I love historical fiction and erotica. Why not blend them? The Bible has some of the filthiest stories in all of ancient literature. Why not expand on some of these delicious stories? This story is mostly true to the Bible account and ancient Hebrew writings. Please let me know what you think. Should I write more from other biblical stories?
David’s Delicious Sin and Sorrow
King David was a mighty king over the land of Israel, home to God’s chosen people. He was known as the warrior king. David came to the throne not by birth but through personal merit. Even as a young boy, he had defended his father’s sheep from a lion and then a bear. David killed both animals with the rudimentary weapons of a shepherd boy. Later, as king, David had great success in war, keeping his subjects safe. He also proved to be brilliant at war strategy. But David had made many enemies. Because of this, the land of Israel remained at war for many years. Even though David had personally killed thousands of his enemies, he began to grow bored with fighting alongside his army. When the armies met on the battlefield, the enemy would often turn and run, scattering and hiding. They would regroup later, marauding and harassing Israel. So David sent his army out without him, trusting his elite captains to defend the kingdom and enforce order.
This allowed him to stay home and tend to domestic affairs. He had seven wives at this time, plus lesser wives known as concubines. He did not even know how many concubines he had. It sounded extravagant, even to David, but it was common for men of his status. Which one would he sleep with tonight? He did not know. He thought through the benefits of each.
Michal, his first wife and the daughter of the previous king Saul, was petite with straight black hair. She was beautiful, but she had mocked David publicly for his exuberance when he recovered the Ark of the Covenant. Her public humiliation of him had been a sore spot between them ever since. Abigail was devastatingly beautiful, smart, and enjoyed lovemaking. The problem was that she turned sex into something almost clinical, staring into David’s face the whole time. Then, just when he was getting close, she would choose that moment to try to influence him on some policy that was up for debate, spoiling the mood and making him wonder at her motives for being close to him in the first place. Haggith was stunning and always made his pulse race when he saw her, but once they got into bed she would talk nonstop, usually complaining about the other wives and how they treated her. Eglah was a beautiful woman from the people of the lowlands. He had not been with her in a while. Maybe he would take her tonight. The problem was that she loved practicing strange rituals from her homeland—dancing around with bells and beads, binding his hands with silk. It was never spontaneous, and it made so much noise that the whole house knew what they were doing and laughed behind their hands.
When he thought about it, none of his wives yearned for him or pursued him. They took him for granted, as if he would always be there for them. They bickered constantly among themselves, worrying that their son would not be favored as much as another’s, or arguing over petty matters. He would see them at dinner and decide which one would share his bed that night.
Dinner was a formal affair, which David disliked. He had complained to the chef, yearning for a more casual atmosphere with banter and humor. But the chef worried that it would reflect poorly on him if the king did not fare sumptuously every day. Looking around the table, only about half his wives and concubines had appeared. The others were great with child, on their monthly courses, or nursing a young child and did not feel like being around a man. The ones who were present had not interacted with David in any meaningful way during the entire meal. They seemed disinterested. No one clamored to sit near him. This made it awkward for him even to ask if one of his harem would like to come up to his room.
David left the table alone, heading upstairs and feeling lonely. He had to climb five flights of stairs to reach his bedchamber in the palace. He was a very strong man, so the climb was nothing to him. Yet with every step he took away from the main floor, the separation and loneliness grew heavier. A single servant accompanied him— Benaiah, a faithful servant and bodyguard, one of the Thirty who had been with him in the days of Saul. Benaiah was like a shadow: quiet and unobtrusive. What David needed tonight was connection.
In his room, David removed his tunic. Even in just his loincloth, the chamber felt airless and stuffy, so he asked Benaiah to open the window shutters. He decided to go out onto the rooftop terrace and play his harp for a while before retiring.
