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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucked them and slept with them in their beds, all so they wouldn’t remember where he lived.
Delilah would be the first he didn’t have to do that with. Delilah would be the first who that happened with day in and day out.
And he loved that too.
But Abel did not think beyond that. Did not think of the days passing into months, then years, all of it leading to an inevitable conclusion that would leave him again with that hole in his gut, the agonizing pain of not having what he needed, and worse, the hole she would eventually leave in his life when she left this world, her being it. The one. The only woman who could give him what he needed, leaving him with centuries of missing it with no shot at having it back.
For she was filling his life already, just days in, with her talk of vampire TV shows and her ready acceptance of her destiny and her bonding with his family.
And what she’d given him that morning.
Christ, what she’d given him.
He’d felt her fear, smelled it, but she sat on that bed knowing, since she’d seen his strength in action, that it was a very real threat he could harm her. And she didn’t tell him to go.
Instead, when he drove his cock home, her cunt clenched around him, welcoming him deep, her head snapping back, her hair flying everywhere.
Christ. He’d never forget it, not how glorious it felt, not how colossal it was.
Then she’d given him her blood.
He’d had rat’s blood, cow’s blood, pig, chicken, goat, sheep, and finally, human woman. He’d never had a male’s blood; it didn’t smell good and the idea of taking it turned his stomach.
But he’d never had blood as warm and rich and sweet as Delilah’s. Given to him freely, giving all of her in one go, giving him everything he needed the first time she took his cock…
Fuck.
He knew she was his destiny. He understood that would come with emotion.
He was still surprised at how quickly he was falling in love with her.
Her comb clattered to the cement.
She cursed and Abel again focused on her, thinking, if they were to stay there much longer (which they weren’t), he’d put another sink in on the other side of the tub so he’d be able to get in to do the minimal prep he needed to take on the day. This was something he’d had trouble doing earlier, squeezing in at the side to brush his teeth while she leaned across the sink, swiping makeup on her face.
He’d also give her a vanity, a huge-ass one, where she could rest all her shit while she was getting ready.
She wouldn’t have it here. But wherever they settled, he’d find that for her. For the rest of her life, he’d find her everything she needed.
She bent to retrieve the comb, giving him a full-on view of the ample curves of her sweet ass, the sight he again felt in his cock. Then she went back to her hair.
He finished pulling on his boots and moved from the milk cartons where he’d been dressing.
He approached her from behind, got close enough to touch, but reared his torso back when she snatched up a can of hairspray, aimed, and let loose.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
She stopped spraying, her eyes went to his in the mirror, and she muttered, “Sorry.”
“Everything about you smells good, pussycat. But that shit? No,” he told her as she tossed the can back into the sink with a clatter and he moved in, putting his hands to her hips.
“I need hold,” she shared, lifting her fingers to fluff and arrange her hair, her eyes back to herself in the mirror.
His eyes dropped to her tits where her tee was straining, his dick deciding it was time to yank down her jeans and panties and bend her over the sink. Fortunately, because of what Delilah gave him earlier, his mind had control over his dick again and he didn’t do that while her father and his boys were right then parking their bikes in front of the restaurant.
“I got a lot of hair,” she went on. “I don’t spend thirty minutes getting it to look this good only for it to fall and look like garbage.”
“I think your dad probably doesn’t give a shit what your hair looks like,” he pointed out, and her eyes flew to his in the mirror.