Michelle McGill-Vargas

She gasped when his fingers traced the outline of her spine down to the small of her back. His hands, rough from years of combat in Pharaoh’s army, scratched against the thin layer of hand-woven flax draping her body. He’d commented once, in the privacy of this domicile, how her ebony skin made the linen kalasaris gleam with even more purity. But that had been one of those rare times, when they weren’t wishing to hasten the other’s arrival to Osiris’ domain.

He whispered her name—Lesedi—right before the warm moisture of his lips met her neck. And just as unexpected as the water escaping her eyes when his hand had tightened around her windpipe, an involuntary moan broke from her. She wanted to resist enjoying the coolness of the mud-brick wall against her back, Amenemhat’s soft breathing in her ear, his sepia face haloed by the firelight. Overwhelmed…