A light breeze and the scent of jasmine swept away some of his melancholy. He took a seat near the edge of the roof where he could look out over the city and see his subjects. He took up his harp, but the only notes he could muster were soulful, introspective chords that resonated with how he felt. As he played, he watched his subjects meandering along the well-maintained streets below. No one was in a hurry; everyone seemed happy. It made David glad to see that his people were secure and contented. But then he noticed that the people on the streets were mostly in pairs, walking arm in arm. A few of the women had one or two children in tow. The sight made him happy, yet at the same time it amplified his own loneliness. Why should he, the king, be lonely? He had the largest harem of any man in all of Israel. Earlier he had felt frisky enough that he thought he might take two or three of his women tonight. But there seemed to be little interest among them, so he found himself alone. Now he only wished for the company of a single woman with whom he could share the beauty of the evening.
The summer days in the land of Israel could be hot and dry, but the evenings were cool, providing much-needed relief. For this reason, many houses were built of adobe brick with flat rooftop terraces. David’s palace, being larger and taller than most of the surrounding buildings, allowed him to look down and have a clear view of his neighbors’ terraces. It was late enough in the evening that other neighbors were coming out onto their roofs to enjoy the cool air, making David feel less alone.
A woman from the house across the way came out to her terrace. She strolled around languidly, seeming to be alone. She eyed David and strolled to the parapet at the edge of her roof nearest to him. He set his harp down, rose, and leaned on his own parapet, waiting to see what she would do. They gazed at each other for a while until she waved, blew him a kiss, and strode to the middle of the roof. She stood beside a mikveh— a terra-cotta basin used for ritual baths. She crushed rose petals in her palm and sprinkled them into the heated water. In his mind, David could smell the fragrant flowers. Turning to face away from David, she looked over her shoulder to see if he was still watching. She smiled at him, then let her robe drop to the floor. Other people on their rooftops would not be able to see her body below her head, since they were on the same level. Only the palace, the tallest structure in the area, had this vantage point looking down on her terrace.
Stepping slowly and carefully into the mikveh, she turned around again, facing David. Gracefully, she eased herself down until she submerged into the warm, fragrant water. He marveled at her beauty: full round hips, a dark patch of hair at the apex of long slender legs that blended into an impossibly small waist, flaring out again to medium, firm, ripe breasts topped with small pink areolas. He wished he could be closer to observe and appreciate her beauty. She settled deeper into the water, submerging as far as she could, her nipples right at water level. She must be fulfilling her monthly cleansing, he thought, because she was submerging herself fully, whereas most women simply poured water over themselves for routine bathing. “Who is this woman?” David asked Benaiah, who stood quietly behind him.
“I believe her name is Bathsheba, your highness—wife of Uriah.”
“Ahh, I know the man. He is one of my elite fighters, a Hittite in my service.”
“Yes, sire, the very one.”
Bathsheba enjoyed performing for the man in the palace. It was only harmless teasing, right? She felt a pang of guilt, since she was a married woman. Her husband, Uriah, was a warrior in the King’s army. She had not seen him in many moons.
David watched her bathe with fascination. Her movements were languid and graceful. She looked up at him from time to time, smiling. She enjoyed having him watch her. Finally, when the water began to cool, she stood, took a fine linen cloth, and dried her skin, facing David the entire time and clearly displaying her body for him. He was mesmerized and could not tear his eyes away. She then applied olive oil scented with myrrh to her skin, rubbing it in with her palms. David wished he could be the one rubbing the oil into her skin.
When her ritual cleansing was complete, she wrapped herself in a fresh tunic and reclined on the terrace where David could easily watch her. Reclining there in the cool of the evening, she nearly fell asleep. Bright stars had come out overhead, twinkling and dancing on the stage of a dark velvet sky, long before the days of artificial lights which dimmed the stars. The milky way spread out like a great table cloth before them.
In spite of her guilt, betraying her husband, she thrilled at providing entertainment for the man in the king’s palace. She knew that her husband, Uriah, always enjoyed watching her, but he was off to war. Likely he would not survive this campaign. Uriah was a brave, dedicated fighter, and men like that did not usually come home alive. She had already reconciled herself to the fact that she and Uriah would not be together much longer. Every day she waited for the soldier who would inevitably darken her doorway with the news that her husband had fallen in battle. Could that day be today? A chill ran down her spine.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a man calling her name. “Bathsheba. Come. The king requires your presence at the palace.”
