Married To The Mad Vampire Lord - Chapter 531

Chapter 531: Sneaking out together_Part 2
He waited until Angel was fast asleep on his bedroll and Roseline was sleeping in the crib. Only then did he turn to his wife, lying next to him yet still feeling so far away. He could sense, just as clearly as if she’d spoken, that many times she had also wanted to go beyond kissing, but had always held back with the same restraint he’d been forcing on himself. The longing between them had become a quiet current, always there, always waiting.

The room was dim, the lamp turned down to its lowest setting, because Angel didn’t like sleeping in complete darkness, and Roseline would wake up immediately if the room went fully dark. To think, they had the blood of a demon of darkness, yet they disliked the dark like a purge. It always gave Rohan a deep, quiet satisfaction, because it was another way of showing Ereves that his children didn’t belong in the demon world, they rejected what he strived for and lived on. But it was also a quiet torture for Rohan himself, who preferred sleeping in total darkness.

Belle, trying to sleep but unable to with her body so tense and sensitive, felt Rohan turn on the bed, his eyes on her back that was turned to him. It had been weeks since the day they had both lain on the floor, when he told her about their lives, and days since she had begun to wonder what it would feel like to make love with her husband again after so long.

After forgetting her first time with him, the curiosity had only grown sharper. Her body had longed to join with his in that way once more, to feel him intimately, to experience the closeness she remembered only in fragments. Every night she felt the heavy bulge inside his trousers pressing against her whenever he pulled her close, the layers of their clothing always in the way, and the thought of it stirred something deep and warm inside her.

What would it feel like without the layer of clothes standing in the way?

Those thoughts were always her undoing, arousing her even when he didn’t touch her, but this seemed to be the reality of not having enough rooms for their children and having to share with them. She turned to lay on her back, still wondering when Rohan would make a move to touch her, sensing already he was waiting for Angel to fall asleep.

She lay on her back, as stiff as a corpse, waiting and listening, listening to the low hoot of an owl somewhere near the treeline and the distant rustle of wind moving through the pines. Now and then the night carried the far-off howl of a wolf from deep in the forest, the sound stretching thinly across the cold air and slipping through the cracks of the cottage walls.

The fire in the heating stove had burned down to embers, and the quiet creaks of cooling wood made the room feel even more still. She was beginning to think Rohan had changed his mind about doing anything tonight.

“Come here,” Belle finally heard him whisper, feeling his arm rise to wrap around her.

She lifted her head, and his arm slipped close, gathering her in and sliding down along her back. Softly, he rubbed in ever-widening circles through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Shivers danced along her spine, waking nerves she hadn’t realized were so tense.

He paused at the base of her spine, then moved again in gentle motions, until he felt her finally relax. Carefully, he rolled her onto her side so that her ear pressed lightly against the firm curve of his bicep.

Inside her head, her own thumping heart seemed to echo in the quiet room. How long had she lain stiffly on her back, willing her locked muscles to relax? Now, slowly, his hand achieved what her will alone could not.

Close your mouth, she told herself, or he’ll hear you breathing like a jackrabbit and know how scared and nervous you are. But breathing through her nose was worse. And so, when Rohan’s lips brushed hers, they were already parted, ready for him.

He pulled her fully into his kiss. Her lips were soft, seeking, responsive. Halfway through, he moved his body a little too fast, and his long leg hit the bedpost, causing it to make a sharp noise. Damn, he thought. You have to be silent and careful, not a single sound. Don’t wake our son. The last thing he needed was to be interrupted now, not when they were so close.

One-armed, he captured her, rolling her against him so her hands rested lightly on his chest. The kiss lingered and lengthened, and her fingers timidly explored, as if only now realizing the heat and smoothness of the skin beneath them.

She glided lightly over the warm, taut skin of his chest she’d so often glimpsed when he was shirtless, now discovering its firmness with her touch. It felt both resilient and yielding, like the polished surface of a wooden board, hard yet subtly textured under her fingers.

Each tiny motion of her hands sent sparks through his nerves, awakening sensations that had been quietly simmering.

Inadvertently, she brushed his nipple, passing it quickly as she felt him stiffened. He caught her hand gently, guiding it back over the sensitive spot, giving her permission to touch him anywhere she liked without words.

Again, her fingers danced across his chest, tracing delicate, butterfly-like patterns of experiment, while she wondered silently what he waited for without going further than kissing her.

He waited for her arms to encircle him, to free the breasts she protected so virginally. Finally, he whispered, low and thick with desire, “Put your arms around me, Isa.”

Her arms found their path instinctively, her hands gliding over the ridges of his muscled back. Slowly, Rohan traced a pattern across her skin, his palm coming to rest against the gentle swell of her breasts.

Her hands fell still, as if surrendering to the moment. She lay fully exposed in her anticipation, breath warm against his cheek, until his caress traced its way over her like the softest feather falling.

Lightly, he rubbed the backs of his fingers upon the hardened bud of her breast through the fabric of her nightwear. The universe held its breath with them as he slowly eased his touch in search of buttons, finding them, slipping them free, one by one, in slow, slow motions.

How I have missed this, my love, he thought. She lay unresisting, receptive to his touch. He smoothed his hand within the loosened garment, riding his palm from the shallows of her ribs upward to rest on her breastbone.

He stroked her jaw with his thumb, caressed her neck, encircled it fleetingly, then again rested the heel of his hand just above and between her breasts, savoring the delight of making them both wait, want.

She closed her eyes, sighing as his touch fell upon her bare nipples, cupping it, contouring it, making fire build in its nerve endings. In a wonder of discovery, his hand roved her skin.

Her breasts were as soft as he remembered, like the petals of a wild rose, unbelievably soft. Yet, here at the tip, puckered tightly with a contraction so unexpectedly powerful.

“Isa,” he breathed, his lips skimming hers, “you are so warm, so soft here,” he gently squeezed the resilient flesh; “so hard here,” he took the firmly aroused nipple to stroke it gently, rolling it between his fingers rapturously. “How I have waited.”