by Sahara Kelly
His lips found hers and took her mouth in a kiss that was less passionate and more worshipful than she was used to.
In spite of herself, her heart trembled.
“I never thought I’d find anyone who’d love me like you do,” he said, peppering her cheeks with little nips and licks and kisses.
“Why ever not? At least you’re gorgeous. I’m the one who never imagined finding anyone like you…”
Annie returned his kisses with touches of her own, and the conversation degenerated into a gentle exchange of touches, intermingled with emotions.
Eventually, they settled into a contented silence and blew out the lamp.
“You’ll marry me, of course,” said Kyle, smiling into the darkness.
“I will?” said Annie.
“Those are the exact words I expect to hear.” He laughed.
“Okay. God, I’m easy.” She sighed. “But getting a proposal is pretty special, let alone one from Mr. Hotbody Pendrake.”
“Hotbody, huh?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. Or anywhere else for that matter. You are the only scientist around here who knows the value of a pretzel, you know.”
“That scares me.”
“What scares you?”
“That I’m the only man from our time. That you may be feeling lost and disoriented and clinging to the one thing that’s familiar—namely me.”
“Oh, and I haven’t had those thoughts?” snorted Annie. “Take a look at some of these absolutely stunning women, Kyle, and tell me what the hell you see in me. Tell me that it isn’t just because my hair is almost white and my eyes are purple that you are attracted to me. Tell me it isn’t because I can tell a zebra from a ziggurat, and know who Joe Montana is.”
Kyle rolled her over and loomed above her. “Don’t…” he hissed, “don’t ever mention Joe Montana again.” His green eyes stared into her violet ones as if he’d clamber inside her brain if he could.
“It’s because you’re you, Annie Lynden. I don’t care if you’re a writer, or a High Priestess. I don’t care if your hair is white or pink or striped. I care because…because…” his voice tapered off and he raised a hand to stroke the line of her cheek.
“Because you make me whole.”
Annie couldn’t help it. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh Kyle…” She gulped. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, okay. Don’t expect me to be one of your heroes, Annie. I’ll be the best husband I can, but I’m not perfect.”
Annie ran her hand over his nicely firm abs and down to his crotch. She wiggled her fingers into his hair and around the base of his cock.
“Oh yes you are.” She grinned.
He grinned back.
“So, when are we going to get married?” He managed to get the words out even though Annie was doing lovely things with her fingers. His cock was desperate to respond, but was also sending messages to his brain that included the words “exhaustion”, “three times already” and “are you out of your fucking mind?” not to mention “Guinness Book of World Records”.
“Right about now sounds good,” giggled Annie.
“Enough woman.” Kyle fell back with a theatrical groan and grabbed Annie’s questing hand away from his sorely tried cock.
“Well, I guess that’s it. Honeymoon’s over.” Annie gave a loud sigh.
“And now you know the sad truth, us men are a weak lot. We can only get it up enough for two or three times a night.”
“Is that all?” asked Annie playfully.
“Well, if my future wife is still in need…” Kyle neatly turned the tables by slithering down the bed and fastening his mouth over Annie’s still-sensitive clit.
She shrieked and tried to pull away.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.”
Kyle grinned smugly, gave her swollen tissues a last loving lick, and then settled them both for the night.
“We’ll marry according to Sumerian ritual, Annie. We would have to go through the ceremony anyway, as the New Year is fast approaching. It just won’t be symbolic, it will be real.”
“And I’ll be Mrs. High Priestess. Or is that Mrs. High Priest?” Annie’s voice was slurring as sleep invaded her tired body.
“You’ll be Mrs. Annie Pendrake, sweetheart.”
“Yes, I will, Kyle. Yes I will.”
Silence fell.
“My next romance novel will be by Anne Lynden-Pendrake.”
Kyle winced.
