Chapter 17 Hellsing
HELLSING
Iwoke up to heat. Weight pressed down on my hips. A sharp drag of nails against my chest. My eyes opened and there she was.
Grace was straddling me, looking like a wild goddess.
Her thighs pinned my hips as her palms dug into my shoulders. Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Her hair hung around her face, damp pieces matting to her forehead. Her eyes did not look like my Grace’s eyes. They were too wide, too bright, with a hard edge that cut through the dim room.
My body responded before my brain could keep up and my muscles locked.
Every nerve lit up as my cock stretched even longer inside of her.
She moaned and moved against me in a steady, ruthless rhythm, using my body like a thing she owned.
My eyes fell on her pretty tits, bouncing in rhythm as she used my cock.
I felt the pressure, the friction, the buildup of need, and my heart hammered against my ribs with a mix of lust and a feeling that did not belong in this bed.
Fear.
“Grace,” I rasped.
She did not slow down. Her lips curled in a smile that had no softness. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers pressing into old scars, creating new bruises. Her nails dragged over the ink on my skin like she wanted to erase it.
She leaned down over me, mouth close to my ear and her voice came out low and raw, full of filthy promises and brutal demands.
“Fuck me like your whore, Hellsing. Isn’t that what you wanted. To claim this tight little cunt.”
“Grace, stop.”
“Fuck me, Hellsing. I want your cum all over me. All over my tits. I know you’ve dreamt of defiling me. Defiling Virgil’s little girl. Taking my virgin cunt as yours.”
“Jesus, Grace,” I tried to get her off me, but she gripped my cock inside her and I gritted my teeth as pleasure and pain seared through me.
“Jesus isn’t here, only vile lusssst,” she hissed, still humping me.
“Stop it, Grace. This isn’t you.”
“Fuck you, Hellsing. You don’t know me, exorcist. Fuck you and everything you are!” She cried out, trembling above me as she sought that first orgasm.
The words she spoke did not sound like her. The intent behind them did not feel like her. It was too far, too degrading, too vicious, and I had seen Grace shy away from less. I simply watched in awe as she came undone above me.
My stomach turned even as my hips jerked up in answer to the way she moved.
The sound coming from her throat was not a moan.
It had a jagged edge, like laughter that had been torn apart and stitched back together wrong.
She rode me harder, chasing something only she could see, lost in a frenzy that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with hunger.
“Grace, look at me,” I tried again, grabbing at her waist. “Slow down.”
She slapped my hands away, not playful, not teasing.
Her nails scored the back of my wrists. The look she gave me shut me up.
Pupils blown, whites of her eyes threaded with thin red lines.
There was a glaze there, a sheen that reminded me of every possessed soul I had ever dragged to a church basement.
Except this was Grace.
My Grace.
Her hips rolled in a sharp, relentless pattern.
Every breath she dragged in came out as a rough sound.
Her head tipped back. Her hands slid up her own body, dragging over her ribs, squeezing her full breasts, pinching at sensitive skin with too much force the flesh turned tender and red. Her body shook, tensed, kept climbing.
I felt myself slipping too, pulled along by biology and proximity and the scent of her skin. My muscles clenched. My jaw locked. I tried to hold back, tried to ground myself, but her hand came down and closed around my throat.
She squeezed. Not a light playful squeeze, but one filled with another purpose entirely.
My airway narrowed. Black edged my vision. My hips jerked in time with the way she moved, my cock loving the abuse, helpless under the grip at my neck and the grind of her body. She stared down at me, her eyes bright holding something unhinged, a smile that showed teeth.
My release hit just as hers slammed into her. Her body trembled, clamped down, a sharp cry ripping out of her throat. The sound turned halfway through, shifted into something manic and high. My body went rigid under her, stars exploding behind my eyes.
Pain shot through my chest as her nails dug in again, deeper this time, scratching open skin. Her fingers tightened around my throat. She rolled her hips harder, past the point of pleasure, into something cruel. Every nerve went from pleasure to raw pain in one swift breath.
“Enough,” I snarled, grabbing her wrists.
She fought me, hard. Snarling as I tried to control her movements.
Then suddenly, she laughed. The sound burst out of her in short, sharp bursts that grated on my nerves. I used my strength, tore her hands from my neck, rolled us, and slammed her down onto the mattress. The springs jolted. The headboard hit the wall. Her hair flew out over the pillow.
