He laughed. A deep, infuriating sound that followed me as I slammed the door in his face.
Inside, the walls felt too close, the scent of leather and smoke wrapping around me, reminding me that this washisspace. My heart wouldn’t slow down. Anger churned in me, but beneath it, something else pulsed. Something warmer, and hungrier.
I pressed my palms to the door, trying to steady myself. I hated him. But as I stripped off my jacket and caught sight of his shirt still hanging on the chair from the last time I’d been here, my stomach twisted. As much as I wanted to hate him, it was a lie I kept telling myself.
What I wanted wasn’t to make him suffer. It was to pull him into this room, push him onto the bed, and lose myself in him until the world outside disappeared.
I hated that he made me feel safe. I hated that part of me wanted Peter Hellsing back in my bed again, keeping me warm, keeping me whole, and keeping the nightmares away.
HELLSING
Idropped my head between my shoulders, water sliding down the curve of my back. My muscles were tight and tense from the day’s events. I leaned forward, palms flat against the tile, watching the fog rise and swirl around me. For a moment, I thought maybe the heat could burn her out of my head.
It didn’t.
Her scent lingered in my lungs, sweet and sharp, just like her tongue. The memory of her voice, the fight we’d had, the way she stood her ground, the flash of her eyes when she challenged me... it all pressed into me. Every beat carried her name and although I tried to focus on the noise of the shower, the smell of the soap, anything but her, it wasn’t working. The more I fought it, the worse it got.
I could almost feel her skin under my hands, the heat of her body when she’d leaned too close, the sound of her breath catching when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. The thought alone had me tense, aching in ways I didn’t want to admit.
I exhaled hard, dragging a hand over my face. The hot water wasn’t helping. Nothing was. It just reminded me that I was alive, and she was the reason for it.
I could still feel the curve of her hips under my hands, the tension in her body when she argued with me, wanting to pounce on me. She made it impossible to think straight. Made it too damn easy to want things I shouldn’t.
I clenched my jaw, squeezed my eyes shut, and let the water hit me. But it didn’t drown her out. Not the image of her in my shirt, the hem exposing her soft plush thighs, the way it clung to the roundness of her ass. I imagined her without any panties, giving me teasing glimpses of the peach between her legs. I pictured the flush of her cheeks when I caught her looking, lips parted like she wanted to say something filthy but didn’t trust herself enough to speak it out loud.
I was so damn hard. Painfully.
And no amount of water was going to wash away the way my cock pulsed with the memory of her pressed to me, her voice soft when she wasn’t cussing me out. When she breathed like I was the only thing tethering her to this world.
My hand moved before I could stop it, slick and firm as it wrapped around the thick length of me. I let out a low breath, forehead resting against the tile. I always stopped myself from allowing it to get this far. I never crossed the line. But these past couple of days had been too much. She was slowly getting under my skin, and I was letting her. I didn’t just want her under my skin; I wanted her under me and my cock buried deep inside her.
I stroked slowly, twisting my fist and squeezing the tip, controlling my pace.
Grace had always been my weakness. She'd always been the one thing to make me lose control. And the second I let myself imagine her kneeling before me, red lips parted, mouth hot and eager for my cock, I lost my rhythm. My grip tightened and myhips jerked forward. I imagined her rising over me, that t-shirt sliding off her frame, those big soft tits swaying as she ground down on me, whispering my name with the same urgency she'd used to bring me back.
"Fuck..." I hissed, jaw clenched, a growl came from deep inside my chest.
I pictured driving myself into her in long, hard strokes. Her body writhing, her moans filling my head, curses becoming filthy pleas as I fucked her.
I came hard, thick pulses streamed against the wall, my breath came out ragged and uneven. I stood there after, still braced against the tile, my throat tight and chest heaving.
I hated this.
Not the wanting or the need. It was too real, too raw. What I hated was how the demon twisted it. Bael's voice still echoed in my head, even when I was chasing pleasure. Even when I was alone.
Twisting everything sacred into something filthy.
I shut the water off and grabbed the towel, drying off in silence, knowing she was on the other side of that connecting door, just waiting to be taken.
I pulled on my gray sweats, and bare chested, still damp and horny, I dropped onto the couch. The place smelled faintly of her perfume, something sweet and earthy that clung to the air no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I sat there, elbows on my knees, eyes closed. My fists clenched. I couldn’t touch her. Not yet. Not with Bael in the shadows. Not when I didn’t know if wanting her was all me or I'd be sharing it with something worse.
I wanted her. Not just the warmth of her, not just the fight. I wanted the way she made me feel like I was still human, even when the dark tried to tear me apart.
And that thought scared me. I never let anyone this close before, I wasn't able to without it being used against me. Ipromised Virgil I'd watch over his daughter, not defile her. He trusted me.
So why the fuck couldn't I get the feel of her curves out of my hands.
When I finally lay back, the sound of the storm outside carried through the walls. Thunder rolled deep. I stared up at the ceiling, letting the rhythm of the rain beat out everything else. The ache, the guilt, the want. I closed my eyes, trying to fight the pull. But sleep came like it always did, quick and filled with dark shadows.
