Married To The Mad Vampire Lord-Chapter 223: Payment_Part 3

Rohan smiled as he watched her. She tugged at the back of his boot, held his foot with both hands, and smoothly pulled the boot off, quick and sure, like someone who had done it many times.

He wriggled his toes at her.

She neatly set the boot aside. In a moment, she had taken off the second one and placed it next to the first.

She scooted forward a few inches, arranged her hair modestly around her, sank back onto her heels, and drew his feet into her lap.

Rohan tilted his head back, gazing up at the ceiling in pleasure as she began to massage his feet. But he didn’t want to waste it—not while he had his wife to look at, Belle enrobed in her extraordinary hair, rubbing his feet as if it were a task of the most solemn gravity.

She massaged the middle of his feet and his heels, pausing at times to turn one foot slightly, looking down and bending over, as if checking to make sure she was doing a good job.

During one of these pauses, he arched his foot and lightly touched her body with his toe, brushing a bit of her hair aside to reveal her body from beneath the curtain of hair. A pale ribbon of light slid down her throat, tracing her skin like sunlight through a cathedral aisle.

A few nights ago, when they had made love at that inn, it had been all about feeling; but tonight, it was all about the sight of her, in glimpses, in secret moments. He wanted to take it slow, to make the moment last as long as he could hold on, and to let her do her thing without any hurry. If she wanted to start with a massage, he would not stop her.

He allowed her hair to fall back as she resumed her earnest massage. He wriggled his toes again to get her attention, which seemed to have fixed too intently on the business of kneading and massaging.

She looked up towards his face. He drew his feet away from her lap and propped them flat on the floor, watching her between his knees now. It was a dare: she had to come forward to him or retreat entirely.

"This is not fair," she complained.

"Why?"

"You’re... dressed, and I am not."

He smiled complacently.

"You’re wicked," she accused.

He tilted his head to the side and let out a laugh at her adorable pout and glare, her expression was like that of a girl who had been wronged.

"And you’re laughing at me!" she cried, fighting the urge to get up, take her dress, and put it back on to cover herself.

He stretched his long legs out on either side of her and remarked, "I’m undressed because I am waiting."

"Am I supposed to undress you?" she muttered.

He brought his feet together to her hips, caressing her softly. "Do you want to undress me?"

Her eyes evaded his shyly. She dropped her gaze to the carpet in front of her. He moved his toes slowly over her bare skin and hair.

"No pretending, Isa," he said gently. "Do you want to undress your husband?"

No pretending. She had undressed him more than once when he was unconscious and bathed his body; there was no part of him she hadn’t seen, only then, his body hadn’t been active like it was now. She took a deep breath, exhaled it, and leaned forward over him on the floor.

It was all Rohan could do to hold himself in check. Her position on her hands revealed her vividly—full breasts under a wash of gold hair that caught the firelight, too finely translucent to conceal shape behind it.

Supporting herself on one hand, she carefully loosened the buttons on his shirt and pushed the fabric apart from his torso. Then, with gently fingers, she moved back to unfasten the buttons of his trousers as well, trying to steady her breath as she did.

Her hair slid down like a silky veil, unveiling the delicate lines of her back and the soft curve of her buttocks. She made a quick move to catch it back, rising slightly in a flustered motion—a sudden vision of everything: her smooth torso, the gentle rise of her breasts, the line of her belly, and the dark blonde crown of curls between her thighs.

Rohan’s restraint shattered. He sat up in one swift, fluid movement and helped her pull his trousers down and off his legs. He tugged off his shirtsleeves just as fast, discarding the last of his clothing in a blur. Now fully naked, he sat back on the floor, having done it all with a speed only a vampire could manage.

She seemed startled by how suddenly and effortlessly he stripped himself; she looked at him, wide-eyed and stunned, drawing back slightly, but he quickly reached out and caught her between his legs, holding her still.

He reached up and pulled her down on top of him. He lay back on the carpet, kissing her throat, her breasts, her hair falling all around.

