The caravan left Nubia at dawn, three camels laden with water skins, dried dates, and the priceless Artifact of Amon-Ra wrapped in silk at Ethan's side. The air was still cool, carrying the faint scent of lotus from the palace gardens, but within hours the desert heat rose like a living thing, pressing down on them. Ethan rode in the center, linen shirt open to the breeze, his broad shoulders already glistening. Vaeloria rode ahead, her warrior's posture alert, spear strapped across her back. Liraya brought up the rear, the new fire priestess, her emerald eyes scanning the horizon, anklets chiming softly with every sway of the camel.
For the first three days they pushed hard, covering ground beneath a relentless sun. Conversation was sparse; the desert demanded focus. But when the sun finally bled into the dunes each evening, the mood shifted. They made camp in whatever shelter the land offered: a cluster of wind-sculpted rocks, the lee of a low ridge, or once beneath a lone acacia whose branches spread like welcoming arms.
The first night, they pitched a single large tent of Nubian weave—thin enough to let starlight through, thick enough to hold warmth. After a simple meal of flatbread and spiced goat, the fire burned low. Vaeloria stretched like a panther, rolling her shoulders. "The road is long," she said, voice husky, "and the body forgets pleasure if not reminded."
Liraya smiled, already unclasping the golden chain at her waist. "Then let us remind it."
Ethan needed no further invitation. He pulled Vaeloria to him first, tasting the salt on her neck from the day's ride. Her hands were rough from years gripping spear and shield, but they moved over him with practiced tenderness, unfastening his belt, sliding beneath fabric to find him already hard. Liraya circled behind Ethan, pressing her full breasts against his back, lips brushing his ear as she whispered ancient Nubian words of desire. Her fingers joined Vaeloria's, both women stroking him slowly, deliberately, until his breath came in low growls.
They took him to the soft rugs spread across the sand. Vaeloria straddled his face, thighs strong around his head, her taste rich and familiar as he licked her slowly, deeply. Liraya sank onto his cock with a sigh that seemed to echo across the empty desert, her inner heat tighter and hotter than the day itself. She rode him with the rolling rhythm of a dancer, hips circling, flames from the dying campfire reflecting in her eyes. When Vaeloria came, grinding against Ethan's mouth, her cry was muffled against her own forearm. Moments later Liraya followed, clenching around him, pulling his release in long, pulsing waves.
Afterward they lay tangled, skin cooling under the desert night, trading lazy kisses until sleep claimed them.
The second camp was beside a dry wadi where pale moonlight silvered the stones. This time Liraya took the lead. She conjured small tongues of harmless flame that hovered above them like fireflies, casting golden light over their bodies. Ethan watched, entranced, as the two women kissed each other slowly—Vaeloria's dark hands cupping Liraya's lighter breasts, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked. They turned to him together, mouths and tongues working in perfect concert along his length, one taking him deep while the other licked and teased below. When he could bear no more, they guided him onto his back. Vaeloria lowered herself onto him reverse, strong back arched, while Liraya knelt over his face, letting him taste her sweetness as she leaned forward to kiss Vaeloria again. The sight of the two women moving together above him—hands roaming, mouths meeting—sent Ethan over the edge harder than the night before.
On the third night, storm clouds gathered unexpectedly, rare for the season. Thunder rumbled in the distance as they hurried to secure the tent. Rain began to fall in heavy, warm drops, drumming on the canvas like impatient fingers. The air inside grew thick with humidity and anticipation. Ethan lay on his back, watching rain-shadows dance across the tent walls while Vaeloria and Liraya took turns riding him slowly, deliberately, drawing out every sensation. Lightning flashed, illuminating their bodies for frozen instants—Vaeloria's powerful thighs flexing, Liraya's breasts bouncing, both women glistening with rain-sweat. When the storm peaked, so did they, cries lost in the roar of thunder.
They slept deeply that night, lulled by the dying rain.
The fourth night brought danger.
They had made camp in a shallow depression ringed by low dunes, the camels hobbled nearby. The fire was small; the wood was scarce this far from Nubia's oases. Ethan had just drifted toward sleep, Vaeloria's head on his chest, Liraya curled against his other side, when a low growl cut through the quiet.
Ethan tensed. Another growl answered, then another. Yellow eyes appeared beyond the firelight—six, eight, a dozen. Desert wolves, lean and hungry, drawn by the scent of camel and human.
