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“Who am I not to oblige a lady asking so politely,” he grinned, kissing her again, watching her spread her legs and sit on top of him.

He had to be careful. He wanted to ravage her, to slam into her as deeply and as hard as he could, but he couldn’t do that. She was still a novice.

“Do it slowly,” he urged softly. “Feel me inside of you, siren.”

She lowered herself onto him languidly, tenderly, while kissing him, and her wet heat obliterated everything inside his mind. She moved as if she had known what to do all along, pressing against his manhood, taking all of him into herself. Although he had been satiated the previous night, he felt that same surge of desire for her as if he had been waiting for months.

She welcomed him into her heat. He closed his eyes, losing control. In fact, he didn’t want to refrain from anything with her. His control snapped. He was powerless, and for the first time ever, he was fine with it. His orgasm was swift, furious, all-consuming.

He bucked against her, wanting to fill her with his seed, to make her completely his. Panting, she slumped onto his side, and he pulled her into an embrace, kissing her forehead. A newtenderness had blossomed inside of him, sensations he had been keeping at bay, but now, he couldn’t deny them any longer.

“Well, now, we can have breakfast,” she said, and they both burst into a chuckle.

He loved how she managed to diffuse a situation, not making it seem dramatically important, although it was. There was a serenity about her that he didn’t even know he was missing in his life. And now that it was there by his side, he wondered how he ever lived without it.

“Do you have anything special in mind, siren?” he inquired, not letting go of her.

“How about breakfast in the garden?” she mused.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that to be honest.”

“Splendid,” she teased. “I have also never made love with anyone before, so it is only fair that we both experience something new.”

He laughed at her comment. “Yes, it is only fair.”

Jonathan and Ciara sat at a small wrought-iron table, laden with an array of breakfast delights. Freshly baked bread, honey, butter, and an assortment of jams sat alongside a platter of fruitand a steaming pot of tea. The garden was a haven of tranquility, and Jonathan found himself relaxing in the peaceful ambiance.

“This is lovely,” Jonathan remarked, taking a sip of his tea. “I can see why you enjoy having breakfast in the garden.”

Ciara smiled, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I’m glad you like it. This is one of my favorite places here in my new home. My grandmother and I used to sit outside surrounded by flowers just like these and have tea and scones while she told me stories. She was… what kept me going during the darkest hours of my life.”

Jonathan felt that was an intimate moment, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her even more. “You’ve mentioned your grandmother before. Tell me more about her.”

“She was wonderful,” Ciara replied, her voice filled with affection. “A strong, kind woman with a heart full of love and wisdom. She had this magical way of making everything seem better, no matter how bad things were. And she told the most incredible stories as you’ve gathered.”

Jonathan smiled, enjoying the way Ciara’s eyes lit up as she spoke about her grandmother. “What kind of stories did she tell you?”

“Mostly Irish myths and legends,” Ciara said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “She had a story for every occasion. Tales of fairies, warriors, and enchanted forests. One of my favorites was the story of Deirdre of the Sorrows.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Deirdre of the Sorrows? That sounds rather melancholic.”

“It is,” Ciara admitted. “But it’s also beautiful. Deirdre was a woman of great beauty and kindness, but her life was filled with tragedy. She was destined to bring sorrow to those who loved her. It’s a tale of love and loss but also of strength and resilience.”

Jonathan watched her closely, captivated by the passion in her voice. “It seems that your grandmother was an extraordinary woman.”

“She was,” Ciara agreed softly. “She taught me so much about life and about myself. She used to say that our stories shape who we are and give us the strength to face whatever comes our way.”

Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s truth in that. Our experiences and the stories we tell ourselves do shape us.”

“Yes, her stories really helped me,” she continued, sounding melancholic. “I wish she were still here with me.”

“You have people who care about you, Ciara,” he reminded her. “And besides, you carry her with you always. The stories she told you, they’ll always be in your heart, right?”

She nodded.

“Those we love never really die; they never really leave us, not as long as we remember them,” he added.

She smiled. “I like that.”