She is so willing it makes him quake, so easily giving what it is they both desire in each other’s presence. She doesn’t hinder, only coax - even with his knowing that she had not been faster for the soreness of the night before, he is enticed by this. He regales her with a speech he had received from his own brother on enough occasions that even some of his wording is made from parroting rather than his own thought. He touches her more, goads her heat further, because he will say things he cannot imagine were preferable in her eyes.

He smooths the threat of fiery greed with laborious terms and words -- and far more succulent sensations to distract even more. Even still the Fire of Ra is in her blood and he senses her tension as he speaks of those who would needs come into his bed for the sake of lineage and state - and who would thereby deserve a piece of his heart for their own whole one, if not their bodies alone. It was cruel, he often thought, excepting that he had seen the ruination of kings over such things as a woman’s covetousness and closed womb.

She turns from him and he is almost concerned, but it is sure enough that his words reach her of her own station so high above those who might come after. Her nip at his knee is due and owed - so he gives her that wound with comfort. Her tone she takes warms his heart to her, so fond of her jealousy as he had never thought to think himself. Why would one prefer a jealous First Wife when it often made so much bitterness in the herd? He thinks it is because he feels valued and he keeps it put to his mind that he ought show her the true depth and breadth of his jealousy of her - body, mind, and soul.

“I see your opinion of me, of this, and it chills me to find the heat of your Desert Heart coming even that single mark closer to ice…. My love, my First Wife, my Beautiful One - a name that will be held by no other save you. I fear your own past, your people’s opinion of my kingdom. I see the shadows of things I do not understand in your eyes, but I will try to speak to them in any case.” He lips at the tender skin behind the swell of her barrel, heaving a single hot breath to skitter across her skin.

“You shall be the only one to print your mark into my hide, that day when you bear me my first son, though there may be other who too bear sons to me. No other will have the honor of equal flesh with me, treated as though striking you was to strike me. When I come into your presence in the privacy of our love, only you will ever bid me cleave to your desire as I might bid you cleave to me. Only you may command me in such a way, in any way... only you may say to me ‘as my body wills’, ‘as my heart wills’, or ‘as my whims so demand’ and find me your willing servant.” He paints the picture of her true place, the meaning behind being called First and not just Wife. First because she was the neck to his head, that her delight and desire and pleasure would be his own. She was to be a force to reckon and barter with, for she would have his ear and know how to incline his attention this way or that.

“But perhaps these are matters better spoken of by my brother - for in my heart I ache for no other and would rather quiver beneath your biting teeth than speak more of something that brings a quell to the heat that even now lays your interest bare for me.” He culls his thoughts of anything but the manner in which she entreats him in her claim to his body. "I will trust you, Husband. But please, by Qetesh, let me choose myself again." His smile is almost predatory, so utterly masculine in that knowing way. Her body was prepared for him long ago and he takes advantage of the moment to prove his sincerity - that in this way, she would never find any other in command of his whole essence and being.