Chapter 18 Hellsing #2
Images of her sigil glowing on her skin. The way she had laughed that morning. The raw bacon. The shower.
My hand closed around hers, wanting to keep her close.
“Cherry Smoke,” Bullet called out. “Let’s move! Everyone’s already there. Bar’s open. Music’s on. We’re late.”
Cherry Smoke sat at the edge of the French Quarter, an old building with a new sign. Ajax ran the place with the same mix of charm and threat he used within runs. No one fucked with Ajax or his territory, which meant it was a good place to start a party.
Tonight, orange and purple lights washed the brick. Fake cobwebs hung along the awning. A giant plastic skull glared down from above the door. Bikers, locals, tourists, and everything in between came in a steady stream.
Inside, the music hit hard. Bass rattled the glasses behind the bar. Ajax stood behind the counter in some half-assed costume that involved fangs and a bloody apron, pouring drinks with quick hands.
The club had taken over one side of the bar. Patches everywhere. Leather. Boots. Tattoos. Masks. Wigs. The smell of beer, sweat, perfume, and sugar filled the space.
Josh showed up not long after we did, hovering near the wall, hands in his pockets. The kid gave me a nod and I tipped my chin back. His gaze went to Grace, as instructed, then started a slow sweep of the room.
I watched Grace.
She drank. Not more than usual, but faster. She moved through the crowd with an ease that drew eyes. She danced in the middle of the floor, bat resting on her shoulder, hips rolling to the beat in a way that made every man in range stare.
She kept coming back to me, though.
She pressed herself against my front, arms around my neck, thighs brushing my legs. She ground her body along mine with no hesitation, no shyness, no sign that she cared who saw.
“You’re staring,” she said, breath warm against my ear.
“You’re making it hard not to,” I told her.
“Good,” she said. “You owe me attention.”
“I give you attention,” I said.
“Not this kind,” she said, voice dropping. “Not enough of it.”
Her lips slid along my jaw. Her hand dropped to my waist, fingers digging into my hip. For a few minutes, I forgot about demons and Scorpions and Croak. The world shrank to the feel of her body against mine and the beat of the music.
Then she pulled back, grabbed my hand, and tugged.
“Come on,” she said. “I’m bored of the dance floor.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” she said.
We left through the side door into the alley. The air outside felt cooler, sharper. Music from Cherry Smoke spilled out behind us. A few blocks away, another bar pumped out a different track. The Quarter was in full swing.
She walked with purpose, boots steady on the cracked pavement, bat slung over her shoulder. I stayed a step behind, my eyes on the movement of her pigtails, the flex of her thighs.
We cut through back streets until we reached the Venom Lounge, a bar that sat further down, darker, smaller, known for cheap beer and strong shots. No decorations outside, just a neon sign with a snake that flicked on and off.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and red lights washed over the walls. The place buzzed, crowded but not packed. A few Scorpion patches flickered at the edge of my vision and my shoulders tensed.
Grace did not slow down. She slipped past the bar, past the cluster of bodies at the pool table, and ducked into the narrow hallway at the back.
I caught up and grabbed her wrist.
“Grace,” I said. “What the hell are you doing? There’s Scorpions out front!”
She pushed me back against the wall. Hard.
Her body pressed up against mine. The bat thumped against the opposite wall and clattered to the floor. Her fingers fisted the front of my shirt.
“You’re talking too much,” she said, breath hot and fast. “I need you to shut up.”
“I need to talk to you about what’s going on,” I said. “You’re different. This morning…”
She went down to her knees in front of me with no warning and my words vanished.
Her hands were on me, fumbling with my zipper and pulling on my belt.
I felt the rush of cool air on my dick right before her mouth closed over me, hot and eager.
A rush of heat shot through my body so fast it stole my breath.
My hand hit the wall, and my head fell back. The hallway spun with pleasure.
She worked me with ruthless focus, taking control, not giving me a second to rebuild a thought.
Her tongue glided over the base of my cock, teeth sliding over the top.
She sucked on the head of it as if she were sucking on a piece of hard candy.
Slurping and stroking it as she fucked me with her mouth.
The music from the bar became a dull roar. Voices faded into a distant blur. All that existed was the slide of her lips, the grip of her hands, the low sounds she made as if she took pleasure in the helpless curse that scraped out of my throat.
My hips jerked before I could stop them. I grabbed her hair, meaning to slow her, to pull her up, to force some space between us, but she just made a low sound and pushed harder until my vision went white at the edges and my body reacted in a rush of raw release.
“Fuck, Grace!”
She swallowed every bit of my cream as it flowed out of me and onto her tongue. I shivered as I watched her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, slowly getting up off her knees.
My heart pounded and I braced one hand on the wall, chest rising and falling, trying to pull air into my lungs.
“That’s not how I planned this conversation,” I said, voice rough.
“That’s the point,” she said.
She turned, put her hands on the opposite wall, and bent forward. Her skirt rode up, flashing the curve of her ass, the line of the fishnets, the hint of bare skin between. She looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes dark, smudged makeup framing them.
“Come on, Hellsing,” she said. “You’re not done. I want more. I want you to take it all the way. Hard.”
Every instinct screamed that this was wrong. Her need was too sharp, too hungry, too detached from the girl who once blushed when I looked at her across a room. But my body was already responding, blood surging, adrenaline still climbing and my cock was getting hard every second I was with her.
I stepped forward, grabbed her hips from behind, and gave her what she asked for.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Gracie.”
“MMmmngh, she moaned as I slid my hands down her tummy and between her legs, gliding them toward the fishnet between her thighs. I took a sharp inhale as I realized she was bare beneath the stockings.
I growled in her hear, tearing a small hole at her entrance and she whimpered, moving her ass on my cock. I grunted as I slid into her, bringing her on tiptoes.
“You want my cock, little witch?” She let her head slide back onto my shoulder as I thrusted into her, hard and rough.
I didn’t really think as I began to fuck her.
It was the kind of frantic connection that burned through reason.
She pushed back into every thrust, her ass cheeks slapping against my thighs as her nails clawed at the wall.
Small, broken sounds spilled from her throat that were equal parts pleasure and wild edge.
“Yes, fuck me just like that, exorcist.”
I tried to anchor myself in her touch, in her scent, in the familiar shape of her body, but somewhere in the middle of it, a cold thread ran straight through my spine.
My Grace had always met me halfway. I remember how she’d wrap her arms around me after that first time, resting her forehead against mine, and breathing with me until our hearts slowed.
This time, when it ended, she did not reach for me.
I pulled in a harsh breath, muscles shaking, my hand still on her hip. Sweat cooled on my back. She straightened up fast, skirt falling into place. She looked back at me once with a bright, sharp grin, eyes still wild, and her lips swollen.
“Now that’s a party,” she said.
She laughed, loudly in the narrow hallway, the sound bouncing off the walls. Then she grabbed her bat from the floor and walked away, hips swinging, humming under her breath. She did not look back at me, barely acknowledged I existed. It was definitely a feeling I didn’t want to have.