Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 132: Finally one

"It’s not as bad as you believe it to be, Isa. I’ll show you," he murmured, voice low and steady. "You just have to tell me when to stop. You say no... and I will."

She felt it, the change in him. His body tensed. Energy stirred in the air between them. He lifted above her and pressed his mouth to her jaw, trailing down to her throat.

Tell him to stop. The part of her that was afraid whispered to her.

But her lips wouldn’t form the words. Her body ached with confusion and longing. He kissed her skin with reverence and hunger. His hands stroked her arms, down to her wrists.

She couldn’t say no. Couldn’t say anything.

His mouth moved over her face, her lips, her eyelids. He hovered above her, barely touching her, barely breathing. It was unbearable, this waiting. This sweet agony. And then he kissed her, slow and deep, until her hands moved on their own, cradling his face, pulling him closer.

He groaned and kissed her harder.

Her skirt was pushed up before she knew it. The cool air met her thighs. His hand slid upward, caressing the curve of her waist. He was hard against her.

And then, before she could fully register what came next, her chemise was torn, ripped right down the middle with a single, urgent motion, leaving her bare and open beneath him. Exposed to his gaze. Naked to his touch. Completely his.

His mouth found her breast, tongue circling slowly until she arched against him with a broken sound. One of his hands slid to her hip and pulled her into him, gently thrusting his hips so that his erection pressed against her core with a rhythm that drove her mad. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, needing more, dreading the moment she would need to pull away.

And he knew it. Knew every inch of her body’s truth. He knew she wanted him. He moved lower, lips trailing down, fingers tracing the line of her body, and then touching her where she was most sensitive. A gasp tore from her throat, her hips rising to meet his fingers.

His fingers slipped inside her, coaxing pleasure and soft cries in equal measure. He returned to her breast, mouth wet and wanting, suckling hard and tugging slowly, then using his tongue to lick and flick her nipple until she cried out softly. Her body writhed beneath him, trembling, open, wanting, and arching.

Oh, she was on fire—and she burned in a delicious, maddening way no words could ever describe.

Her lower abdomen throbbed, aching for something deeper, something bigger than his fingers, and she moaned, pulling him closer with desperate need. He responded with a low, guttural growl, pressing his mouth harder to hers, as though he needed her just as much.

She panted with it, this torture. She drove her fingers into his skin, kneading and pulling, asking him to give her more, silently pleading for more than the fear in the corner of her mind that was yelling for her to not let him go far.

Mindless sensation spread through her. A promiscuous sound came from her throat.

The deep exploration was pain and lust and him, her husband, pushing to discover more of her, to wring soft cries of surrender from her throat.

He suddenly lifted himself above her, fumbling in a furious hurry with his brief to free his aching erection, while slipping his other hand beneath her bottom to raise her hips and align her with him.

She was open to him, wet, ready, vulnerable. She must stop him now, she told herself... but then she felt it. The delicious graze of his hardness against her entrance, the hot, thick tip gliding over her moistened folds, teasing, tormenting, making her breath hitch.

Her back arched involuntarily to meet him, needing more, craving the inevitable invasion of that hardness. She shuddered and let out a low, breathy moan when he grazed her again, her body betraying every resistance her mind tried to muster.

And before she knew it, he came into her in one slow entry, delicious burn, more hurt; her husband, all heat and dark fire; her wicked husband, who knew corrupt things, who held her tight and kissed her and kissed her again while it hurt, stretched his beautiful body over hers, pushing harder, creating pain and soothing it at once, more pain, until she cried out with anguish at the peak.

"Oh no..." he was murmuring, kissing her mouth. "Don’t tense your muscles, relax it. Calm down..."

His voice ached, as if it hurt him too, especially when a drop of tear rolled out the side of her tightly shut eyes. He was breathing soft and quick, butterflies of caresses at her lashes and cheeks.

He held himself over her, wholly inside her, waiting, with a faint, faint tremor in his arms for her to relax and not try to pull away.

She gulped for air, her tense muscles slow to realize that the sharp, piercing hurt had subsided.

