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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FANGS TO FLESH ( trigger warning: implied sexual references )
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THERE WAS A POINT long since passed where God himself turned his back on Helen. Even as she gorged on the fruits of the Garden of Eden, lips red and bloodied, Helen slammed her raging fists against the great ethereal doors until her knuckles had crumbled, defeat was imminent and God was none the wiser. Then, in the aftermath, with her mouth burning from one searing kiss and her tongue tasting of smoke and sin, of fruits so tantalising, she tried in vain to repel the ache that had once again returned to its home in her heart. To plead her case. To loosen the grip her legs had on Tommy's waist, her eyes widening as he pressed fleeting kisses to the smooth juncture of her neck.
She didn't expect it to end like this. With her perched on the edge of his desk, her navy skirt hiked up around her thighs while his cold, calloused hands rediscovered the curves of them. He held her close to him like he truly wanted her — no, like he needed Helen and Helen only. It was as if his mind couldn't rest until he remembered what it was like to claim her mouth and body with his own. Only then could the numbness return. Only then could he focus.
Helen had no right to seek God and His forgiveness. Two weeks had crept by since Grace was murdered. A month, maybe, since Patrick preceded her. Helen was halfway through her pregnancy now and Tommy surely could feel her protruding stomach as he curled her into him. A stomach that grew the life of another man's child, for Helen wasn't his anymore. She hadn't been his for a long time. Deep down, she knew he didn't want her to be, not like it was before.
But for just one second. . .
Helen inhaled sharply. "Tommy."
He didn't acknowledge her at first. With a shockingly gentle touch, he pried her head back with his fingers threaded through her hair, his mouth finding hers once more. Then, "Nellie," he whispered. His lips were decedent, like wine, and Helen swore nothing else mattered but how they tasted when they curved around the syllables of her name.
Nellie, her mind echoed.
She was an animal hungry down to her delicate bones. She wanted this, even when her eyes fluttered open again and her unfocused vision landed on the picture frame at the corner of his desk that Tommy had angled away. Oh, how she missed this familiar feeling. Missed him. Even missed that version of herself, the one he called Nellie.
Nellie, who never would've kissed him with a dead woman watching her through black and white print. What was wrong with her? How was this helping him?
"Tommy," she said again, this time with more urgency.
She pushed her hands against his shoulders, grimacing when desire for the corded muscles of his back warred against the logical reasoning chasing circles in her head. I didn't come here to be his distraction, she thought. Reminded herself. Practically screamed into the void of her mind.
