Chapter 17 Hellsing #2
Grace stood under the spray, water running over her hair, down her face, over her shoulders, along the curves of her body. Soap clung to her skin in thin white trails, sliding down to drip off her breasts, off the tips of her nipples, down her stomach. Her eyes cut to me, sharp and bright.
For a second, all the alarms in my head shut off.
My gaze traced the path of the suds. The rise and fall of her chest. The steady drip of water from the ends of her hair. My pulse jumped for a different reason now, heat mixing with the cold dread I had walked in with.
She gave me a slow, seductive, smile.
“Hellsing,” she said, voice soft, almost affectionate. “You gonna stand there and stare?”
Her hand slid down her body, across her nipples, over her stomach, between her thighs. Her lids lowered. Her mouth parted as her fingers touched her pussy. She touched herself with a familiarity that should have been intimate but instead felt like an act performed for an audience.
Me.
Her shoulders pressed back against the tile.
Water rolled over her face and over her curves.
Her breathing shifted, grew shallow, faster, the sounds echoing in the small space.
She moved her hand in small, insistent motions.
Her body reacted, and her hips jerked. She looked delicious and brazen, touching herself for me.
My eyes took her in, memorizing how her muscles tightened, the way her lips trembled, her head tipping back in ecstasy.
I knew I should look away, but I didn’t. Instead, I moved my hand over my bare cock which was heavy with cum.
I watched every tiny change. The way her toes curled. The way her free hand gripped the edge of the tile. The way her throat worked as she swallowed down sounds that wanted to escape. The flush crawling up her chest as her eyes came down to my hand and my leaking cock.
She shuddered. A sharp intake of breath punched through the air.
Her eyes snapped open and locked on mine as her body jerked in a tight, controlled release, every line in her frame drawn taut.
Her tits trembled slightly as the orgasm ran through her and my cock reacted.
I leaned forward in the shower, the hot water hitting my back as I stroked myself for her.
“Nnngh, fuck,” she moaned the word as she stared down at my hard length, protruding in the air.
Her hands softly cupped my face and brought my lips p to her, such a contrast from moments before. The act made my cock jerk and I exploded, streams of my cum hititng her thighs and running down her legs, disappearing in the swirl of the drain.
I pressed my forehead against hers and when I finally leaned back, I realized her smile was not soft. It was satisfied and mocking.
“Show’s over,” she said, tone light and cutting at the same time. “Now fuck off.”
She shoved me away and yanked the curtain closed in my face and I stood there, hand still clutching the fabric, steam wrapping around me as my heart pounded. The image of her staring at me while she came lodged itself in my brain, layered over everything else that felt wrong.
I let the curtain fall back into place and stepped away.
The bedroom was a mess. Sheets twisted, pillows on the floor.
The marks on my skin continued to throb.
I pulled on a pair of sweats and headed for the kitchen because if I didn’t keep moving, I was going to start looking for sigils, for shadows on the wall, for signs that Bael had wormed his way into this space too.
The kitchen light was too bright. It made everything look flat and unreal. I opened the fridge, grabbed the pack of bacon, eggs, whatever my hands landed on first. The motions were automatic and mechanical. Pan on the stove. Burner on. Handle turned just so.
Footsteps padded into the kitchen.
Grace walked in wearing my T-shirt. The hem hit her upper thighs. Her hair was damp, clinging to the sides of her neck. Her face was scrubbed clean, with no trace of makeup, but her eyes were still too bright.
My body reacted again. My cock surged at the sight of her in my clothes, in my space, bare legs moving across my floor. I clenched my jaw, pushed the feeling down, focused on the stove.
“You hungry?” I asked, because the alternative was saying something about the shower, the bed, the way she had laughed.
“Starving,” she said, cheer in her tone that did not match the morning.
I reached for the bacon pack and started to peel it open.
She moved closer, too close, pressed up into my space without hesitation. Before I could stop her, she grabbed a strip of raw bacon out of the pack and lifted it to her mouth.
My hand froze.
“Grace,” I said, voice sharp. “Don’t…”
She bit into it. Chewed and swallowed.
The sight of her teeth sinking into the raw meat made my stomach flip. The sound of her chewing filled the small kitchen. Grease smeared the corners of her lips. She licked it away with a small, pleased hum, then grabbed another strip.
I stared yet she just kept smiling at me.
“What?” she asked, tone joking, like I was the one being strange. “It’s good.”
“You’re not supposed to eat it like that,” I said, every word slow. “You know that.”
She shrugged, popped the second strip into her mouth and chewed, eyes never leaving mine. There was a challenge there, a quiet dare. My chest tightened around that same gut feeling.
“I talked to Bullet,” I said, dragging my attention back to anything else. “There’s a party tonight at the Cherry Smoke in the French Quarter. Clubhouse Halloween party spillover. You know how those nights go.”
Her eyes lit up. This time the excitement seemed real.
“A party?” she asked, stepping closer, practically vibrating. “At the Cherry Smoke? Do I have to dress up?”
“I guess,” I said. “It’s Halloween. You can if you want to.”
She laughed, clapped her hands once, the sound sharp in the kitchen.
“Perfect,” she said. “I already know what I’m wearing.”
She moved around the kitchen like nothing was wrong. She continued to hum that same tune under her breath. She leaned against the counter, watching me crack eggs into a bowl. She swayed a little in my shirt, bare legs brushing the cabinet door.
I watched her.
The girl I loved stood ten feet away from me, in my t-shirt, chewing raw bacon, humming some tune I did not know, eyes too bright, smile too wide.
On the surface, it looked like an easy domestic morning. Underneath, something was rotten.
I felt it in the burned skin around my throat. I felt it in the way my instincts would not shut up. I felt it in every strange note of her hum and every off-beat burst of laughter.
Something was off with my Grace.
And as much as I wanted to blame stress, or the sigil, or the long days trapped in this apartment, I knew better.
Something else was here and it was fucking with my head, using the one thing in my life that was sacred, against me. The thought made me furious, but I kept my calm, because if it even caught on that I knew it was manipulating my woman, it would hurt her, and that’s the last thing I wanted.