Chapter 23 Let Me Touch You

Killorn's voice was frostier than the atmosphere around them. He narrowed his eyes. When was she going to open that pretty little mouth of hers and grumble about this ride? He was waiting for it. No lady would be able to handle the lengthy journey back and forth, especially not one as frail as Ophelia.

Did Ophelia even understand where she was headed towards? But then, after everything that she had been through, perhaps this ride was nothing in comparison.  Yes, she was a shell of herself, but perhaps she was much tougher than he had originally thought.

"U-uhm…"

Ophelia slowly blinked. Did he have hearing problems?

Her face grew red when she realized the difference between her fingers and his. He was warm, his fingers soft despite the callouses. Meanwhile, her hands were icy and pale.

"Y-yes… I-I thought you w-wanted me close b-because you were f-freezing," Ophelia admitted. Her free hand shakingly adjusted the cotton material to sit more snuggly around his waist.

Killorn loudly laughed. The sound sent a rush through her system. Her chest swelled with an eagerness to hear him again. He was glorious as he was gentle. When he was delighted, his eyes would elegantly crinkle, revealing his healthy white teeth. For a split second, she thought she saw sharpness that resembled a vampire.

"You're worried about the wrong person," he deadpanned.

Killorn threw the blanket onto the seat next to him. With an iron grip on her waist, he grabbed her onto his lap, until her back was firm against his chest. Quietly, he kissed her neck, his mouth fervid and greedy. She shivered, for her skin was far too chilling for his heated lips.

"See?" Killorn hoarsely said against her creamy skin. He pressed his lips against her soft pulse that quickened when he nuzzled the spot.

"I-I'm not cold," Ophelia attempted. "N-not anymore, a-at least."

Killorn's arm tightened deftly. Her scent flooded his senses. She was more intoxicating than the worst kind of drugs. One whiff and he was whipped.

"You're shivering."

"Y-you're keeping me w-warm," Ophelia whispered.

Killorn frowned. He yanked the blanket over her shoulders and securely held it in place. She froze. Her eyes widened and she peered up at him, helpless.

They were pressed so tightly together, that he could feel her nude body. His lower region was persistent. He precariously shifted, or else his length would press into her perk little bottom.

"Why didn't you tell me you were unwell?" Killorn muttered.

Ophelia pressed her lips together. He spoke in a gentle tone, but she heard the underlying warning.

Killorn was upset by her actions. He simply wanted to protect and comfort her.  Ophelia wondered how he managed to control his emotions when he was with her.  She had been observing him carefully. How did he do it so easily, she wanted to ask. He was feral and full-bodied, with a fury that brimmed to the surface. But he was generous in his treatment, always restraining his simmering rage around her.

"I-I'm s-sorry."

"I don't want your apologies. I want the truth."

Ophelia's eyes trembled. She lowered her head, but found it quite difficult to move. He had tightly bundled her into the blanket as if she were an infant.

"I-I hear m-men do not like c-complaints…"

"Boys do not," Killorn agreed. "But I do."

With a flick, Killorn took off his metal gauntlets and tossed them to the bench. Then, he cupped her face, turning it in his direction. She stared at the seats.

Only when Killorn caressed his thumb upon her skin did Ophelia timidly peer at him. She was beautiful in the most heartwrenching manner.

Her speckled eyes resembled dewed violets. Hair as fine as silver brushed against her gaze. Her complexion was rosy from the cold, her lips moistened by her anxiety. She was shaking again. Terrified as a bunny caught in the lion's mouth.

Killorn leaned closer, pressing his forehead against hers. She let out a shaky breath.

"You will tell me everything, Ophelia. From the moment you were taken to the auction house."

"M-my lord—"

"Killorn," he persisted.

Ophelia's lips trembled. She dared not to. She writhed and struggled until she freed her hands. At the same time, the blankets pooled at her waist.

"I-I c-can't…"

"You must."

Killorn tenderly held her face in his hand. He brushed their noses together. He could practically taste her sweetness. Every inch of him was screaming to touch her.

Ophelia was irresistible. It was impossible not to want to capture her quivering lips, to hold them against his mouth. He was hot and hard. All she did was shift on his lap. My god, she was going to kill him one day. Death by hard on.

"I-I shouldn't," Ophelia admitted. "H-how wrong of m-me to h-have the a-audacity to address m-my husband b-by his name."

Killorn narrowed his eyes. Out of everything, the matter of his name was that important to her?

"Yet you're shameless enough to address me as your lord after I stripped you of your clothes and spent both a night and morning in bed with you, inside you?"

Ophelia was dizzy from his swift rebuttal. She was stiff in his lap, for she felt something long and throbbing press against her lower-half. Her mind went slack when she saw his smoky gaze. His voice was smoldering and deep, filled with desires.

"O-oh, n-no… I-I was just… W-well, I-I was told not to."

"By who?"

Ophelia didn't dare to say. How embarrassing that she knew nothing about the male and female relationship except from romance novels. As such, she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, denying him twice in the same day.

And he didn't like this rejection.

"Will you at least tell me what happened to you?" Killorn asked. "I want to hear it from your own mouth, Ophelia."

"Y-you already k-know?" Ophelia weakly returned. "M-my blood and the b-bottles… you already know."

"I may or may not. You must tell me personally," Killorn demanded. He left no room for rejection. Instead, he leaned closer and rested his forehead against hers once more.

It was too soon.

Ophelia was not ready. Her heart was pounding against her chest. The damage caused at the auction house… she would never recover from it. Her stammer had disgusted them to the extent where she was made an example out of all the women. Even now, her throat was still raw from the wooden stick.

"I-I'm not r-ready…" Ophelia begged. She hated herself more than ever. Her stammer wasn't that bad in the beginning, but now, she could barely form coherent sentences.

"Will you ever be?"

Ophelia swallowed. "Soon?"

"I will never judge you, Ophelia. You must know that?" Killorn offered.

No, Ophelia actually didn't know. She was startled by his words.

Without warning, Ophelia brushed her nose against his. He froze, his arms going stiff. She wanted to distract him—anything to change the topic. She did what she thought could work. She slid her hands up to his arms, gripping him hesitantly.

"Ophelia, don't," he hoarsely commanded. She rested her fingers on his jaw, her lashes fluttering. He tightened his jaw.

"M-my lord," Ophelia softly said.

"My lovely wife, let me touch you," Killorn murmured, his face so close that his hair tickled her face.

Ophelia let out a breath that she had held in for the longest time. He was her husband. He was the most frightening Alpha across the continent. Women would stay up all night waiting for him, eager to warm his bed. Yet here he was, a wisp apart, begging for permission.

Just what was she going to do with this man? Or… what was he going to do to her?