Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 222: Payment_Part 2

Rohan came into the parlor in his shirtsleeves, a silhouette against the light from the hall. The coals in the fireplace gave just enough illumination to pick out the shape of his face and the pale fall of the lace on his shirt front. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her silently.

Belle ducked her head and clasped her hands more tightly on the half-knitted sweater. She heard nothing; only his shadow falling across the light on the carpet told her that he came into the room.

He walked behind her. He began to take down her hair, searching out the pins and letting them fall silently on the floor. Her plaited hair came free. She kept her head lowered as the braids tumbled across her shoulders. She had braided them into two parts and pinned them up that morning so she could fit the hair into her winter cap, she had so much hair for one head.

As she sat there still, he began to unbraid them carefully without a word. He spread the ends between his fingers, fanning them open, holding them up to her cheeks to stroke her, feathery, tickling, down the line of her jaw, behind her ears. He traced her throat, pushing away the shawl that was around her neck.

It slipped from her neck to fall on her lap. Softly, the fans of hair caressed her bared shoulders, in circles and arcs, to the nape of her neck.

She felt his fingers work at her front dress buttons, slowly, one by one downward, unhooking her corset too from behind. Belle bent her head as her clothing loosened around her. She breathed deeply.

He moved in front of her, silently offering his hand. Belle placed her small hand in his, and he helped her to her feet, expecting him to lead her to their bedchamber. But instead, he slid his fingers through her braids, releasing the woven strands, spreading them, combing through them.

There was an intensity about him tonight, a strange severity. He never looked into her face. The fireglow traced his cheekbones and jaw, glinting on his dark lashes. He worked her hair, loosened it completely, fanned it open, and made it into a cloak around her.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her dress and underclothes down her arms.

Belle made a faint sound of astonishment. "Not here in the parlor room!" She exclaimed.

Rohan heard her, but he did not pause. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had first begun to imagine and fantasize about this—her hair spread around her in fragrant waves, her pale skin just a glimpse beneath. It had been recent, and now that he had her before him, now that he could sense the full beauty she possessed and touch her freely, he intended to make those fantasies real, here, in the warm light of the room, and savor every second of it.

While she stood immobile, he drew her hair forward in a curtain over her bare breasts. He allowed her that defense, covered her in a sheen of light gold, while beneath it, he took down all her clothes to her waist, sliding the dress and the plain white shift past her elbows and wrists.

She made another small sound, as if she wished to protest and stop him. But her hands were unresisting as he brought them free of the dress.

"We shouldn’t be doing—" She caught her breath as he rested his palms on her bare torso. "Rohan!"

"Hubby," he corrected her. He put his forehead down to her shoulder, breathing the liberated scent of her. "I like it when you call me that." He was exploring beneath the rippled shower of her hair.

His hand touched one straining hook of her dress. He released it between his thumb and forefinger. The clothes dropped in a bank of silk and linen at her feet.

"Oh," she said, a whimper of excited misery.

Below the dramatic length of her long hair, which had grown longer in the past month to the point it reached below her hips, her stockings showed white down to the tops of her shoes.

It was because of the length that she had begun to braid it, and Rohan was well aware of why her hair was growing so fast, it was because of the child she carried in her womb.

He then knelt before her and unfastened the shoes, powerfully aware of the whisper of her hair at his temple.

Turning his head, he kissed her calf and the side of her knee through the thick cascade. He cupped both his palms around her leg, sliding them up and down, exerting pressure inside her knee to invite her to come to him.

She caught his shoulders, unbalanced. Rohan clasped her stockinged foot, delicate and arched, as she lifted it free of the shoe. She drew quickly from his hold, setting her foot down amid the puffs and folds of silk, taking her hands from him.

He coaxed the other leg, but this time she lifted free of her own accord, a moment, the white tip of her toe came into his view, and then she stepped back swiftly, her hair moving in a wave around her.

He sat back on the carpet in front of the fireplace, gazing up at her. Her long hair fell around her like a curtain, making her look so innocent and pure, like a shy maiden. But at the same time, her bare shoulders, glowing in the firelight, made her look unbelievably tempting. She was a mix of soft beauty and quiet seduction, like a goddess made of cream and gold.

"Don’t look at me like that!" she said in a strained, small voice, glaring down at him.

"Why?" He didn’t take his eyes away.

"Because... it’s uncomfortable to be looked at like that."

Rohan leaned back, propping his elbows on the cushioned footstool before him. "You’re beautiful, and I like looking at beautiful things."

"No," she whispered.

"Yes." He smirked.

"We can’t do this," she finally said.

"We can’t do what, sweetheart?" He looked so relaxed as he arched a questioning brow at her.

"We... we can’t do what you have in mind. What if we hurt the baby?" She held her arms crossed over her breasts. Her eyes were shadowed in soft radiance.

Rohan’s eyes narrowed before they softened as he spoke. "You’re worried that if we make love, the child will get hurt," he stated with a look of understanding before he went on and said, "I will never do anything to hurt our child, Isa. If it’s going to be something harmful to it, I won’t be seeking you. In fact, I heard it’s good to do it during pregnancy, so you have nothing to worry about." He assured her, and then grinned. "Now, where were we? Oh, I remember, I want to make you take the lead this time as my payment!"

Blushing, she dropped to her knees at his feet, his words reassuring her that what they were about to do would not be harmful. She shook her hair back, half-revealing herself. The rise and fall of her breathing brought a glimpse of the tips of her breasts to his view.

Sharp desire rose in him. The innocent image of her fell away like a mask: she was a nymph of fire and shade, offering herself.

"I must not to pretend to you..." She lifted one hand a little toward him and let it fall helplessly.

"But I don’t... I don’t know what to do to take the lead." She admitted.

He could have taken her down and had her, without ceremony, without regard for anything but the lust that coursed through him. He could have held her beneath him, pinned down on those waves of hair, thrust hard into her with the force of his own desire.

But he was the one with all the experience. She might not respect how he got it, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want her that he held back now, it was because he had learned, deeply, how to make love the right way.

"Do whatever you like," he said. "Just like I always tell you, I am yours and you can use me to find experience."

She hesitated for a moment without making any movement. He held still, quiescent, relaxed, watching her.

And then she bent her head a little, her hair falling forward around her cheeks. She moved closer and touched his boot. He was allowing her to take the lead without telling her what to do or how to do it, and that alone was nerve-wracking for someone as inexperienced as her. However, knowing it wasn’t going to harm their child, she was ready to learn and please her husband.

Visit freewe𝑏(n)ovel.co(m) for the b𝘦st novel reading experience