A long sigh escaped from her.

As if that had been a signal, he bent his head and gave her a kiss as heavy and carnal as his body’s ownership of hers.

He began to move in her, renewing the pain.

Belle’s fingers curled around his arms in alarm. He whispered to her, coaxing her to calm down. He was touching her with his tongue, sucking at her skin, as if he could draw her into his mouth as he shoved inside her body.

It hurt, but the hurt was drowned in his sensual drive, the penetration burned so deep at first until it began to turn to pleasure.

She raised her arms around him to take more of it. He moaned deep in his throat, shaking his head, lifting her with each stroke. He seemed to grow tormented, as if she were not close enough; he wanted her closer; he wanted every thrust to make them one.

The sensation of rightness filled Rohan, rising over even the excitement of the long last penetration. Not that entering her heat and moisture didn’t pleasure him so mindlessly.

She was desire, and she smelled of rose, a touch of lavender perfume, and a woman wanting her husband in a desperate way. The sight of his cock disappearing inside her, her wiry blonde hair damp around him, made Rohan’s blood and body scalding hot.

Her eyes grew heavy with passion, her breasts rising with her quickening breath as she tried to meet his every thrust. She had such beautiful breasts. Creamy and pale, her areolas like silk, and he leaned down and took one into his mouth without pausing his movement inside her.

Belle clung to him with fingers and thighs, their bodies twined and locked.

Rohan was happy at last, in his haven, inside her, where he was drowned in emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time. It came at him so strongly he trembled. If he could stay here, buried in her forever, he’d remain.

Many emotions had always been limited to him, but now he felt them all at once, happiness, sadness, grief, emotions that burned the back of his throat in a way he hadn’t felt in many years.

It was as if being inside her had unlocked the bricks that blocked those feelings in him and made him into the man he could have been, had his parents not loved him the way they said they did.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and looked down at the woman bringing these feelings into him.

He rocked inside her, loving how her face softened in pleasure, how her hair tangled across the pillow. She was spread for him, delectable, naked, alluring, his Belle. He’d thought of her so many times, imagining doing just this, but the reality was a hundred times better than the fantasy.

The reality meant he could feel her around him, every texture and the temperature of her skin, and scent her longing, which drowned out every thought in his brain. He could taste her lovely skin, the smooth warmth of her areolas; hear the pretty noises she made that meant she found pleasure in what he was doing.

Every sense brought a different delight, but the whole of her was more beautiful than anything he could ever have imagined.

Cold suddenly poured over him, but it was only the sweat on his roasting-hot skin, the shaking deep in his body that meant release.

Rohan didn’t want release. He wanted to hang on, to prolong and be held in the cradle of her forever.

He groaned, unable to stop what his body wanted to do, sorrow that it was over mixing with shuddering joy of release.

He arched into her with a sound that shuddered from deep in his chest, a long and throbbing stretch, a shiver in him and deep inside of her, and she felt him, as far in penetration as he could go, flooding her with his life, with his seed.

Belle held him tight to her, held him as he shuddered again and again. Her fingers almost could not touch around his shoulders, he was so much larger than she, and yet he dropped his head and rested on her and nuzzled his face into the curve of her throat like a loving child.

"Oh, love," he said, between hard breaths, "You did good and I will make you glad. I swear it."

She smoothed her hand down his shoulder and across his unexplained, scarred back, feeling the raised lines beneath her fingers. His body was still trembling slightly. He shuddered again and pushed himself closer to her, still deep inside, unwilling to pull away.

"I’ll make you glad," he repeated.

She bit her lip, resting her head against his.

He turned his face deeper into her as if that closeness wasn’t enough for him, and Belle bit back a silent tear at the realization that what they just did was nothing like she had imagined and dreaded, and she would give herself to him every night to experience it with him again and again.

Because God help her, she just realized she loved him more than she ever thought she loved Jamie or anyone else.

’I love you...’ she thought in her mind and leaned down and pressed her lips to his damp hair that was resting on her chest. ’With everything in me.’