I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“Perhaps,” she said with a shrug, her golden earrings swaying gently as she moved. “Perhaps not. But if I had to choose between the two of you right now… to share that first, to offer what I’ve never offered any man…”

She stepped even closer, her voice a whisper that danced with fire.

“I would choose you.”

I stared at her—longer than I should have.

It wasn’t merely because Cleopatra recognized something hidden within me, something raw and unshaped, a potential yet to be forged. No, there was more. Her gaze lingered on me not with the cold calculation of a ruler, but with the unmistakable heat of a woman drawn toward a man. And I could feel it—sense it in the air between us like the charged silence before a storm.

Perhaps I had Aphrodite’s passive Divine Rank Skill to thank for this sudden allure. The gods had their ways, and their gifts—no matter how subtle—often came laced with unpredictable consequences. But in this moment, I wasn’t about to complain.

Cleopatra’s delicate hand slid down with practiced ease, pressing gently against the fabric of my trousers, where my growing arousal betrayed my curiosity—and my interest. Her fingers moved with the finesse of someone who understood the art of seduction not as a whim but as a weapon, as if she had studied every gesture, every breath, every reaction. Virgin though she may be, her touch carried the knowledge of someone who had learned how to wield desire like a dagger.

Perhaps she had intended this kind of intimacy for Caesar—a weaponized charm meant to draw him in completely and ensure her grip on his heart and mind. But now, with her hand on me, her attention solely fixed on me, it was clear: she had made a different choice.

“You really want me to fuck you here?” I asked, voice low, my tone serious. “In your tent? While your guards are just outside? What would they think of their Queen surrendering herself to a mercenary?”

Her lips curled into a knowing, confident smile. “I know you’re not just a mercenary,” she said, the gleam in her eyes cutting straight through me. “And as you said… I am their Queen.”

She stepped closer, her presence commanding even in such a private moment. “I have the right to choose who I lie with. They won’t question it. Their faith in me runs deeper than that.”

I couldn’t deny it. Outside the tent, her men waited, loyal and silent. The way they looked at her—like she was divinity in human form—spoke volumes. They wouldn’t dare question her actions. Not even if she invited a stranger into her bed.

“What are you still thinking about?” she whispered, her voice almost playful as she closed the distance between us. She rose slightly, standing on the tips of her toes so our lips were just a breath apart. “I’m offering you something no man on this continent would refuse. The chance to take the Queen of the Amun Ra Empire… and you hesitate?”

Then, without waiting for my answer, she kissed me—softly at first, with a teasing sort of sweetness that belied the fire beneath it.

I gave in.

I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against me, our bodies pressed together. I kissed her back with unfiltered hunger, devouring the softness of her lips, tasting the heat of her desire.

“Mmm~” she hummed against me, a smile forming even as we kissed.

She tasted like wine left to steep in sunshine, like warmth curling through the spine at the first touch of velvet against bare skin. I kissed her—no, I devoured her. Tongue sliding along her lips, licking slow, teasing, savoring the salt and softness of her mouth like it was the only thing keeping me alive. Her lips parted for me with a breathy gasp, lips slick with heat, mouth eager, yielding, and my hand traced the arch of her back with the patience of a worshipper.

That dress—open-backed, scandalously so—was a cruel tease, showing the smooth spread of her golden skin like moonlight poured over silk. My hand wandered freely, exploring that expanse, fingers gliding from the base of her neck to the small of her back. Every inch of her was soft, decadent, her skin warmed by the heat blooming between us. Her body shivered beneath my palm, delicate tremors that only deepened my hunger, and my touch grew firmer, bolder, fingers splaying possessively over that naked flesh. Her breathing hitched. So did mine.

The tension was molten, rising between our bodies like pressure beneath a volcano, and I couldn’t stand the distance. I caught her eyes—those regal, unreadable, burning eyes—and I pulled the strap of her dress down. One smooth, swift motion, and the garment surrendered. Her breasts spilled free, perfect and proud, nipples already tightening under the cool air and the hotter gaze I devoured her with.

They were full, generous, obscene in their beauty, the kind of breasts sculptors dream of carving, but only the gods could ever truly touch. They sat high and firm, their weight swaying slightly as she moved into me, and I reached for them like a man lost at sea, mouth aching to worship.

“Beautiful…” I whispered like a prayer, like a curse. Cleopatra—the Queen herself—stood there before me, half-dressed, half-divine, chest bare and bolder than any army, more dangerous than any poison. Her breasts gleamed in the candlelight, her tan skin catching the glow, shadows and highlights kissing over every curve like unseen hands joining mine.

She smiled slowly, knowingly, as if she could feel my thoughts crawl along her body. Then, with a wicked curl of her lip, she pressed against me and let me lift her.

