A sigh escaped me and my eyes slipped closed.
“See you in my dreams.”
Somehow, I knew I was dreaming.
My eyes opened, and I was not in my bed, not in my own time.
I sat up, and was immediately in awe of my dreamscape. Golden statues of the creator god Ptah flanked the entrance, and in each corner stood life-sized versions of the statue on my nightstand. Pillars of white limestone stood in a line of silent sentinels along each wall, and draped between them hung translucent sheets of fabric. Incense drifted through the air, seducing me with patchouli, musk and spice. Torches blazed every few feet, and a balefire burned in the center of the westernmost side.
It was a temple dedicated, by looks, to the mystery man standing on my nightstand and the god Ptah, a creator deity from the ancient city of Memphis. But this temple was plusher and more inviting than any secret sanctuary. It was more like a sacred bedchamber.
A sense of wonder pulled at me, and I slipped from the raised bed upon which I sat. I stood in silent awe before the visage of the god Ptah who stepped from Chaos, and by thought and speech created all else according to early Egyptian mythology. His intent held great power. Then, I drifted the length of one wall, my fingertips trailing across the pillars, the curtains. Every tactile sensation was heightened. The pillars were smooth as glass, the fabric as light as air and the balefire, when I reached it, was intense, its heat pierced me to the core.
The curtains parted in the farthest right corner, and a man stepped through. His presence thrilled every nerve, danced in the blood of every vein. He was devastatingly handsome, with warm olive skin and dark hair dusting his shoulders. Brown eyes smoldered above a prominent nose underpinned by a well-trimmed moustache and beard. His lips were soft and full, and my heart beat with a wicked tattoo.
He was bare-chested, a linen wrap girded his hips, riding low. Armbands of gold cinched his biceps and a wide, beaded collar circled his neck. My soul resonated with his presence, my eyes widened as the heat of desire built within.
Something about him was familiar…
The statue!
The realization was a shock, but I knew without a doubt, coming towards me was the incredibly sexy, human version of my mystery statue. I opened my mouth to speak but shock held those words captive.
Who are you? Why are we in this temple?
He walked to me, placed a hand on my shoulder but did not speak. I pursed my lips around a question burning my tongue, a question he silenced when he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips to mine.
Oh my god!
A fleeting thought of pulling away and arguing with him passed through my mind, followed swiftly by the thought that this was just a really hot dream. Besides, he was too damned gorgeous to turn down.
No amount of hesitation or concern could squelch the lust his touch ignited in me. My body betrayed my need to maintain a cool distance. With my resistance sacrificed, everything felt right in his arms—the heat, the passion and the way my heart pounded. I wrapped my arms around him, and his desert heat caressed my skin. Clutched against his chest, and victim to the sacred oils scenting his skin, I swooned. He scooped my knees up with his arm and, with his other arm he supported my back as he lifted me.
I pressed my cheek to his chest and listened to the thunder of his pounding heart. He laid me on a raised altar padded
pa
and plush with pillows which we knocked off in our fervor. Our lips united again in a burning, tongue-tangled kiss, but he loosened his grip on my body. Then as he shifted his leg over mine, his lips trailed scorching kisses along the neckline of my nightgown. His passionate stare singed my cheeks with a high blush and warmed my pussy. He rose up between my knees, and produced a ceremonial dagger from somewhere in his wrap. My heart jumped into my throat.
How could I have missed that? I had felt something long and hard below his waist—but a knife? My knees quaked in a heady mix of fear and desire.
His eyes blazed with wicked intent. But the hilt of the knife was cool as he slid the blade down between my breasts and along my abdomen, cutting my nightclothes from me.
Finally, words formed on my lips.
“Who are you?”
The question trailed off into a low moan as he moved down, his face between my thighs as he blew a warm, wet breath across my cunt.
Yes, yes, yes!
Then, I lost eye contact as he dropped lower. A jolt of excitement raced through me, boiling the fluid in my veins when his tongue ran along my slit, and then plunged inside. His hands burned a trail up the inside of my thighs, and his fingers joined his mouth in the desecration of my pussy. I writhed in ecstasy.
His tongue and fingers drove me close to coming, and I knew no name to cry out. One more time, between pants and moans, I asked, “Who…are…you?”
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