Roman role play

Come morning light, they call me Cleopatra, coiled against Antony like a drunk does a willing thigh. She donned the Egyptian crown and little else. Guards knock off. She shakes off mortal decorum with each layer dropped, bead by beaded string, until her skin gleams, scented with oil that shouts 'come and conquer.' She fucking sits on that dais, legs spread wide, chalice held like it owes her money. Antony stalks over, peels her right out of what's left of those silks, then drops to his knees. All tongue, zero mercy, spitting curses between strokes because he craves her taste and is damned if he'll wait. Cleopatra arches, hips fighting, voice loose, royal damn never mind, until the stones of Rome quake and the throne creaks at every quake.