The Vampire King’s Captive

BRAN

The words seemed to echo, bouncing off the walls of the room and coming to rest between them, daring him to move. To quit being a fucking coward and take the next step.

But Bran stood right where he was, still unsure of everything.

What were they doing?

Most importantly, what was he doing?

But he knew what he was doing, didn’t he? He was finally admitting to this amazing woman that he didn’t really hate her as much as he liked to make her believe. He was finally admitting that he felt something for her-something other than hate and anger and derision.

Something that made his chest tighten every fucking time he looked at her.

He wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t want to put a name to it. But he had a sinking suspicion it came dangerously close to like.

Because if he didn’t hate her then that meant he liked her right? Even though he wasn’t exactly there yet, but he was getting close. And if she continued showing him those little vulnerable bits of herself, he was going to dive completely into like with her and he was sure it wasn’t going to be a pretty fall.

“But why?” She asked, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him focus on her standing a few feet away from him, her hands clasped together as she wringed the fuck out of them. “Why did you come for me?”

“Because I wanted to.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips. “Vampire-”

“Bran.” He couldn’t stomach her calling him that word anymore. Not when the status of their relationship had changed so thoroughly-they weren’t captor and captive anymore. “Call me Bran.”

Maria blinked slowly, staring at him with owl eyes. “You’re telling me your name?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, gauging her reaction.

Her eyes fell to his hands, which were still clutching the windowpane and he removed them, bringing them to his sides. He just felt so useless with them hanging like that.

“Oh, Bran. Why in the worlds are you all the way over there?”

Before he could process the words or ask her why the hell she kept saying ‘worlds’ instead of ‘world’, she had already started crossing the room towards him with a determined expression on her face.

When she reached where he was, she rose on her toes and wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down as she met him halfway, pressing her lips against his in a surprisingly sweet kiss.

All lips, no tongue. Just contact.

Like a kiss between two shy teenagers who were sneaking around behind their parent’s backs.

With great difficulty, he leaned away from her, breaking the kiss. “We’re not done talking.”

“Well, then we’ll continue later.” she said dismissively and kissed him again.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Hell, why was he even fighting this?

Bran decided to let it all go and the moment he did, the kiss turned from sweet to scorching hot in less than a second.

He shoved one hand into her hair to hold her steady, then cupped her ass with his other hand and pulled her against him, wanting her to feel his hard-on. He needed her to know what she did to him.

She moaned when she felt it and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her hot mouth.

“Bran…” she whispered against his lips then did that thing where she dragged her tongue along the roof of his mouth and he groaned, his legs buckling.

It drove him fucking crazy.

He lifted her off the ground and hoisted her up with his hands on her ass. She quickly latched onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he walked them over to her dresser, never once breaking the kiss.

Bran shoved the things on the dresser to one side then dropped her on it, settling into the space between her legs that she’d created for him.

He needed his hands free. He had great use for them.

Forcing his mouth away from hers, he dragged them to her jaw, peppering it with kisses as he made his way to her neck, kissing and licking at the soft flesh.

She turned her head to the side so as to make room for him, sighing. “To think that you would rather talk than make out.”

It was in that moment that Bran fell stupidly in like with her.

He smiled against her neck, biting softly on the flesh, then he pulled back and let her see his face. She opened her eyes lazily. “Never ever delay this because of talk. Got it.”

“Are you…” She blinked again, looking like she was trying to gather her thoughts. “Are you smiling? Is that a smile I see on your face, vampire?” She was on the verge of hysteria.

The smile dissapeared. “I said to call me Bran.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly, her hands latching onto his as though she wanted to stop him from leaving. “I’ve become so used to calling you vampire, but don’t worry. I’ll work on it.”

He simply stared at her, eyes falling to her moist lips, her puckered nipples very well visible through her shirt, then lifting back to her eyes only to see that she was watching him. She’d caught him looking.

He would do it again in a heartbeat and his unapologetic gaze told her as much.

“Can you smile again?” She asked suddenly. “Please. I need to see it.”

“No.”

It was awkward and unnecessary and he didn’t see any reason in doing it again. If he’d been able to stop it, he wouldn’t have done it the first time.

“Please?” She begged again with beseeching eyes, her thumb making small circles on his hands. “I would try to make you, but I’ve never performed as a clown before so I wouldn’t really know how to. Although I could try.”

He shook his head and looked away. What did she mean by ‘never performed as a clown’? Did she usually put up acts as entertainment for people, namely her father?