“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.”
