Lion Head Mesa Toiling

it was impossible to want to move, to rise in the presence of such beauty. for a time all the illusion and politics of akashingo had fallen away to the simplicity of touch, of heat, of breath. 

and in it he felt guilt. had he used his power to gain what he wished? was he any better than rashepses?

another glance into that relaxed face. senmut feathered a kiss over one jawline and exhaled, not wishing to return to anything than this couch and isetnofret's pretty figure.