He didn’t move. It was early and he hoped she’d go back to sleep, something he had problems doing after Leah phoned her to arrange the meeting. They’d gone back upstairs to make plans with the men as to how to handle it¸ then back downstairs to fuck yet again and go to sleep.

His hopes were thwarted when she didn’t settle. After a few moments, he heard the covers thrown back, then he heard her pull on her nightshirt and panties, and finally he heard the fall of her bare feet moving across the floor his way.

When she came into view of the mirror, Abel watched her approach, her face sleepy, her eyes on him, her hair tangled and messy, the vision of her starting to make him hard.

She said nothing. Just disappeared behind his back at the same instant he felt her hands light on the sides of his waist right before he felt her lips brush the indent of his spine.

He closed his eyes to fight against the pull of how good that felt.

He’d hoped he’d have this. Just this. He’d hoped when he found her this was what they would be. What he saw with Jian-Li and Ming. What he saw with all the women who had been family to him, who had held him close to their hearts, and who he had watched with the men they eventually let in them. The casual affection. The quiet support. The catching of eyes where things were communicated perfectly with no words, things no one else would understand except the two communicating them.

But having it…

It was more than he could have imagined and he’d spent over a century imagining it, building it up, making it so beautiful that deep in his gut he’d worried the reality would never live up to it.

But it did.

And then some.

It got better when he felt Delilah press her cheek to his back and whisper, “It’s early.”

Abel opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t sleep well,” she noted.

He thought she’d slept well, but apparently he was wrong. She’d felt his restlessness and he could tell by her tone and actions she was concerned.

Yes, she lived up to the dream and made it better.

“No,” he confirmed.

She slid her hands around so her arms were wrapped around his stomach. He felt her shift her head so her nose and forehead were pressed to his spine. When she did that, the soft feathering of her breath drifted down his spine and he again had to fight against going hard at the same time he gave the tightness forming in his chest free rein.

After she did this, she gave him a squeeze and assured, “It’ll be okay, honey.”

“I hope so.”

Another squeeze. “It will.”

He didn’t reply, just stared into his eyes in the mirror.