Storm over the Caribbean

34. Passion and Wrath

My eyes widened in panic.

"Mr Ambrose! We can't—"

Before I could get another word out, his arms were around me and his lips were on mine. I forgot all about why we couldn't. I forgot how to breathe. I forgot my own name.

No. Not my name.

Because with every caress of his lips, with every breath he took, Mr Rikkard Ambrose reminded me of it. Reminded me that I was Mrs Lillian Ambrose, and that I belonged to him. That I would bear his name forever after.

Reaching up with one hand, he caressed my cheek and gazed straight into my eyes, as if unable to resist. "My little ifrit...!"

I smirked against his lips, one of my hands sliding down to my stomach. "Not so little anymore, I think."

A growl erupted from his throat, and he resumed his efforts to devour me whole with renewed vigour. I didn't exactly put up much of a fight anymore. Pirates? To hell with the pirates! Right now, I was the Queen of Pirates, and the King was about to ravish me! I felt his hands tangle in my wet hair, stroking my skin, stoking the fires inside me.

"P-please..." The word that escaped my mouth was no more than a whimper. "Please...."

Was I asking for more? For him to stop? For both? In the end, it didn't really matter. My hormone-ridden body seemed to have a mind of its own, doing anything and everything to get closer to him. If only my bloody, ballooning belly weren't in the way! If only...

"Allow me," the rumbling voice of Mr Ambrose cut off my mental rambling.

In a blink, his arms were around me. Hard, muscled arms that were holding me so close not even a breath of air would fit between the two of us.

Apparently, my dear husband had learned from our castaway encounters. Somehow, in spite of my bulging belly, he had managed to wrap me in an iron embrace, trapped against the cabin walls, in a prison I never wanted to escape from. My breathing sped as I felt wet skin press against skin, and his icy heart pounding in sync with mine.

"Mrs Ambrose?" The rumbling of his voice set my whole body atremble. "You are being tardy."

Huh? What?

My muddled brain was desperately trying to decipher his words. But I couldn't really bring myself to pay enough attention. The feeling of his fiery lips on mine and his icy eyes staring straight into my soul were all I could think about.

"T-tardy?" I managed to squeeze out.

"Oh yes." His eyes flashed like twin stars in the arctic night sky. "You're supposed to be changing, aren't you?"

And, in a blink, he tore the towel off me.

"Now," he murmured, "that's much better."

Then he was on me. His lips were devouring mine, his hands were worshipping every inch of my body. And when I say worshipping, I mean worshipping. His hands were so incredibly tender, caressing my skin as if it were silk, as if my abdomen were made of priceless porcelain and filled with the most precious treasure in the world. And yet, somehow, his gentle touch was more enthralling than my wildest fantasies of pleasure. I felt my legs go limp as I slowly sank into his embrace. Blood pounded in my ears. Slowly but surely it drowned out everything. The murmur of the sea. The mewing of the gulls. And, most importantly, the protests of my own voice of reason.

Dang it! We aren't alone on this ship! We shouldn't be doing this! We shouldn't...shouldn't...

His tongue delved into my mouth, driving a spear of desire straight through me. Tingles spread all across my body, setting my skin aflame and my heart on fire.