Free Naughty Bits 2 by Megan Hart, Saskia Walker, Charlotte Featherstone, Portia Da Costa, Cathryn Fox, Lilli Feisty, Elliot Mabeuse, Jenesi Ash Page A

twice the height of a man, and through the widened doorway she could see a portion of the large image of Astarte, the foreign goddess, standing behind a deep blue veil of the sheerest fabric and illuminated by the orange-yellow glow of oil lamps.
    â€œOn behalf of the priests and the clergy of the great goddess Hathor,” Kheneb said, beginning his formal introduction and prepared speech. But Illana’s eyes were on Tia, watching her intently, and she gently silenced him, holding up her hand. Kheneb followed her gaze and they both watched Tia, who was walking toward the image of the goddess as if drawn to it, her eyes wide, her hands unmoving at her sides.
    The goddess was half again as large as a person, and commanded the space within the sanctuary. Her bodice was open, and her perfectly spherical breasts bulged forth, obviously gorged with milk. She held her hands at shoulder level, and in each was the figure of a writhing snake.
    But it was her face that drew Tia. The nose of the goddess was long and Semitic and she had the same tightly waved hair as her priestess, but her eyes were soft and knowing, and much more human than the eyes of the gods and goddesses that Tia knew, the neter of Egypt. She stood on an altar of plain mud brick and looked down benevolently at Tia. The goddess’s lipswere full and sensual, but with a smile upon them; a smile both simple and subtle, a smile of indulgence or perhaps forgiveness, and yet one promising pleasure, too—the expression of a woman who knew the ways of the world and the human heart. It was a very human smile—surprisingly human to Tia, whose own native gods never smiled—and it immediately made her feel akin to this foreign goddess, as if they shared some secret between them.
    Tia stared into that face, the face of a goddess, and yet a woman not unlike herself. The idea that a god or goddess could smile captivated her, and she searched the image’s face for an explanation. Astarte had perhaps known pain and loss and love, too, like Isis, but obviously she was no stranger to joy, to the happiness and completeness of spirit associated with Hathor. Most of all, she saw on Astarte’s face a look of reassurance. The goddess had triumphed over all and held out to Tia the promise that she might triumph, as well. It was an intoxicating look, and Tia was intensely curious and deeply moved.
    â€œShe looks so familiar,” she said aloud.
    â€œTia, you forget yourself…” Kheneb said. He started forward, embarrassed, but Illana laid her hand on his arm and held him back. She raised her finger to her lips for silence, never taking her eyes from Tia.
    â€œThere is incense at your feet,” Illana said softly, and Tia looked down at the faience jar standing at the foot of the idol, containing a mixture of resin, cedarwood and rose petals.
    Without a thought she bent and took a pinch of incense in her fingers. She did not know the proper prayers, but something went up from her heart, and she knew that her offering would be accepted. She dropped the mixture onto the brass dish of glowing coals that sat at Astarte’s feet, but nothing happened.
    Kheneb cleared his throat nervously. Tia didn’t know the prayers, was ignorant of the rituals and hadn’t even purifiedherself; it was almost blasphemous for her to make an offering like this, even one of incense. And now what had happened? Perhaps the coals had gone out, or Tia had missed them altogether. In any case, this wasn’t a good sign. The goddess had rejected her offering, and rightly so, Kheneb thought.
    With a loud rush of sound the incense suddenly ignited, and a sharp tongue of orange-and-blue fire chased the shadows from the room. In the sudden brilliance, the smile on the goddess’s face could be seen to broaden into a look of fond acceptance as the light of the flame flickered on her face.
    Kheneb had never himself seen such a clear and unmistakable portent, and his