Wild and Free (The Three #3)(32)

He bent me forward. I put my hands out and settled into them as he continued to slam inside and my climax slowly drifted away from me.

I felt his hands at my hips slide up to my ribs to hold me steady as he kept driving deep, faster, rougher, oh God, so good.

“This what you need, baby?” I asked, my words hitching with his thrusts.

“Yeah,” he grunted, one hand remaining at my ribs while his other moved up to curl around my shoulder, yanking me back as he pounded into me.

“Take it, honey,” I purred.

“Fuck, Lilah.”

Faster. Rougher.

Oh yeah.

“Take it,” I urged.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

His hand at my shoulder moved to grasp my hair. He tugged back. I let him, squeezing him tight inside me. He bucked, thrusting, groaning, his fingers digging into my ribs as he came hard, long, and violently inside me, jarring my body, laying claim to me.

I was a biker bitch. I was a biker’s daughter. I’d grown up with pretty much anything goes with my father (though, he wasn’t a loser, when I was younger, he shielded me from anything that might freak me, it was just that when I got older, that “anything” became a shorter list).

But I was not easy.

I’d once had a one-night stand and didn’t much like how it made me feel, mostly because I hadn’t actually thought it was a one-night stand until the guy left my bed with one word: “Gratitude.” Then he left and didn’t ask for my number.

I thought that made him a serious dick and it didn’t feel great that I’d chosen to let him into my bed.

But it was safe to say, at that moment, Abel still buried deep, his hand gripping my hair, I had no remorse.

None.

Not even a little bit.

I was spent because I came harder than I had in my whole life. So I pulled at my hair to communicate I needed him to let me go so I could drop to my forearms.

His grip didn’t lighten even as his voice was gruff but gentle when he said, “Need you up, baby.”

“Okay.”

“Bear with me,” he murmured.

“Okay, honey.”

“Fuck. Sweet,” he whispered, then slid out.

The loss of his massive cock was like losing a part of me, a part I needed, and so I whimpered.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Sweet.”

I stayed up on my hands even when he untangled his fingers from my hair.

Then I felt his hand between my legs. I was dripping—with him, with me—but not for long.

This was because he coated me with us, down the insides of my thighs, over my ass, between its cleft, up over my sex, to my belly, up, up, deep up, to between my breasts, his chest against my ass to give his long arm access.

I stayed on my hands and knees, thinking this was not weird, and not because there were men who got off on this kind of shit.

No, because the slow, sweet, gentle, reverential way Abel was doing it meant it was meaningful, meant it was profound, meant it was important in a way I didn’t get, maybe he didn’t get, but we felt it all the same.

Both of us.

His lips at the small of my back, he murmured, “Thank you, bao bei.”

I had no idea what bao bei meant, I just knew it sounded very sweet.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered back.

Then I was not on my hands and knees but on my back, head to the pillows, Abel on me between my legs, yanking the covers up over us.

He was naked, which surprised me, but I guess with inhuman speed that meant a man could undress in the blink of an eye.

Good to know.

I focused on his face just as he finished with the covers and his hand came to the side of mine, middle finger trailing my hairline, his eyes watching it.

“You okay now?” I asked, then stilled completely, even my heart and breath, when his two-colored eyes looked into mine.

And I didn’t still because I saw in the light blue one dark brown spikes gliding out from the iris, obliterating the blue, making them both a rich, warm chocolate, and that was weird and wonderful.

No, I did it because everything was in his eyes. The answer to the meaning of life. The truth about whether or not love was real (it was, very much so). Inalienable proof that nothing was more important than family. The knowledge that he would die for me. The understanding that he would kill for me (though, I already knew that).

Everything.

Before, I’d thought his eyes were enthralling.

Looking at them right then, I knew I could lose myself in them.

For eternity.

“Yeah, Lilah, I’m okay now,” he whispered.

Oh man.

“Though, I’m gonna take this opportunity to be a lot more okay, doing it repeatedly from now until about two o’clock this afternoon,” he went on.

I stopped being moved by what I saw in his eyes when they lit with humor.

I smiled before muttering “Give a werewolf vampire an inch, he takes a mile.”

He grinned at me, and if he hadn’t showed all his cards two seconds before, making what I gave him worth it (beyond the amazing orgasm he gave me), that would have done it.

His hand slid down to my neck and I sensed it moving there, but I didn’t feel it.

“This okay?” he asked.

Shit, I forgot he fed from me.

But I didn’t forget it was awesome.