Taboka lost himself in the liquid brown pools of his wife’s eyes, inches above his, swiping away her tears.
Their bodies bucked as one beneath the thatch, fiery fingers of African sunset piercing gaps in the mud brick walls, painting her perspiring skin copper.
Tracing lines of light to her breasts, he cupped. Squeezed with each thrust, losing control at her defenceless beauty, pulsing inside her velvet furrow.
Her heart pounded beneath his palms, longing moans carried through the roof to the heavens.
He prayed too.
Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel and take a third child from them.