“Me?” she said, astonished. “He wants me?” Had that been King David watching her from the palace terrace? She had no idea. Now she was terrified. She dared not refuse the summons of the king. What could he want from her? In her heart she knew the truth, but she dared not admit it. The king had a whole harem of beautiful women, she reasoned, all focused on meeting his every need. She rose to follow the servant, not daring to defy the mighty king or risk offending him.
Bathsheba had never been inside the palace before. She had not imagined the beauty she now saw. It was an imposing structure, its walls six feet thick. The ceilings were three times as high as the one in her house. Instead of a dirt floor there was polished marble overlaid with beautiful mosaics depicting scenes from David’s life. The walls were hung with rich tapestries. One showed a young David facing the giant Goliath with a shepherd’s sling. Massive wood beams carved from the cedars of Lebanon filled the air with aromatic strength that blended with expensive incense. Bright swords with carved ivory handles decorated the walls. Soldiers in brightly polished armor stood at attention, guarding the palace from intruders. She felt so small in such a place of power. They climbed a winding staircase. At the top was a large room where servants bustled about and a group of beautiful women sat cross-legged on the floor, laughing and gossiping. They fell silent when they saw her being led by David’s favorite servant, Benaiah. Several women covered their mouths; astonishment was plain on their faces. Others whispered excitedly among themselves.
More stairs, up and up they went. She had never been in a building so tall before. Where was he taking her, and to what purpose? But inwardly she knew, though she dared not admit it even to herself.
Finally they stood before a massive oak door. “Wait here, milady,” Benaiah said. She nodded her assent, not daring to speak. Benaiah lifted a massive steel knocker and rapped the backplate with a specific pattern so that David would know it was he and not a stranger or enemy. “Come in, my faithful servant,” a muffled voice said from the other side. The huge door swung silently on its hinges. Benaiah stepped inside, stood at attention, and announced, “The lady Bathsheba, here at your command, your majesty!”
“Send her in,” a kind voice said from inside the room. Benaiah held the door and beckoned her to enter what must be King David’s bedchamber. But she was frozen in terror, her feet fastened to the floor. Benaiah nodded patiently for her to proceed. Trembling, she moved as if in a dream.
Inside, the first thing she saw was the harp. This must be the fabled harp that had calmed the evil spirit within King Saul many years ago— the one that had accompanied David on the hills when he tended his father’s sheep as a boy. The room was simple; the only thing truly outstanding was its scale. It was furnished with modest items brought from his humble home in Bethlehem.
Then she saw him: reclining on a couch near an open window in a simple robe, a warm smile on his face. Immediately she fell with her face to the floor, bowing to her king.
“Rise, daughter. Come sit with me here and comfort me,” David said kindly. She was even more beautiful than she had seemed from across the way. Her fair skin was smooth and unblemished. It still shone from the oil she had applied after her bath. He was sure he could smell the faint scent of rose petals upon her long flowing hair. Bathsheba sat up, looking into his face, but could not rise from the floor. She was sure he could hear her heart hammering in her chest. Her gown had parted a few inches, and David could see the soft curve of her breast.
Seeing her cowering, David rose, retrieved his harp, and returned to his couch. He began to strum familiar chords. Instead of the melancholy that had come forth on the terrace, light, joyful sounds now floated upon the air. The music that had once calmed King Saul began to calm Bathsheba.
Recognizing the tune, she rose from the floor, came and sat beside David, and began to sing the words her mother had taught her as a young girl. Her voice was melodious and sweet, blending perfectly with David’s harp. She looked into his eyes— fear now gone— as she sang the words of young love to David, as if the song had been written just for them. When the song ended, they continued to look deep into each other’s eyes.
