Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 53: Improved in kissing

With how Rohan carried himself and looked down his nose at everyone beneath him, no one would ever know that beneath his twisted mischief and the way he put people in uncomfortable situations was a man with many mysterious scars that made one unable to look away and wonder how he must have gotten them when he was untouchable to others who feared him.

How did he get such scars on his back? Belle wondered as she jerked her wandering gaze back to his face, swallowing to combat the sudden emotions that rose up to her throat. She had carried the little scar on her forehead and endured many insults from people. She couldn’t help but wonder how he had carried this many and still looked unbothered by the world.

He slept with his face turned toward her, where the gentle glow of the candles penetrated the soft drapes and fell on his tanned-handsome face, the generous sweep of his lashes brushing his cheeks. Since they had a golden tint, Belle had never before realized just how long and luxurious they were.

Sleep had erased the strain that so often furrowed his brow and eased the scowl or mischievous look he always had on his face that would make one uneasy in his presence. He was like an entirely different person lying on her bed, with her heart going out to him for the scars he bared on his back.

With his thick blue hair tousled and his lips slightly parted, she could almost catch a glimpse of the man he would have been if he wasn’t so twisted and devilish. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

As a distinctly human snore escaped his lips, Belle shook her head, overcome by a wave of strange tenderness that made her fought the urge to touch his hair and stroke it. She never knew the night creatures slept like humans. They were all made to believe in Aragonia that they retire to their coffins at daytime to rest and wandered the land at night. She had not seen Rohan’s chamber yet but she doubted he used any coffin.

Looking yet again at his back, Belle realized there was more to this man than what everyone says and what he seemed to make them believe. She did not want to get curious about him, but seeing his back and realizing that he had laid here after obviously taking care of her made a strange unwelcome feeling bloom in her chest.

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to compose herself and remind herself why she shouldn’t let this image of his innocent sleeping form deceive her into wanting to know him, but she couldn’t help that feeling.

She knew she should let him know that she was awake so he would leave her bed and room, but she couldn’t move. She might never again have the chance to draw near to him to see how much of the scar was on his body. Was it only on his back? And how deep was that line below his shoulder?

One touch. That was all she would allow herself to feed her curious mind.

Belle drew closer and stretched out her hand, keenly aware that this was no portrait, but flesh and blood, seething with heat and strength and life.

One second her fingertips were grazing the warm golden skin of his scarred back, the next she was flat on her back on the soft mattress, both of her wrists manacled above her head in one of his hands, his other hand wrapped around the slender column of her throat.

Her eyes widened in horror, mesmerized by the swiftness of his movement and the darkness in his eyes as he scowled dangerously down at her.

Every breath she took was a struggle, but she couldn’t tell if that was from being pinned beneath his weight or from inhaling the intoxicating scent of his sleep-warmed skin. Along with the usual mix of sandalwood and oud, there was a new, even more potent spice—danger.

"R-Rohan...I can’t breathe," she managed to rasp out, her eyes already turning teary.

Recognition slowly dawned in his eyes, leaving them heavy-lidded. His grip on her wrists and her throat softened, yet still, he made no move to free her. She wasn’t sure she could have fled if he had. A heavy tiredness seemed to take over her limbs, slowing time with each beat of her heart. She was acutely aware of his weight, his heat, the strength of his body pinning her to the mattress. Even in her innocence, Belle understood that the hand on her throat was far from the greatest danger she faced.

"No..." she whispered as she watched his gaze drift to her lips. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t draw in a single shuddering breath that wasn’t filled with the musky heat of him. "Please don’t..."

Even as she choked out the words, she knew it was too late. Knew it had been too late from the first moment his lazy gaze went down to fall on her lips. She shouldn’t want this, but her treacherous heart began to beat fast in anticipation of his lips touching hers.

His hand slid from her throat to her cheek. He didn’t look directly into her eyes but yet he seized her gaze with his own that was looking into the middle of her head, holding it captive as surely as the rest of her.

The gloved pad of his thumb played over the softness of her lips, exploring their contours with a gentleness that threatened to undo her.

Then his head was there, blocking out the last of the candlelight as he brought his mouth down on hers. His lips moved over hers, gently but firmly dragging them apart for him, rendering her utterly vulnerable to the smoky heat of his tongue sweeping through her mouth, claiming both it and her soul for his own. He used that tongue to woo, to cajole, to make her body betray her common sense and mind and heart.

Belle couldn’t have said how her hands got free. She only knew that suddenly they were tangling in his hair, curling around his nape, drawing him even deeper into the kiss, into her. She did not know what she was doing, but she was doing it, following what her treacherous body wanted at that very moment.

Too late, she realized his hand was free as well. Free to sift through the silk of her hair until it slipped from its braids to glide over his fingers. Free to skate down her skin to the delicate hollow at the base of her throat.

Free to graze the swell of her breast through the thin fabric of her nightdress. She wasn’t prepared for the erotic shock of his warm fingers delving beneath the fabric, bringing them to her bare chest. His hand curled around her right breast, his thumb flicking back and forth over her quickening nipple with exquisite care, sending tiny shockwaves of strange, foreign pleasure deep into her stomach. Although she was the one dying from sinful delight, he groaned as if in mortal agony.

On their wedding night when he touched her, she had denied herself of every pleasure. Now she felt as if she was drowning in it, sinking deeper into its velvety embrace with each sigh, each kiss, each deft stroke of his fingertips against her flesh. When his hand skated lower, skimming over the curve of her belly, tracing the elegant arch of her hipbone, she simply tipped her head back, drinking even more deeply of the forbidden pleasure he was offering her.

He tasted like the sweetness of a forbidden fruit, like the heat of a forbidden touch in the dead of night; like the bitter sweetness of sin wrapped in light, and the dangerous pull of something she knew she shouldn’t want.

For the first time since she’d lost the love of her family, it was as if all of the empty places inside of her were being filled with the way his mouth and hands touched her body.

As if determined to fill her everywhere, he parted her limp thighs with his knee, bringing it to bear against the warm hollow between her legs with just enough pressure to make her gasp into his mouth and arch off the bed. She didn’t know what he was doing to her. She only knew that she wanted more of it.

More of him.

When he dragged his mouth from hers, she was the one to moan in protest. But her moans melted to sighs as he pressed feather-soft kisses against the corner of her mouth, the delicate curve of her jaw, the skin beneath her ear.

She arched her neck, unable to resist the softness of his lips searching for the pulse in her throat. A pulse thundering out of control, fluttering as if it were a baby bird cupped in the palm of his hand.

Lost in a daze of pleasure, she felt the scrape of his canine an instant before he gave the tender flesh a sharp nip.

"Ow!" Her eyes flew open. Clapping a hand to her stinging throat, she glared up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "You bit me!" she accused as she searched her neck for blood, but there was none.

He smirked down at her, his dark eyes lost in the dimness of candlelight. "My bunny has learned to respond to my kiss. That’s an improvement. What were you thinking, touching me in my resting moment, hmm?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side and looking down at her flushed face that had improved from the sickly paleness that had alarmed him.

He couldn’t help but feel the invincible weight on his shoulder come down at the improvement of her complexion.