Lion Head Mesa everybody loves you, baby [m]

“Too late for modesty, wife,” his eyes rippled over her flaring stomach, and just to see her blush deepen he brought his pawtips to brush over the pink rounding flesh. He grinned to watch her rise beneath the teasing as a maidservant served them haunches of goat and sweet meats. But his wife’s fragrance was more heady than their meal, a rousing which would be made plainly clear to any who glimpsed their king.

Rashepses shifted his wife’s hinds into the space of his hips. His eyes shone and grew darker as she became more and more enticing. It was Toula’s breathy voice which bid him to pause only so he could hear her admissions of love over his own ragged inhales.

Yes; Pharaoh was made to rid herself of the makeshift family; those blood kin who’d abandoned her and crumbled to the pressures of the throne. Now it was her husband who would fill every hollow and sate every desire; to show their sister the nature of true devotion.

“There is no one else,” the man groaned in riposte, heavy with the weight of his feeling and lacking the poetry of his wife’s avowals.  He nuzzled her tears, but just the thought of any other touching her in the same ways drove a red jealousy through him. “And there will never be another.”

He cared not who was in attendance, he pulled Toula back into himself and performed arcs of praise with his tongue along her shoulder. Let the mortals lay their marriage bed and bear witness to the act of love between Gods.