Wild and Free (The Three #3)(35)

All the time his hands still moved on me, heightening the sensations, so by the time he made it back to my mouth, I was ready for his cock.

This was good because he gave it to me, sliding in slowly, his eyes to mine, his face close, his breaths coming fast, mingling with my own.

He was halfway in when he dipped and kissed me. Angling his body to the side, one forearm in the bed so he could hitch his knee for leverage, he rammed the rest of the way inside and I whimpered against his tongue.

He commenced thrusting, deep and sweet, as he kissed me, his other hand smoothing down my neck, between my breasts, to my belly.

Still taking me, he lifted his head.

I opened my eyes, looked into his, and the instant I did, he asked, “Delilah, are you mine?”

I slid a hand up his chest and curled it around his neck, using it to pull my torso up to press against his. My lips to his, I whispered what I knew was utterly crazy, but I also knew to the depths of my heart was undeniably true.

“Yes, Abel, I’m yours.”

His fierce, feral growl vibrated against my lips, along my skin, exploding between my legs as he drove a hand into my hair, shifted to covering me, knee still hitched, and he quit deep and sweet and started f*cking me rough and wild.

I gasped against his tongue before I tangled mine with his.

Not long later, I whimpered my orgasm into his mouth.

Not long after that, Abel growled his against the skin of my neck.

And he kept us connected as we drifted out of our climaxes, his face in my neck, my body cushioning his, my limbs holding him tight to me.

And as everything that was him, everything that we’d done, everything that we were becoming began to settle inside me, I decided having a guy who was hyper-intense, ridiculously overprotective, and phenomenal in bed were all super-f*cking-good things.





Chapter Seven


Potential Bloodbath

Abel



Abel heard the rumble approach from outside. He looked to the bathroom sink where Delilah was aiming a hair dryer at a round brush that was wrapped around a thick lock of her dark, shining hair and called loudly to be heard over the sound, “They’re here.”

Hair dryer still on, her eyes slashed to him and she cried, “Shit, crap, shit, crap, shit, shit, shit! I still have to tease!”

She then turned back to the mirror and pulled out the brush, the lock falling soft with a smooth wave into her face. Abel felt his dick twitch even as his lips curved up.

His dick might be twitching again, but it wasn’t the same. The consuming need he’d had for her was gone, or at least the dangerous part of it that he’d feared would harm her was.

He still wanted her, but now it was because she was f*cking gorgeous, fantastic in the sack, had a spectacular body, and was intensely responsive, all on top of what he was getting was her natural sweet, generous, teasing, kind, funny, and accepting.

And he knew this because he had all of the first four times since they woke up that morning and he’d had all of the last since he’d met her.

He looked to the floor behind her and saw her two bags had exploded since they took a shower, after which she commenced getting ready.

He also saw Xun was not wrong. The bitch did not pack light, not by a long shot. He had no idea how long she planned to stay in Serpentine Bay. But by the clothes, shoes, toiletries, and cosmetics bags he’d noted as he saw her pawing through them, which contained makeup as well as jewelry, it looked like she was moving there.

Something unpleasant shifted through his gut, but he buried it, deciding instead to continue to feel amused that he’d get the only biker bitch he’d met who couldn’t travel with a couple of clean tees and pairs of panties, an eyeliner pencil and mascara, and an extra pair of earrings to shake things up.

Not that he’d had a biker bitch. Losing Hui, then Mei, and after her Sying, and more before them and after, he’d learned not to form attachments to humans outside the family. Just being with his family, he knew gut-wrenching loss would eventually come, so he didn’t court more of it.

That didn’t mean he didn’t have friends over the last fifty or so years who lived the life, their women on the backs of their bikes, wearing leather cuts, proudly proclaiming they were the “property” of their men. These women existing on what they could shove in a saddlebag.

This meant Abel had never had what he had right then—the smell of a woman, his woman, his mate, permeating his space. All of her smells, every nuance, from her shampoo to her body wash to her lotion, her perfume, the shit she slid through her hair before styling it, and the underlying scent that was all her, her skin, her cunt, her essence.

And he f*cking loved it, every note, every trace. He loved that her bag had exploded behind her. He loved watching her frantically teasing her hair in the mirror, shifting from foot to foot in agitation and excitement to see her dad (both of these he could smell too, and both were f*cking brilliant).

He also loved the fact that that night, he’d sleep beside her. He’d also wake up beside her tomorrow morning.

And repeat the next day.

And the next

He’d brought women to his space, slept with them, woke up with them, then took them home and erased their mind of where they were, giving them different memories. These being that he’d f*cked them and slept with them in their beds, all so they wouldn’t remember where he lived.