David took her hand in his. Strangely, she was unafraid. She felt warm and safe with him. She also felt a heat in her core. He felt it too— a mutual attraction he had not known in a long time. They sat connected by touch through their hands, but more than that they felt connected at the heart, and David was sure that if he checked, her heartbeat would be in sync with his own. Even though no words were exchanged at first, entire conversations passed between them.
The comfortable silence stretched between them, rich and heavy like honey poured slowly. David’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of Bathsheba’s hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath her skin and the faint pulse that quickened beneath his touch. Her breath came shallow now, lips parted just enough that he could see the soft pink inside.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist where the skin was thinnest, tasting the faint salt of her and the lingering myrrh. She shivered; a small sound escaped her— a sigh that was half wonder, half surrender.
“Look at me,” he murmured against her skin.
She did. Her eyes, dark as the night beyond the window, held his without flinching now. The fear that had chained her to the floor was gone, replaced by something warmer and hungrier. She leaned closer, her free hand rising tentatively to rest against his chest, fingers splaying over the linen of his robe, feeling the steady thunder of his heart. David set the harp aside with care. She lifted her eyes to his— dark, luminous in the lamplight— and for the first time since entering his bedchamber she spoke without trembling.
“My lord… I came because you summoned me. But I stay because my heart answers yours.”
He drew her closer, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She did not. Instead she leaned into him, her breath catching as his free hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the soft fullness of her lower lip. He bent to kiss her. Their mouths met gently at first— a tentative brush tasting the sweetness of the shared song still lingering there. She answered him with a soft press of her own lips, hesitant at first, then bolder, opening to him like a flower to the first rain. Then deeper, hungrier. His tongue traced the seam of her lips until she parted for him; a soft sigh escaped as their tongues touched, explored, danced in slow, languid strokes. He drew her up onto the wide couch beside him, guiding her until she straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the woolen cushions on either side of his hips. The robe she wore— simple linen still carrying the warmth of her bath— parted where it wrapped across her breasts.
David slid his hands beneath the fabric, palms gliding up the smooth planes of her back, feeling the subtle ridges of her spine and the flare of her hips. She arched into his touch, a quiet moan vibrating against his mouth.
“You are more beautiful than the moon over Jerusalem,” he whispered, lips trailing along her jaw and down the column of her throat. “I watched you from afar and thought my heart would break from wanting.”
David’s fingers smoothed her hair, loosening the tie that held it back. Dark strands fell forward, brushing her collarbone as she tilted her head, offering more of her neck to his kisses. “And I… I felt your gaze like sunlight on my skin,” she breathed. “It made me bold. I wanted you to see me.” He groaned softly at her words, the confession igniting something deep and primal in him. This woman wanted him.
His hands moved higher, cupping the weight of her breasts through the thin linen, thumbs circling the hardening peaks until she gasped and rocked against him. The friction sent heat spiraling through them both. With gentle urgency he tugged the tie at her waist; the robe fell open like wings, pooling around her hips. She was bare beneath it, skin glowing golden in the lamplight, nipples tight and flushed. David bent his head, taking one into his mouth— slow, reverent— tongue swirling, sucking softly while his hand kneaded the other. Bathsheba cried out, a sharp, sweet sound, her hips grinding down instinctively against the hard length straining beneath his robe.
He lifted her then, strong arms banding around her waist, and laid her back among the cushions. The robe slipped completely away, leaving her naked before him. He paused, drinking in the sight— full hips, the dark triangle between her thighs divided by the cleft of her swollen sex moist with the dew of her arousal, the dimple of her navel forming a perfect pool in her belly, the gentle curve rising like foothills to soft breasts undulating with each ragged breath.
“You undo me,” he said hoarsely, shedding his own robe in one motion. His body was that of a warrior’s— scarred, muscled, powerful— yet he moved over her with care, bracing himself on his forearms so as not to crush her. Skin met skin, hot and electric. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, heels digging into the small of his back. Their mouths fused again, deeper now, tongues stroking in slow imitation of what was to come. David’s hand slid down her body, tracing the dip of her navel and the soft mound below until his fingers parted her slick folds. She was wet, ready, swollen with need. He circled the sensitive pearl at the apex with his thumb, slow and deliberate, while two fingers eased inside her, curling gently.