Chapter 16
The streets of Kushuk had already started buzzing with the preparations for the New Year’s Festival. Annie knew enough now to realize that enormous amounts of time were spent by the citizens of Sumer in the pursuit of physical pleasures. The belief that the rituals and myths of human sexuality were fundamental to their way of life was solidly entrenched in their lives.
Therefore, fucking was bound to play a role in it somewhere.
Kyle was frantically trying to complete his calculations and his primitive engineering project. He’d told Annie one night that it was rather like trying to create a 747 out of paperclips and sticky tape. Whereupon, being the dutiful fiancée, she’d reassured him that she had complete confidence in his abilities. Then she’d made his eyes roll back in his head and he’d forgotten all about science for the next hour or so.
The week before the festival, decorations made of beaten gold started appearing on stalls in the market square, and on the people who loved dressing up in their finest.
Annie caught a glimpse of Nerin one day, striding in his usual implacable style amongst the booths, wearing an impressive hammered gold collar and an armlet that looked like it must have weighed a ton. It was dwarfed next to his biceps. She shook her head, images of body builders flittering through her mind.
Kyle was spending more and more time with Ronnil and his other science-minded advisors, because a good thunderstorm was apparently going to be essential for his scientific equipment to work. He’d been assured that this was the right time of year for them, and even Annie, with her layman’s concepts, could understand the need for electricity.
Visions of singed eyebrows and smoke curling from lumps of burned hair were quickly brushed aside.
The front of the Sun God’s Temple had been festooned with brightly colored hangings and more gold than she’d ever seen in one place. And that included most professional athlete’s necks.
There was a small balcony in the very front of the ziggurat, which looked out over the square. It was here, Kyle had told her, that they would celebrate the symbolic union of the King of the Gods and the representative of the Goddess. This ritual was guaranteed to ensure fertility during the forthcoming year. Although he was the High Priest, Kyle had always designated another to represent him. Until now.
He was adamant that no one was going to bless anything with his High Priestess other than him.
The mention of fertility gave Annie reason to think, and she was very quiet several mornings before the festival as she and Enshilla made their way through the crowds.
“You are well, Annilin?” asked Enshilla, noting her friend’s unusual silence.
“I don’t know, Enshilla. The truth of the matter is, I’m wondering if I may be pregnant.” There—it was out. Just saying the words brought a measure of relief to Annie.
“Do you feel unwell at all? Have you been vomiting in the morning?” Enshilla was practical and blunt.
“No and no,” said Annie, feeling a bit foolish. How could she explain to Enshilla that she damn well knew she hadn’t been pregnant when she arrived in Sumer, but that all the fucking she’d been doing with Kyle had certainly covered most of her ovulation cycle.
“Then I would not worry for the time being, my friend. You have experienced many new and wondrous things, Annilin. Surely you are not unaware that such happenings can interfere with a woman’s moon rhythm?”
Annie gazed at Enshilla and listened to the little voic
e inside her that told her she was an idiot for underestimating the intelligence of the Sumerians.
“Enshilla, you never cease to amaze me.”
Enshilla grinned, a very naughty and quite un-Enshilla-like grin. “That’s what Ronnil said the other night.” She blushed.
“Aha. So I take it that things are going well between the two of you?”
Enshilla sighed. This was not an exasperated sigh, however. This was a sigh of satisfaction, lust and contentment all rolled into one. “Oh yes. It is quite—um…awesome. I think that is your word?”
Annie laughed. “Yes, that’s the word all right.”
“You did it deliberately, didn’t you?” Enshilla’s quiet question caught Annie by surprise.
“Did what?”
“Showed Ronnil and me some things that would make us get excited. So to speak.”
“Well, I have to say that we didn’t hold back, even though we knew you were there.” Annie was surprised that she wasn’t more uncomfortable with this conversation. Her stay in Sumer was certainly starting to affect her attitudes towards sex. Well, sex with Kyle, anyway. Aw hell, she’d take sex with Kyle any way she could get it. She giggled at her own pun.
