Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 98: Kiss me_Part 2

Rohan heard her question and saw the uncertainty in her clear, wide hazel eyes—eyes he didn’t dare focus his own gaze on.

For a human who had been forced into being a people-pleaser and a timid woman unable to voice her thoughts, she was beginning to show her true self now that she was away from those who had shaped her into that.

But though Rohan knew as much—that she wasn’t normal and was different, even from the moment he had met her years ago—he could not put a finger on it and say exactly what she was.

It had baffled him then, and it baffled him still now. He had spent time studying books, searching for anything that might explain her, but there seemed to be no history, no record that spoke of a special human who could not be compelled, or who could see what only the dead could.

Only the dead couldn’t be compelled. Only the dead could see Kuhn. And only the dead could walk the land she had slipped into last night. Whatever she was, it had something to do with that—but he was certain she was no dead person, despite what he sensed she was starting to believe. She smelled human, looked human, and had the heart of a human, only with a rhythm that beat a little differently.

Not good with words when it came to comforting someone in emotional distress and self-doubt, Rohan sighed and leaned closer to her.

Reaching up, he gently and meticulously moved the disheveled strands of blonde hair that had fallen across her face, tucking them behind her ear. All the while, he watched her lashes flutter at his touch, her heartbeat quickening beneath his fingers.

He dragged his gloved finger toward the scar in her brow, tracing the smooth, leathery skin, then down her flushed cheek, cupping it carefully and stroking with his thumb.

"You are different, Isa," he said softly, "but not in a bad way. Everyone has something that sets them apart from others, and one can choose to see that difference as a curse or as the gift that it truly is. Look at me." He withdrew his hand from her face and opened his arms slightly.

"I am different too, but I embraced it. I don’t hate what I am, and I don’t wish to be different. In fact, if I had been anything other than what I am, I don’t think I would enjoy my life nearly as much as I do now. I worry about no fucker, no words affect me, and I like myself just the way I am—because I accepted it. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

He arched a brow, noticing how she was staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and at his question, she slowly shook her head.

Belle did not get his point. She did not see how accepting this would make her life any better. She did not want to ever be thrust into that world again, and if she had the choice, she would have preferred to be normal like everyone else, rather than different.

Not knowing what she was—or if it was even true she had been possessed in her childhood—was not something she thought she could embrace, much less be happy about.

Still, she would admit, she liked seeing this side of Rohan—the side where he seemed at a loss for the right words to make her understand.

"Listen to me, Isa. So what if you’re different?" He scowled for a moment and then chuckled as if a thought had just come to his mind and he spoke them out, "You can slip into the land of the dead. That’s bloody impressive if you ask me. If I could do that..." he smirked, "...I’d probably go back and kill someone twice."

He gave a short laugh, "But," his voice softened, serious now, "I wouldn’t want you anywhere near that place again. Not if we can help it." He then sighed,

"And my point is, don’t beat yourself up for it. If you can’t embrace it, then don’t, but don’t cry over spilled milk. Don’t fright about what some fuckers would think about you or call you, no one will touch my wife while I still live, not even those fuckers you call parents. If no one accepts you for who you are, fuck them all."

Rohan had never tried to make anyone feel better and this was his very first attempt ever, he was a master at doing the opposite, he had always excelled in making people feel the worst of themselves and make them miserable, he had enjoyed seeing the misery of others but he knew even without seeing hers, that he wouldn’t find it amusing.

Blinking, Belle finally spoke. "You use that word a lot, what does it mean?" came her quiet question, unable to believe that his ways of trying to make her feel better and not dwell on the thought of her difference and what she was had actually worked for now as she had been diverted to something else.

In fact, she was biting back a smile as she watched him. She had known he was different from his kind, and it was actually surprising that he embraced and liked himself and did not dwell on self-pity.

The fact that he could get her from emotionally drained and confused to curious was still astonishing to her. And at her question, he grinned slowly, revealing his strong, white, perfect set of teeth as he sat back on the bed. One of his legs stretched out along the mattress, the other bent at the knee and resting sideways on the bed. Her injured leg which he had been cleaning still lay draped across his bent thigh, in a way she suddenly found too intimate.

He leaned back on his hands, palms pressed to the bed behind him, watching her with his head slightly tilted to the side.

He looked relaxed and utterly, devastatingly handsome—his honey-colored skin glowing like clear glass, the black in his eyes twinkling, and the front of his black shirt left unbuttoned at the top, revealing the taut skin of his chest. She had been unaware of this when she first woke up, but having him sit back in that effortless, lounging way—studying her with that hint of mirth—was nerve-wracking and heart-fluttering.

"What word?" he finally asked her, arching his brows as if unaware of the word she asked about, when he was completely aware, but wanting as always to tease and unnerve her, he watched her fumble with how to say it.

"The one you used just now."

"I have used a lot of words, thanks to you, sweetheart, I don’t know which of them you speak of unless you tell me."

Though Belle did not know the meaning of the word, she knew it was not something decent or remotely possible for a noble to be caught saying, but she just couldn’t help her curiosity of wanting to know what it meant. However, making her say it was not something she wanted to do.

Pursing her lips, she pulled her leg back from his thigh, "Forget it. I don’t want to know anymore. I should go and—" she was saying as she made the attempt to leave the bed, but Rohan moved so fast he caught her off guard and pulled her back onto the bed, making her lay back on the pillow with him beside her, his head turned close to hers on the same pillow.

"Fuck," he said, grinning slowly, "means something that is missing in this marriage of ours and we are yet to do." He slipped his hand into the curve of her waist and tickled her.

Belle, unexpectedly tickled where she was so sensitive, shrieked at the sensation, her voice echoing around the chamber. She skittered away, but Rohan caught her, rolling half on top of her, teasing her waist with one hand and clasping her cheek with the other.

Belle struggled in his tickling arms while laughing uncontrollably, but not too hard when she felt his weight on her and his face hovering over hers. She was about to be kissed, she knew it, and she liked it. Her laugh began to subside.

His mouth touched hers, warm in the cool room, as velvet gentle as the mattress beneath her was soft. He stopped the tickling. Her body softened and relaxed; she closed her eyes and felt him over her, breathed his heat in the cool rain-scented air that came from the partly opened window, heard the low sound of pleasure he made as he explored her mouth.

She let herself get lost into the slow movement of his lips against hers while at the same time her brain was conjuring up things, imagining if this moment would lead to what he had said was missing in their marriage, fuck.

She heated up beneath him at the forbidden sound of the crude word, but she quite liked the sound of it when he said it.

It was strange, this being his wife and yet never knowing the actual feeling of being that wife with him in bed like she was supposed to. Whenever she thought he would do it, he wouldn’t and only kissed and gave her body the pleasure of feeling unspeakable sensation that left her quite unsatisfied.

It was like something was missing even though she’d been brought down from the highest mountain, it was like she hadn’t climbed high enough before she was brought down.

His kisses and teasing now, it was not chaste, and never had she heard of any woman saying how their husbands played with them on bed like he did; she knew that well enough.

But he did it so sweetly, so playfully, that she never found a place to demand that he stop.

"I won’t fuck," he promised her, whenever she drew back as if to remind him that Gwen or Rav might return with her bath water—and that eased her.

"Kiss me," he whispered softly as he stared down at her lips.

She lifted her chin and kissed him back.