But he didn’t want to hurry, he wanted a luxurious, slow bonfire. With an effort, he relaxed his hands, smoothed them down her body that was poised above him.

She had not drawn away, not after that first moment; she seemed to wait for him to continue taking the lead, not quite meeting his eyes, her lips parted a little.

He locked his hands behind his head in a relaxed manner, watching her above him. "I’m still waiting for you to make the move. You are entirely in control tonight."

"I don’t know what to do," she whispered, inexperienced on how to start what he meant without him helping her.

"Do you need my help?"

Firelight glistened where she wet her lips and nodded her head. "Yes..."

"Up," he said. "Up on your knees." He instructed gently.

When she hesitated out of shyness at being completely naked, he caught her wrists. He carefully pushed her back, his palms against hers, until she knelt upright between his legs. She tried to pull her hands away from his, but he knew what she would do if he allowed it. She would cover herself quickly and hide what he wanted to see in the clear light.

"Don’t hide from me." He kept her hands locked with his. "I have seen you a few times without your clothes."

Her cheeks bloomed rosy. "Not in an open place like the parlor room where all the lights are on and blazing... we’re in the open here."

"Nobody will come in here," he assured.

She gazed down at him, apparently unaware of the picture she presented and what it was doing to him, and to that part of his body that was impatiently seeking her warmth, even though he wanted to take everything slow. At least, she didn’t look any lower than his face to see the effect she was having on him there.

He raised his knees beside her and closed them on her hips. "I want to see all of you, don’t hide it," he whispered, and then swayed her slightly with his legs to make her loosen up.

He let go of one of her hands and swept her hair back over her shoulder. "Beautiful."

She began to breathe more quickly. He touched her, traced his fingers along her waist and up to her breast. He outlined the underswell of it with his forefinger.

"I like that," she said, in a soft, unexpected rush of words.

"So do I," he said solemnly.

Her breast rose and fell beneath his caress. He went slowly, watching her, every stroke reflected in her face. When he touched her nipple, she drew in a sharp breath and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

Rohan made a low groan. He pulled upright, closing the space between them. With his tongue, he traced the path of his fingers. He rested his hands at her waist and opened his mouth over her nipple, sucking.

She whimpered, arching into him. His hands slipped downward, thumbs sliding over the provocative short curls. She still had the scent of the night before about her, dense with heat and his passion. Dimly, he felt her fingers burrow into his hair, drawing him closer to her.

He pushed his hand between her legs, coaxing them apart, over his, making her straddle him wide open. She was exquisite, sensitive, her hair cascading down over one shoulder, her head tilted back and her lips parted, panting.

He made it last. He made it last oh so long, caressing her, teasing her, until her thighs trembled and she gasped each time he touched her. And when he moved beneath her, grazing her with his shaft, she made a sharp whimper and her eyes sprang open, and she watched him as he did it—easing himself inside her, pulling her back down onto him as he disappeared into her.

He lifted his head from the carpet to suckle her. She moved with awkward, exquisite jerks over him, writhing, until he cupped his hands at her buttocks and taught her the rhythm, the movement, her hair sliding between his palms and her skin. He taught her how to ride him and how to take pleasure from it.

He watched her, every single passionate expression that crossed her face. The sight of shaft sinking deep inside her moist entrance, her damp blonde curls clinging to that part of him, sent heat flooding through his veins and ignited every nerve in his body.

Belle’s eyes fluttered with rising desire, her chest lifting with every breath. Her breasts were stunning in the gold light, smooth and pale, with soft, pinkish peaks that looked and felt like silk under his tongue.

With a lovely suddenness, she came, with little female cries, like an unquiet dreamer. He brought his arms up around her and held her close for an instant, then, with one deep thrust, holding her hips down to take it, he let go of the lust he’d kept dammed inside him.

When it was finished, she fell weakly over him on the floor and he held her hard against his chest and never closed his eyes, to make it real and last.

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