They explored each other’s bodies, intent on each new treasure. It began slow and unhurried, gradually gaining urgency; kisses paved the way for what lay ahead. Bathsheba arched, nails scoring lightly down his shoulders. “Please,” she whispered, voice trembling. “David… I need you inside me.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of him nudging against her heat. He held her gaze as he pushed forward— slowly, inch by inch— watching every flicker of pleasure and slight stretch of surprise cross her face. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt, they both stilled, breathing hard, savoring the exquisite fullness and the perfect lock of their bodies. They both felt that they belonged together, that this inevitability had been written in the stars from the week of creation.
Then he began to move— long, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. She met him, hips rising, ankles locked behind him, urging him deeper. The rhythm built, tender at first, then fiercer— skin slapping softly, breath mingling in gasps and moans. His mouth found her breast again, sucking in time with each thrust, while his hand slipped between them to stroke her swollen bud.
The tension coiled tighter and tighter. Bathsheba’s cries grew sharper, more desperate. “David—oh—I’m—”
“Come for me, beloved,” he rasped against her ear. “Let me feel you.”
She shattered with a keening cry, inner walls pulsing around him in rhythmic waves, pulling him under with her. David followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside her with a low, guttural groan, hips jerking in helpless pulses as pleasure ripped through him. Her womb milked him, drawing forth his final drop.
They clung together afterward, sweat-slick and trembling, hearts hammering in unison. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her closed eyelids, the corner of her mouth. She stroked his back in lazy circles, fingers tracing old scars as though memorizing them. In the quiet that followed, with the night breeze stirring the curtains and the city sleeping below, David held her close— two souls who had found, for this stolen hour, something rarer than crowns or conquests: true connection.
Time passed. When his wives and concubines saw Bathsheba going up to David’s bedchamber, they became jealous. Now every evening the women jockeyed to be with him. But he longed only to be with Bathsheba. He would often go out onto his terrace, looking for her on hers, but he never found her there. Some days he almost sent Benaiah to fetch her again, but it never felt right.
David was unaware that Bathsheba was consumed with guilt over her unfaithfulness to Uriah. Adultery was punishable by death by stoning. She had also not been feeling well.
One day a messenger arrived at the palace with a sealed message for David. Opening it, he learned that the note was from Bathsheba, informing him that she was with child. In his heart he had already known. Though there had been some whispering in the palace, now he feared the affair could no longer be kept secret.
David had a plan. Quickly he sent a courier to the battlefield to summon Uriah home on official business. He reasoned that if Uriah were home for a couple of days he would lie with Bathsheba and the child would be assumed to be his.
Everything went according to plan until David found Uriah sleeping on the ground outside the city gates. When asked why he was not at home comforting his wife, Uriah replied, “All the men under my command are encamped in open fields. Shall I go into my house and lie with my wife? God forbid!”
David stared at Uriah in the flickering torchlight outside the city gates, the man’s simple mat and soldier’s cloak a deliberate rebuke to every comfort the king had offered. The Hittite’s refusal— his stubborn loyalty to his comrades still sweating in the open fields— had shattered the fragile lie David had woven. No night of passion between husband and wife would cloak the child growing in Bathsheba’s womb; the truth would soon swell beneath her robes for all Jerusalem to see.
A cold sweat broke across David’s brow as guilt clawed at his chest, the same hands that had once cradled Bathsheba’s trembling body now trembling with the weight of what must come next. He had sinned against heaven and against this faithful servant; yet the throne, the woman, the unborn heir— all demanded silence. With a heart heavier than the armor Uriah refused to remove, David turned away, the decision crystallizing like iron in a forge: Uriah must die on the battlefield, cut down where no one would question a warrior’s death. Only then could the king claim what he had stolen and bury his shame beneath the glory of victory.
