Page 51 of A Siren for the Duke

“And I dislike the title of priest immensely,” he teased.

“What about…” she wracked her brain, trying to think of the proper moniker. “Oh! You called me Calypso. I know she is important to sailors. Perhaps you are simply my captain.”

Lionel buried his face in the corner of her neck and shoulder.

“Your captain,” he repeated. “I quite like that.”

“Then will my captain indulge me once again?” she asked, swirling her hips underneath him. With each brush of movement, she could feel his length stiffen even more between their bodies. He groaned, and she grinned, pleased she could also make him feel this way.

“Gladly. Anything for my goddess.”

He wedged her legs apart a little wider—not much coaxing had to be done there. Jemima felt an ache, an absence of sorts, and she was ready to take him.

“You must tell me if I am hurting you at all,” he warned, his length resting against her thigh.

“Yes, Captain,” she said with a pleasing smile. With a smile, he reached down and lined himself up with her entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, he entered her. She gasped at first, unused to taking him, but he was gentle and went slowly.

“Ohh, God... Jemima,” he murmured as he moved in and out of her slowly, his breath fanning her shoulder. She was caged beneath his sculpted body, helpless but enjoying every moment. There was no place she’d rather be. His hands found hers, and they laced their fingers together as they made love. She kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, anything she could reach when she was not gasping in pleasure.

When he tilted his hips to quicken the pace, all sustained breath left her body, replaced only by quick little pants and gasps that matched his rhythm. Even pressed together, she could feel her breasts bounce with the movement. For extra purchase, she wrapped her legs around the lower half of his body. He groaned aloud at that as it brought him even closer to her.

“Lionel,” she breathed, her eyes snapping open as that molten heat in her tummy threatened to bubble over once more.

“My sweet, sweet Jemima,” he moaned.

She could not stand it any longer. That heat burst and flowed over, filling her body with a pleasant warmth and making her limbs feel like jellyfish. His own rhythm hastened, and in a matter of moments, he spilled evidence of his own pleasure inside her.

There was nothing but deep, synchronized breaths between them. He was still inside her, and she hated that he would have to withdraw, as she’d feel empty again. That had not been a simple lovemaking session. It had been a union of two long-lost souls finding each other again and savoring each other with what little time they had.

After a few moments, he withdrew himself from her and rolled over onto his back next to her. Neither of them spoke for a while. The crashing of the waves on the beach in the distance and the gentle rustle of the palm fronds in the wind was enough.

“I missed you,” Jemima finally said, turning to look at him.

Lionel grinned lazily at her and pulled her body close to his. Despite the heat and the light sheen of sweat that covered their bodies, there was nowhere else she’d rather be at that moment.

“And I missed you,” he said. “I thought about you all the time.”

“But we’re here now,” she said, kissing his shoulder.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Lionel murmured. Jemima could see that his eyes were slowly opening and closing as if fighting off sleep. Truth be told, she was feeling rather sleepy, too. She had not known such activities took so much energy.

“We at least have tonight. Stay with me. Sleep,” she urged.

“Anything for my goddess,” he said and pulled her even closer to him.

And she knew in her heart of hearts that this time, he meant it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lionel awoke to the gentle caress of the morning sun peeking through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden glow upon the room. As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, he found himself captivated by the sight before him. Jemima lay beside him, her form delicately framed by the ethereal light. She was an exquisite vision, an embodiment of beauty and grace. A cascade of chestnut curls spilled across the pillow, framing her face like a halo. Lionel's eyes traced the curve of her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Her lips, slightly parted, whispered of dreams and secrets. He longed to taste them once more, to savor the sweetness that lingered there. His gaze traveled down the length of her slender neck, the gentle slope of her collarbone, and the swell of her bosom. The thin sheet covering her form only hinted at the treasures hidden beneath. Lionel's heart quickened at the memory of their passion from the night before. Their bodies had become one, igniting a flame that had long burned low.

He reached out a hand, hesitant yet longing, and brushed his fingertips across her bare shoulder. The touch sent shivers racing through his veins, a reminder of the fierce connection they shared. How could something so right feel so bittersweet?

As Lionel's eyes roamed further, he beheld the curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her hips. Jemima's beauty was not of the ordinary kind; it was a radiance that went beyond the mere physical. It emanated from within, illuminating her spirit and captivating Lionel's very soul. He marveled at how her body, in its vulnerability, seemed to speak of a profound intimacy that transcended the physical realm.

Yet, as Lionel traced the outline of her form with his gaze, a pang of apprehension tugged at his heart. Their love had been a clandestine affair, hidden away from the prying eyes of society. It was a stolen paradise, a refuge from the constraints of their worlds. He knew that his duty called him back to England, to a life devoid of the passion and warmth he had found in Jemima's arms. His fingers trembled as he brushed a lock of hair away from Jemima's forehead, his touch tender and reverent. How could he bear the thought of leaving her, possibly forever? Lionel's heart ached at the mere notion of a world without her, a world without their stolen moments of bliss.

Even if they were not together, he knew she would at least be happier here in the Caribbean with her aunt. England had been cruel to her. She did not deserve it.