Misunderstanding her giggle, Enshilla chuckled too. “Yes, you two certainly were quite uninhibited. That will help during the New Year’s festival ritual too.”
Annie looked back over her shoulder at the ziggurat that loomed over the square. “You really can’t see too much, though, can you?”
“No, it’s all symbolic and ritualistic, this particular event. It’s the biggest one, of course, which is why it has to be outdoors. People come from miles around to celebrate the sacred marriage, and see its consummation. But they can’t really see it, they just know it’s going on.”
“Well, that helps,” began Annie.
“My Lady, my Lady…” a voice called to them from a side street. Annie and Enshilla turned to see Ishkar the brewer lumbering towards them with a big smile on his face and a pottery flask in his hand.
“It’s the first of the new batch, High Priestess,” he sputtered, out of breath and panting loudly.
“Take your time, Ishkar, take your time,” soothed Enshilla, patting his shoulder.
Annie looked at the flask with interest. “You mean this is the first of the brew with date juices in it?”
“Yes, High Priestess. And oh, my Lady, wait until you taste it…”
He held out the flask, and Annie cautiously took it, unstoppering it and checking the neck for signs of previous use. One couldn’t be too careful about hygiene, given that antibiotics were a couple of thousand years away.
Then she remembered some of her beer drinking parties in college. She shrugged, raised the flask to her lips and took a hefty swig.
The brew slid down her throat like the finest light ale. She swallowed and closed her eyes in ecstasy. It was just magnificent.
“Mmm. This is great, Ishkar.”
Ishkar couldn’t have smiled any more without losing teeth. “My customers love it, and already word is spreading. A couple of temple representatives have asked for vats over the upcoming festival, and I even have a few early orders from outside Kushuk. I’ll have to hire a few workers back just to keep up.”
The man was so excited he was almost crying with it.
“I’m so happy for you, Ishkar,” smiled Annie.
“Oh it would never have happened if not for you, my Priestess. With your permission I shall name this blend the Moon Goddess’s Blessing.”
Well, Budweiser wouldn’t have to sweat it, thought Annie. She bowed politely. “That’s a lovely gesture, Ishkar. I’m sure this will bring much success to your business in the future.”
“Oh, it’s you who’s done that, High Priestess,” said Ishkar with wide-eyed appreciation. “You and Lord Kyall have truly blessed Kushuk. I know this will be the best festival ever.”
He left the two women with a cheery wave, and Annie thoughtfully took another swig of her own personal brew.
“Well, another satisfied customer,” said Enshilla with a wry twist to her lips. “He’s right, you know. You and Lord Kyall have certainly made a mark.”
Annie turned to Enshilla. “If we had to leave, Enshilla…what would happen?”
She tilted her head and stared at Annie. “Are you thinking of going somewhere?”
Annie bit her lip and encouraged Enshilla to resume walking beside her. She needed to be somewhere a little quieter.
They wandered down to the banks of the river and rested for a while on a carved stone bench, watching the clouds scudding through the clear sky and the birds wheeling overhead.
“Enshilla, you have never asked about how I got here.”
Enshilla’s eyes flickered to Annie’s and away again. “I never felt it was appropriate for me to do so, Annilin. You appeared in the Temple of the Moon Goddess. That was enough for me.”
“I understand. But have you considered that…” Annie paused, trying to find the right words to use that would not hurt her friend nor compromise her beliefs. What would Captain Picard have said, so as not to violate the Prime Directive? Annie wished for a Star Trek scriptwriter.
“Have you considered that the Moon Goddess might not allow me to remain? That possibly Lord Kyall and I might need to go elsewhere at the direction of our gods?”
Enshilla sat motionless and considered this idea.
“It would not be unexpected, I suppose…” she said finally. “Although I don’t know what Ronnil and I would do without you.”
Annie felt tears start and gave Enshilla a big hug. “I know just what you’d do. After all, we showed you.”