Ethan reached for his sword, but Vaeloria was already moving, naked and fearless, spear in hand. Liraya rose beside her, palms glowing with contained flame.
"Stay behind us," Vaeloria commanded, voice calm but edged with steel.
The wolves attacked in a rush, silent except for the whisper of paws on sand. Vaeloria met the alpha head-on, spear thrusting clean through its shoulder, twisting and withdrawing in one fluid motion. The beast yelped and fell back. Two more leaped for her flanks; she spun, shaft cracking against skulls, sending them tumbling.
Liraya did not move from Ethan's side at first, but when three wolves broke past Vaeloria and lunged toward him, she raised both hands. Twin streams of controlled fire erupted, bright orange ribbons that wrapped around the animals without burning the ground. The wolves howled in terror, fur singed, and fled into the darkness. The rest of the pack, seeing their leaders routed, turned tail and vanished as quickly as they had come.
It was over in less than a minute.
Ethan stared, heart still pounding. "I've fought bandits, sand wraiths, even a minor demon once," he said, voice rough, "but I've never seen anything as beautiful as the two of you just now."
Vaeloria wiped a streak of wolf blood from her thigh, grinning fiercely. "We told you we would protect you."
Liraya let the last flames die between her fingers, eyes glowing with residual heat. "And now," she said softly, "we celebrate survival."
The adrenaline of battle turned seamlessly into desire. Ethan pulled Vaeloria down onto the rugs, kissing her hard, tasting the wildness still on her tongue. She straddled him at once, guiding him inside with a single downward thrust that drew groans from both of them. Liraya knelt behind Vaeloria, hands sliding over her sweat-slick back, down to where Ethan and Vaeloria joined. Her fingers found Vaeloria's clit, circling in time with each rise and fall.
Ethan's hands gripped Vaeloria's hips, urging her faster. When she came, it was with a warrior's cry, body shuddering, inner muscles gripping him until he followed moments later, spilling deep inside her.
They weren't finished. Liraya lay back, legs spread in invitation. Ethan moved over her, still hard, entering her in one smooth stroke. Vaeloria, glowing with satisfaction, straddled Liraya's face, letting the priestess taste both of them mingled together. The three moved in perfect rhythm—Ethan thrusting steadily, Liraya's muffled moans vibrating against Vaeloria, Vaeloria's hands braced on Ethan's shoulders. Lightning from the earlier storm had passed, but a different kind flashed behind their eyes as they climaxed together, a shared peak that left them trembling.
They fell asleep still joined in places, limbs entwined, the scent of sex and scorched fur lingering in the air.
The remaining days blurred into a rhythm of hard travel and passionate nights. Each evening brought new variations: slow, worshipful lovemaking beneath star-drunk skies; playful teasing that ended with both women on their knees before him; one memorable night when they bound his wrists with silk cords and took turns riding him until he begged for mercy they happily denied.
By the tenth day, the desert began to yield to greener lands. Scrub gave way to grass, then to cultivated fields. Distant watchtowers appeared on the horizon, banners of Eldoria snapping in the wind.
On the final night before reaching the capital, they camped beside a small river—the first flowing water they had seen in weeks. They bathed together in the shallows, moonlight turning the water silver. Afterward, on a soft grassy bank, they made love one last time on the road: gentle, almost reverent. Ethan took each woman in turn, face to face, eyes locked, whispering promises of what awaited them in the city. When they came, it was quiet but profound, bodies pressed close, hearts beating in unison.
At dawn they dressed in the finer clothes reserved for their arrival: Ethan in a deep blue tunic embroidered with gold, Vaeloria in scaled armor that gleamed like obsidian, Liraya in flowing crimson robes that hinted at the fire within. The gates of the capital rose before them—massive stone arches flanked by guards who snapped to attention at the sight of Ethan Sinclair returning with the legendary artifact.
Trumpets sounded. Crowds gathered along the main avenue, cheering the hero and his extraordinary companions. Queen's envoys waited to escort them to the palace. But as they rode through the cheering throng, Ethan glanced sideways at Vaeloria and Liraya. Their eyes met his, sparkling with shared secrets, bodies still carrying the memory of desert nights.
The road had delivered them home, but the true journey—the one of fire, protection, and unbreakable desire—was only beginning.
30 women pregnant