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Nakia’s uninhibited moans bounced off the smooth mountain rock of the royal bathing suite as T’Challa carefully dug his fingers into his wife’s neck. His knees brushed her forearms where she reclined on a gel body cushion at the edge of their steamy, floral-scented bath, and the bubbly surface allowed T’Challa only tantalizing glimpses of her body.
But sensual, calming caresses- and deep tissue massage- was all the touch he would bestow on her tonight. Nakia had returned only hours ago from Nigeria, and she was battle-weary in body and soul. Although her mission was successful, and hundreds of young women were even now reuniting with their families, her eyes when she had turned to T’Challa were haunted. There was no question that he would clear his schedule for the rest of the evening and tend to one of his country’s strongest, cleverest, and most empathic warriors, the woman he was blessed to call beloved.
T’Challa worked a knot out of Nakia’s shoulders and watched with a gentle smile as the last bit of tension evaporated from her beautiful face. He rubbed the area to soothe away the last pains and leaned forward to kiss her brow.
“Would you like to relax some more? Or shall I bring you to bed?” he whispered.
Nakia’s looked up at him, her gaze as hot as the steam rising from the bath. “Bed,” she murmured. She began to rise, her hot and loose muscles responding slowly.
T’Challa steadied her as she climbed out of the bath, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire his wife as the water sluiced off around her. Her curves gleamed in the dim lights. T’Challa swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
Nakia walked away toward their bedroom, smiling to herself. “Are you coming, my love?”
T’Challa hurried after his queen.