She lay there beneath me, naked, breathing hard, chest heaving, lips parted. She looked wrecked and satisfied and not herself at all. That laughter still sat in the air, an echo that would not leave the room.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, voice low, hoarse, more shaken than I wanted to admit.
She blinked once, and when she opened her eyes, the edges of her expression softened. She looked up at me with a lazy smile; the same one she gave me the night before. It was familiar and sweet.
“Nothing,” she said, as if that explained everything.
‘Nothing? You nearly broke my cock and strangled the life out of me.”
“Oh please, Hellsing. Haven’t you ever had a little rough sex?”
Her tone was light, careless. No guilt. No awareness of the way my throat burned or the sting of the scratches on my chest. She slid out from under me with no sign of strain, no hesitation. She rose from the bed, every step unhurried, and unashamed.
I sat there, still in disbelief, as she walked to the bathroom naked, hips swaying. My gaze tracked her without my consent, taking in the curve of her ass. The slope of her shoulders. The slight turn of her head as she paused in the doorway.
A soft murmur slipped from her lips. The words were low, almost too quiet, threaded with a rhythm that raised the hair on my arms. I could not catch the language, could not grab the sounds. They slid away from my mind when I tried to hold them, leaving behind a cold prickle along my spine.
She stepped into the bathroom and the door remained half open. The shower turned on a second later, water hitting tile in a steady drum.
The room fell silent except for the water.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I sat there for a moment, still naked, still catching my breath as my throat throbbed and my chest burned. The marks she left on me stung and they felt wrong. They did not feel like the usual aftermath of rough sex with the woman I loved.
The phone buzzed again.
I dragged in a breath, forced my muscles to move and reached for it. Bullet’s name flashed on the screen.
I answered. “Yeah.”
“Hey man, you comin’ tonight?” His voice came through, easy and amused. Background noise filled the line, music and distant laughter, the usual pre-party chaos.
“What’s tonight?” I asked. My brain still sat in that bed, replaying Grace’s laugh on a loop.
“The clubhouse Halloween party, it’s being held at Cherry Smoke” he said. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Cherry Smoke was a biker bar tucked behind a crumbling brick wall a few blocks from the Quarter.
It was owned by Ajax, the club’s Secretary.
The place was more than a bar, it was a place for patched members to drink, talk business, and breathe without eyes on their backs.
And it had become a favorite for many in the Quarter.
I had to admit that having Ajax throw a Halloween party was a little off kilter for him since the asshole was so damn anti any type of festivity, but I had a feeling a skirt had something to do with all this.
If it wasn’t an Old Lady asking for a favor, then it was a woman who had gotten under his skin.
Now that was going to be a sight to see.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. My throat protested the contact. “I completely forgot.”
“If you can’t make it, I’ll let Jameson know,” Bullet offered. “You been off-grid for days anyway. I’m sure he’ll get it.”
“Nah,” I said, staring toward the open bathroom door, the curl of steam starting to slip out. “I think it’ll do Grace some good to get out. I think she’s been cooped up too long. I’ll tell her.”
“All right then,” Bullet said, relief in his tone. “I’ll meet you in the Quarter. In front of the Mydnight Witch. We can walk over to the Lucky Dragon together.”
“Sounds good, brother.”
We exchanged the usual words, then I hung up. The phone felt heavier in my hand than it should.
The water kept running.
That gut feeling in my stomach twisted again, low and insistent. The same feeling I got before a bad job, before a possession went sideways, before someone bled out on a church floor.
I stood.
Every step toward the bathroom felt deliberate. The floor was cool under my feet. The steam thickened the air, coating my tongue with the taste of soap and hot water. The humming reached me before I got to the door.
Grace was humming.
A tune with a strange pattern, notes that did not settle into anything familiar.
There was no comfort in it. The pitches were high where there should have been falls, pauses that felt too long, shifts that scraped against my nerves.
The sound warped in the steam, stretched and sharpened until it became something else.
Then it broke.
Her hum turned into a laugh. Short, distorted bursts. Not human. Not fully. It bounced off tile and shower curtain, twisting as it traveled.
My hand shot out before I could talk myself down. I grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it open.