She was light in my arms, not in weight, but in how she gave herself. Trusting. Wrapping her legs around my waist, her bare thighs gripping my sides like she already knew I needed to feel her, all of her, everywhere. Her bare skin rubbed against the bulge in my pants, heat-to-heat, pulse-to-pulse. She moaned low—”Hahhnn❤️…”—as I carried her backward, her fingers tangled in my hair, her lips crashing into mine with desperate hunger.

The bed caught her like a throne as I laid her down, her body arching upward in welcome, her hands pulling at my clothes with feral impatience. But I wasn’t done kissing her, not even close. My lips traced a line from hers to her jaw, then down, tongue teasing the delicate flesh beneath her ear, then lower still, to the hollow of her neck where her scent was strongest—intoxicating, rich, a blend of exotic oils and sweat and woman.

I kissed lower.

Her breath stuttered, soft moans escaping with each press of my mouth, “Mmmnnh… aaahhh❤️… haaah❤️…” Her back arched when I reached the swell of her breasts, my tongue circling the dusky peak of her right nipple without haste, letting her feel every degree of heat from my mouth. Then I sucked.

“Ooohhhh… fuck,” she gasped, head thrown back, hands gripping the sheets like she was trying to anchor herself. Her nipple hardened on my tongue, my teeth scraping it just enough to draw another sharp cry—”Ahhh❤️! Yesss❤️!”

My hand cupped her other breast, thumb flicking over the peak, teasing it in rhythm with the hungry suck of my mouth. I switched, lips latching onto her left nipple now, and she writhed beneath me, thighs grinding against my hips. She was leaking heat, slickness seeping from between her legs through the thin fabric of the dress still bunched at her hips, and I growled against her skin.

“You like that, Queen?” I murmured, breath hot against the curve of her breast.

“Yesss… gods, yes… suck me more…” she gasped, dragging my mouth back to her chest, pressing me harder against her. Her desperation was regal. It made her only more beautiful.

I obeyed.

I worshipped.

Mouth wide, I buried my face between her tits, licking, biting, smothering myself in the scent and taste of her. My hands slid down to her hips, gripping, lifting, pulling her dress higher and higher until it was bunched at her waist and finally, blessedly, revealed her cunt—bare, glistening, already drenched.

I froze for a breath, staring, aching.

She didn’t shave, not entirely. A soft triangle of curls crowned her mound, but beneath—bare lips, swollen, flushed, gleaming wet like ripe fruit after the rain. Her pussy was a poem written in nectar and nerve endings, and I wanted to memorize every line.

I pushed her legs apart, palms spreading her thighs, and leaned in, mouth dragging a wet trail down her stomach. She shivered. Then moaned. Then screamed.

Because I licked her.

Long, slow, tongue dragging from clit to hole, parting her lips with reverence and lust. She bucked under me. “AaAAHHnnn❤️❤️!!” Her cries tore through the chamber like divine music, her hands flying to my head, fingers clawing into my scalp.

I lapped again. Again. My tongue worked with maddening rhythm, teasing the outer lips, dipping into her hole, then circling her clit. I licked her like a beast starved, like a sinner given a second chance at heaven and determined to stay.

Her thighs trembled around my head.

“Oh gods—don’t stop—don’t you dare fucking stop!” she snarled, voice thick with desperation, pride shattered into pure pleasure.

I didn’t stop.

I devoured.

Tongue pushing in, curling, thrusting. Fingers joining, two slipping inside her with ease, meeting her inner heat and the velvet tightness that clamped around me instantly. She was dripping. Hot. Soaked. Her juices coated my mouth, my chin, and still I didn’t stop.

Her body bowed like a drawn bow, every muscle tensing.

Then she came.

With a scream that tore from her chest like a war cry—”AAAHHHHNNNNNNN❤️❤️❤️! F-FUCK! FUUUUUCKKKK!!”

Her cunt pulsed around my fingers, flooding them, convulsing with waves of orgasm that rippled through her in frantic shudders. Her whole body spasmed, back off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream before sound returned in breathless gasps.

And I drank her in.

Swallowed her down.

Kissed her thighs as they twitched around my head. Her hands were limp now, fingers still in my hair, but no longer gripping. I looked up.

Her eyes were glassy, wide, lips swollen from our kisses, chest heaving, nipples hard and wet with saliva.

And I wasn’t even close to finished.

I stood, unbuckling my belt, pants dropping, cock springing free, thick and leaking. She saw it. She moaned.

“Fuck me,” Cleopatra hissed, voice ragged and face fully blushing. “Now.”

I climbed over her, lined up with her dripping entrance, and—