He called Joab, the commander of his army. “Send Uriah into the heat of the battle. When he is at the front lines, withdraw the support troops from around him so that he will be cut off.”
Joab carried out the order, and, as expected, Uriah was overrun by the enemy and mortally wounded. That night Joab himself bore the news of Uriah’s death to Bathsheba. Even though she had expected the day would come, she was still devastated. Her guilt over her adultery made her sorrow heavier to bear.
When Joab bore the news to David, the king was pleased that his plan had worked. This cleared the way for him to take Bathsheba as his wife and claim the child. Yet even though circumstances were coming together to his advantage, he was not pleased. In fact a great heaviness settled upon him. But after the time of mourning was past, he sent for Bathsheba and she became his wife.
Nathan, a prophet of God, was no stranger to the king's court. Many people came to the king to air grievances. Nathan had one he wished King David to hear. He spoke of a poor man who owned only one young ewe lamb. The man had become so attached to the lamb that it was like a pet, following him everywhere, and he loved it tenderly. Meanwhile. a wealthy neighbor had many sheep. When a visitor stopped by, the rich man took the poor man’s only lamb, killed it, and fed it to his guest. David was outraged. Standing to his feet, he declared, “The rich man who did this awful thing shall surely die. Not only that, but he must pay the poor man four times the value of the lamb.” Then Nathan stood, pointed at David, and declared, “You are that man!” David fell back into his seat, stunned. His dirty secret was known.
David fell into a deep depression. He had committed adultery and covered it up with murder. There was no way to undo what he had done. And he had pronounced his own sentence. He owned his guilt and was willing to take his punishment like a man. Some of his most moving Psalms were written as a result of his sorrow, guilt and despair.
God was satisfied with David’s response and offered mercy as far as suspending the death sentence. The fourfold repayment was still required. The first payment came in the form of the death of Bathsheba’s firstborn child.
Bathsheba was inconsolable. When the child had first been conceived she had been distressed because of the circumstances. Then she had come to accept the pregnancy. When she lost Uriah, the unborn child became her comfort and consolation. When he was born he was perfect. But after a week he was struck with a fever and died. She had been through so much; this was too much to bear.
David was attentive during this time but gave her space to grieve. Child mortality rates were high in that period of history, yet the loss was still devastating. A full cycle of the moon had passed since the child’s death. The new crescent now hung low over Jerusalem, and David thought it time to begin drawing Bathsheba back to him.
He invited Bathsheba up to the terrace in the evening after dinner. Sitting together on the roof, they looked down at her old home and saw the mikveh in which she had bathed while David watched. It felt good to laugh together, remembering happier, more innocent days. David brought out his harp and began to play for her. At first he played songs that resonated with their shared sadness, then added lighter, more joyful music. She sang the words to some of the songs in her beautiful melodic voice. During others she folded herself against his chest, letting the music carry her away and crystallize her feelings and memories.
Then they sat in silence, her head against David’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. She was thankful that at least she had him. They sat in silence a long moment longer, hands entwined, the harp resting forgotten beside them. The cool night air drifted across the terrace, carrying the faint scent of myrrh from Bathsheba’s skin and the distant murmur of the city below.
David’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of her hand, feeling the quick flutter of her pulse match his own.
“Bathsheba,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with longing, “I have known many women, yet none have stirred my soul as you do tonight.”
David’s hands moved with reverence. He slid the linen of her tunic from one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve where her neck met collarbone. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, tasting salt and myrrh and the faint scent of rose in her hair. She shivered, fingers threading into his hair, holding him close. “You are beautiful beyond words,” he murmured against her skin. “Like the dawn breaking over the hills.”
Bathsheba’s hands grew bolder. She tugged at the tie of his simple robe until it fell open, revealing the hard planes of his chest— terrible scars from battles long past, yet warm and alive beneath her palms. She traced the ridges of old wounds with gentle fingertips, then lower, over the taut muscles of his abdomen, feeling them tighten under her touch. A low groan rumbled in his throat. He lifted her then, effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, and carried her to a thick woolen throw he had laid out nearby in case the evening brought a chill. He laid her down amid the pillows, following her body with his own, careful not to crush her.
