THE NIGHTS OF PASSION were but a bittersweet memory to Ankhesenpaaten now. Still the young queen had never been more excited—or frightened.
“I’m late,” she whispered, rolling over in bed and propping her chin on Tut’s chest. She could feel her breasts pressing against his ribs, as she reached down to touch between his legs.
“How often have I heard that?” Tut replied, doing his best to sound pharaoh-like, instead of utterly smitten.
“Tut,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered, mounting him. “I am three months late. We are going to have a baby. I’m certain of it. So tonight, let’s celebrate.”
Tut gazed up at her and supported her body by clasping her breasts. She leaned forward and began rocking slowly, all the while caressing his face with her hands.
“Think of a name,” she said softly, closing her eyes as pleasure coursed through her body.
“Nefertiti,” he said.
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Nefertiti.” Tut laughed.
“What about Tuthmosis? Or Amenhotep? Those are royal names.”
Ankhesenpaaten moaned then; names no longer seemed important to her.
She was usually very quiet in bed, but on that morning she was sure she woke all of Thebes as she climaxed. The sensation seemed to go on and on, a wave of pleasure that rolled through her once-barren body just as surely as the Nile flowed through Egypt’s desert sands.
She looked down at Tut and watched his shoulders tense as ecstasy contorted his beautiful face. Then he let out a most unpharaoh-like cry.
“We are going to have a baby,” repeated Ankhe-senpaaten.