Her chuckle lifted the mood and brought a blush to Enshilla’s cheeks. “Well, yes, Annilin. There is that, of course.”
“If I should have to leave, Enshilla, I want you to know that I shall always value your friendship, no matter where I am.” Or when.
Enshilla’s eyes teared up too. “Me too, Annilin. I don’t always fully understand the things you say or do, but it has been a great pleasure and an honor being your friend.”
“I want to say something, and I think Lord Kyall is telling Ron this too. I want you to take over as High Priestess if anything happens to me.”
Enshilla gasped.
“Annilin, are you sure?”
“Never more so. You are the perfect candidate. Let’s face it, you would have been High Priestess if I hadn’t…er…flashed into the temple. And most probably Ronnil would have been a top candidate for Lord Kyall’s job. So consider it done.”
Enshilla was quite stunned. “Well, I don’t know what to say…”
“Then don’t say anything. Just think about next year’s festival. If we’re not here, it’ll be you and Ronnil doing the wild thing for the assembled multitudes.”
Enshilla gulped.
* * * * *
It was late in the day when Annie and Enshilla made it back to the Sun God’s Temple. The sound of male voices raised in song greeted them, and Annie raised an eyebrow and looked at Enshilla.
“Seems there’s a party going on, and we’re late,” she said dryly.
“Indeed,” agreed Enshilla. “Let’s go and find out what we’re missing.”
“Attagirl,” grinned Annie.
In one of the inner chambers, Ronnil and Kyle were sprawled over a couple of couches with several empty flasks between them.
It seemed that Ishkar had stopped by the Temple to thank the High Priest as well and left a few samples behind him. More than a few, actually, thought Annie as she counted the flasks on the floor.
“Twelve dead soldiers,” she muttered, picking a flask out of an urn and tossing it onto the pile. “You guys should be ashamed…”
“Aha,” said Kyle, waggling his eyebrows. “The girls are here. Now we can party hearty, Ron.”
Ronnil burped.
Annie put her hands on her hips.
Kyle winced. “Aw, honey,” he wheedled. “It was your idea to fix the
beer. You’re the one responsible for making it turn out so good.” His green eyes sparkled drunkenly at her.
She was completely helpless to resist. “You’re hopeless and I’m an idiot,” she laughed, running over to the couch and leaping on top of him.
He grunted as she knocked the wind out of his lungs.
Enshilla beckoned to Ronnil. “I think we should leave, Ronnil. Now.”
“Oh, oh.” Ronnil stood, wavering slightly. “I think I’m…what was that expression you used, Lord? ‘Up shit’s creek without a puddle’?”
“Paddle.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Got to go now. Enshilla says so.”
Enshilla exchanged a speaking glance with Annie as she led her inebriated Priest out of the room. His voice could still be heard as he serenaded her with some variety of Sumerian love song throughout the Temple corridors.
“Well, he’s no Frank Sinatra,” said Annie, grinning. “Although, come to think of it, neither are you. What the hell was that you guys were singing? Some Sumerian drinking ditty?”
Kyle pulled Annie closer and rested his hand comfortably over her breast. “Not exactly.” He smiled as her nipple tightened beneath his palm.
“What exactly was it, then?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.” She wriggled beneath him, responding as always to his touches. “I really want to know.”
Kyle slid her down beneath him and relieved her of her robes.
“Well, it’s a poem of sorts, a passionate description by a Goddess of her interaction with the Shepherd Dumuzi. Dumuzi was her consort, apparently.”
“Apparently…” echoed Annie, losing her focus for a moment as Kyle licked his way around her left nipple.
“The words are lovely.”
“Are they?”
“Wanna hear them?”
“Hear what?”
“The words to the poem.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure…”
Kyle’s mouth continued its journey across her sensitive breasts as he spoke the ancient words of the Goddess’s love poem.
“He shaped my loins with his fair hands,
The shepherd Dumuzi filled my lap with cream and milk,
He stroked my pubic hair…”