Their mouths fused again, fiercer now, breaths mingling in sharp gasps. His hand slid down her side, bunching the fabric of her tunic until he could push it higher, baring the soft swell of her hips and the dip of her waist. She arched into his touch as his fingers skimmed the underside of her breast, thumb circling a tight peak until it hardened beneath the thin cloth.
When he drew her tunic over her head and cast it aside, she lay bare before him— skin glowing in the moonlight, breasts rising and falling with each quick breath, nipples flushed and eager. David paused, drinking in the sight, his gaze reverent. “Perfect,” he breathed.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, sensitive to her loss and emotional burden.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I need you, my love and my king, to help me bear this weight. I must not withdraw into myself.”
He grazed her lips once more in a tender kiss. “You are a strong, brave woman.” He kissed her throat, her earlobe, and that special place on her collarbone that drove her crazy.
Continuing downward, he worked his way to the swell of her magnificent breasts. He bent and took one rosy tip into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly, then sucking with gentle insistence. Bathsheba cried out softly, back bowing off the thick wool, fingers clutching his shoulders. He lavished the same attention on the other breast while his hand slid between her thighs to find her already slick and swollen with want.
She parted her legs for him instinctively, a quiet moan escaping as his fingers parted her folds, stroking the sensitive pearl at her center with feather-light circles. “David…” His name on her lips was half plea, half prayer. He kissed his way down her belly, tasting the faint salt of her skin, until his mouth replaced his fingers. His tongue delved into her warmth, lapping slowly, savoring every tremor, every gasp. She threaded her fingers through his hair, hips lifting to meet the rhythm of his mouth, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until she shattered with a broken cry, thighs trembling around his head.
He rose over her then, shedding the last of his robe, his arousal heavy and thick against her thigh. Their eyes locked— hers wide with wonder and lingering aftershocks, his dark with need and tenderness. “Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he said, voice strained with restraint.
“I do not wish it,” she whispered, reaching for him. Her hand wrapped around his length, stroking slowly, remembering again the velvety heat of him and the way he pulsed in her grip. He groaned, forehead dropping to hers. Then he guided himself to her entrance, pressing in inch by slow inch, stretching her, filling her. They both stilled at the exquisite joining, breathing hard. She was tight, hot, perfect around him.
He began to move— long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her, building the fire again. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him deeper. Their rhythm quickened, bodies slick with sweat, the slap of skin on skin mingling with soft moans and whispered endearments. David’s hand slipped between them, thumb circling her pearl in time with his thrusts. She clenched around him, nails scoring his back, crying out as pleasure crashed over her once more. The sight and feel of her release— her inner walls fluttering, milking him— pushed him over the edge. With a guttural groan he buried himself deep, spilling inside her in hot pulses, hips jerking with the force of it.
They clung together afterward, breaths ragged, hearts hammering in unison. David rolled to his side, drawing her against his chest, arms wrapping protectively around her. He pressed kisses to her temple, her hair, murmuring words of awe and gratitude into her skin. Bathsheba nestled closer, one hand resting over his heart, feeling its steady thunder slow to match her own.
For that night, at least, the loneliness that had haunted them vanished. In each other’s arms she found solace from loss, and he, the mighty king, found something rarer than conquest: a moment of true, tender union.
Prologue: David and Bathsheba’s coming together healed wounds in their souls. And it did something else: it planted the seed of a young boy who would grow to be David’s successor, King Solomon. He would be known as the wisest man who ever lived. As king, he would draw heavily on the advice that she gave him during his time as King.
Though God would refer to David as “a man after mine own heart”, the story does not end with ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ You see, David still had three payments that were due to the house of Uriah. These came from trouble within his own family. Rape/Incest, another son trying and nearly succeeding in wresting the kingdom from David, and patricide.