason to assume her pregnancy was anything other than exemplary. Still, he took care to handle her more tenderly.  When it became apparent that in her condition Toula could no longer brace his weight, her husband seized her hips and took equal pleasure in relieving her by other means.

“I had wanted to know your taste the moment I laid eyes on you,” his murmur was greedy to the inside of her thigh, a last lap as the fellahin with their sumptuous repast paraded into the room. He came up over his wife, pinning her with a grin aroused in the recollection.

“At first you tasted like berry wine and honey,” he whispered, more enlivened by the fact they would be overheard by their handmaidens. “The taste of you blazed with sweetness. Now I know your savour, you are like the first sip of morning, smooth and completely nourishing.” One arm held her waist while the other slid up and around the cuff, catching it in his palm to bring her wrist to his lips. His eyes turned about the room as he did so, to the various plated feasts.

“The loin and berries,” he commanded of a girl to bring the raw meats and fruits sweetened with syrups for his wife and children before returning his attention to Toula.

“But you had other suitors vying for you that day,” slitted eyes roved over the pure, supple beauty of her face. The man recalled the older military captain with a piteous laugh. “Were you not distracted?”