“Hard for me,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” he grunted as her hand got tighter.
She stroked and he braced, his fingertips digging into the flesh at the top of her ass, wanting to thrust into her hand but wanting more to give her what she wanted to take.
“Is this mine?” she whispered.
“Fuck yeah,” he growled.
She stroked again, a groan stuck in his throat, and he slid his hand along the juncture of her thigh and in.
She gasped against his mouth, the rush of breath so sweet, he thrust into her hand as he slid two fingers deep into her wet.
“Is this mine?” he asked, voice rough.
“Oh yeah.”
He thrust his dick into her hand again as he did the same with his fingers into her pussy.
Her breath hitched and wet flooded around his fingers.
Beautiful.
“You need me to fuck you, baby?” he asked.
“Yes, Abel,” she whispered, then finished on a husk, “Need.”
He slid his fingers out, muttering, “Guide my dick home.”
She didn’t hesitate. She pulled him fully free of his jeans and straight to her cunt.
The instant his cockhead felt her wet, he plunged, her hand flying free, both going to his shoulders to hold on.
He tipped her ass on the basin so he had more of her, dipped his knees, and took her hard, back bowed, forehead to hers, their eyes locked, breaths cutting fast.
She slid her hands urgently up to the sides of his neck, slightly back, fingertips in his hair, and held tight.
“God, you fill me.”
He knew she meant in more ways than one.
“Hold on, pussycat,” he warned, and she held even tighter, jerking up her knees, taking more, loving it, showing him that by clutching hard with everything she had. Her thighs to his sides. Her hands to his neck. Her fingertips against his scalp. And her pussy around his cock, milking him deep.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hammering hard.
“Faster,” she begged on a breath.
He gave her faster.
“More,” she gasped.
He wrapped his arms around her so he was supporting her weight—she was only balancing on the edge of the sink—and drove deeper.
Her head dropped back, her hair falling down, whispering against his arms.
“Drink,” she breathed.
“Pussycat, no. Had you yesterday. Too soon,” he forced out, wanting her blood, wanting it surging into his mouth every time he drove his cock home, but knowing he couldn’t have it.
She lifted her head again, her eyes attempting focus but failing.
She was gone.
It was magnificent.
“Draw from me,” she ordered, but her voice was vague.
“Can’t, baby.”
Her pussy gripped his dick so tight it was a miracle he didn’t come instantly.
“Draw,” she begged on a whimper.
Fuck.
He was powerless not to. She wanted it. He wanted it. And her cunt was demanding it.
He slid a hand up her back, tangled it in her hair, tugged, getting her throat, and he went in. Licking her, preparing her, her pussy rippled against his cock. Then he bared his fangs and tore through.
She cried out, her fingers driving up and fisting in his hair, her wet drenching both of them as she came hard.
He drove harder, her blood flooding his mouth with each thrust into her slick tightness, fucking, fucking ecstasy.
Abel felt it moving over him. He swept her wounds with his tongue, buried his face in her neck, his cock in her cunt, and groaned rough against her skin when he shot deep inside her.
When he came down, she was stroking his hair with one hand, had the other one stroking his lower spine, and had wrapped her calves around his ass.
“Don’t do that again.”
Her hands stopped moving and her body stiffened.
He lifted his head and looked in her eyes. “Love your blood, Lilah. But don’t do that again.”
“Abel—”
“You got me wrapped around your finger and it goes without saying, my dick is buried inside you, your cunt takes control. Give you anything to take you there. But it’s not safe for me to draw from you too often.”
She gripped his neck again and assured, “I’m not woozy from yesterday or anything.”
He shook his head and pulled her closer in hopes of driving his point home. “Askin’ you this ’cause it’s important to me. I get you like it; you come the instant I tear through. You can want it. I’m fuckin’ beside myself that you do. You can have it. But you gotta help me take care of you.”
She held his gaze before she nodded.
He relaxed.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Heat of the moment, bao bei,” he replied gently. “Just need to be aware in future moments.”
She grinned at him.
He grinned back, his eyes dropped to her mouth, then he put his lips there. He kissed her deep and wet and she kissed him back the same way.
In order of preference: cunt, blood, mouth—that’s the way he liked the taste of Delilah.
When he lifted his head, he said, “Now, we’re takin’ a shower.”
That didn’t get him a grin.
That got him a smile.
Fuck, his Delilah.
Better than a dream.
* * * * *
At two to nine, Abel prowled the dining room of Jian-Li’s restaurant.
Hooker and his boys were in the alley, prepared for the meeting (that being heavily armed with knives and guns) and chain-smoking.
Xun and Wei were in the kitchen, also heavily armed, with swords crossed on their backs.
Chen, also ready, was at the front door, keeping watch.
Delilah and Jian-Li were sitting at a round table in the middle of the room. Carafes of coffee, cups, jugs of cream, bowls of sugar, pastries Jian-Li had demanded Xun go out to get on platters, all of this was on the table, the women sipping coffee and gabbing like everything was A-OK.