Victor is watching you. Just lying there on the couch, with his head turned in your direction, waiting to find out what you're doing down here. Yo already went to bed, you shouldn't be down here, especially not in your sleep cloth–

Wait…

You look down to be sure you're not imagining the bare sensation, and sure enough you're absolutely nude. What the fuck? Did you get too hot and remove them in your sleep, and then somehow leave your room without realizing you were naked? How is that possible? How do you not remember getting to this point?

His eyes are still on you. He's just patiently waiting for you to come to him, and that's when you feel that first throbbing roll of pressure through your lower belly. He always seems to wait for you to make that first move, as if you're not equally afflicted with the fear of rejection. Two oft rejected people tiptoeing around each other, trying to make sure it's safe before they ask for what they so desperately need.

But it doesn't feel like rejection, the way his eyes are tracking up and down your body, and you're just suddenly so horny you're physically incapacitated with it, muscles curling in on themselves and cramping and begging you to do something. All of a sudden you can't remember a single reason not to do something, and your feet are just walking, and before you know it you're swinging your leg over Victor's middle and settling there, gravity pressing your pussy down onto the bulge in his pa—

Wait. What pants? His clothes are gone just as suddenly as yours, and what you're pressing your suddenly dripping pussy down onto is– fuck, a whole lot more than a bulge. You shouldn't do this, so soon, without any foreplay and without even speaking to each other. It feels wrong enough that you hesitate there and don't take his cock into yourself. This is a mistake. There's something you have to tell him first, something vital. You attempt to say it, but it doesn't leap to your mind like it should. Heat is rolling through your pelvis so intensely that your thoughts seem like useless things in the face of all this need. When you finally open your mouth all that comes out is a quiet cry low in your throat, and all you can do is shudder and drag your clit against him and hope he doesn't judge you for it, because everything is building up so fast and overwhelming that you don't think you can maintain your dignity right now.

He takes in the way you're all curled into yourself and lost to the physical need, and he seems to understand. He doesn't speak, which is decidedly odd, but he does reach a hand down and angle himself into you, and you take your opportunity. You just fucking plop down onto him and it's the most intense, solitary thrust you've ever experienced. Sweet heat obliterates you from the inside out to such an extent that you're just sitting there motionless, whimpering quietly while you wait for it to subside, but it never does. It floods up and down your legs, hot and insistent, and it doesn't even make sense that it should feel this good just sitting here— Oh, wait, you're not just sitting here. You're moving, so unconsciously that you didn't even register the way you're fucking yourself on him, and every slide in and out is just as good as the first one.

You're about ten seconds into it, and it seems absolutely insane that you're already this close to cumming. It's almost like you're experiencing one continuous, low grade orgasm fluttering through your belly for how good it feels. But it's not enough. Things are steadily building, ramping up to a release so sweet and wet you can feel it in your toes. You're on your hands and knees, focus directed inwards at that urgent need to cum and working yourself towards it, and there is nothing that can stop you now because you've locked yourself down in position and you're rolling your hips and you're gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum—

And your alarm rips you out of your dream and into raw, unsatisfying reality.

You just lay there in shock and disbelief, completely motionless as if you can make this the dream and transport yourself back to the other reality if you only ignore the alarm long enough. But it keeps going, and suddenly the reason for setting an alarm when it's still dark outside flashes to the front of your mind. You're working today, with Victor.

With a groan you roll over and put your phone out of its misery, and then reach down to apply some pressure to the achy area between your legs. It does help a little. As the seconds tick by and more distance is put between you and that dream, your arousal begins to dissipate. Normally you would take a few minutes to take care of things when you're this worked up, but you, oh clever one, decided to shower and do everything already last night so that you'd have maximum sleep-in time, and now you're forced to flop out of bed and get going, frustration or no.

You do the necessities and pull some jeans on before grabbing your backpack full of outfits and descending the stairs. Maybe if you're lucky Victor will still be getting ready, and you'll get a few precious minutes of time to yourself to reset your expectations.

"Morning, sunshine." A very awake looking and ready-to-go Victor is sitting at the counter, scrolling his phone while he drinks coffee.

It enrages you.

Not because he's not allowed to be happy and rested and sexually satisfied when you're not, but… okay, yeah, that's exactly why. It's absolutely unfair and you attempt to push that feeling back down so it doesn't affect him, but still, something about your body language entices him to suddenly look up from his phone, and you can't help raising your eyebrows irritably.

"What? I washed the hoodie."

But he isn't looking at your clothes, he's looking at you, and you have no patience for it because being perceived is about the last thing you want right now. You turn and head to the espresso machine, where… There's a latte already waiting for you on the counter. That fucker.

"Thanks," you mumble, truly wishing he hadn't done this so you could continue being annoyed at him for no reason.

Even in your dreams he is sweet and benevolent, and it's so stupid that you feel this way. The goal should be to feel absolutely nothing for your boss, but you seem stuck between love and hate, with nothing in between. There's an inexplicable worry that Victor will somehow divine the dream right out of your skull if you get too close and you wish you could take your coffee to another room to drink, but you know that effort would be in vain. You'll be sitting next to him today, likely for hours, so you might as well push through the discomfort now.

Ugh, the discomfort. You bring your coffee over and take the seat next to him, and it's nearly a menstrual cramp with how tense and raw you feel down there. Briefly you consider taking some ibuprofen, but ultimately decide it would have little to no effect on the affliction of inopportune arousal. All you can do is shift in your seat and try to ignore the ache between your legs. Your only hope of getting through the day is separating the physical from the mental. Accept the discomfort that you can't change, and focus on the job and thinking about anything but that horribly realistic dream.

Victor seems to sense your foul mood because he's being unusually quiet, and before long he gets up to transport a couple of duffels to the car. It's been two weeks since your last job, and he's been away doing what you can only assume were jobs too dangerous or inconvenient for your assistance. You dropped William off at daycare yesterday, so all that remains now is uninterrupted stalking and hopefully a decent bonus.

"The job is for him," Victor explains, pointing to the photo on your phone, "but his brother is the mark. I have reason to believe that he not only knows where this guy is hiding, but may visit him today."

You switch to the other photo and memorize the face. You're parked a distance from the brother's house in DC. It's still early in the morning, but you've had time to scarf down some fast food and settle in. Victor continues the briefing.

"If the brother leaves at all, we're following. Me if by car, you if on foot. I want you to have your backpack with you so you can change on the go if necessary. There isn't much traffic over here and the car may become conspicuous."

You nod, preparing yourself for the possibility of changing behind a bush or alleyway. This job is a slight loosening of the leash, and you may be on your own with it. No Victor to get eyes on the mark if you lose him, or to defend you if you're made. The reality of how easy your first job was, exactly how many training wheels you had attached to yourself, really starts to sink in.

"The instant the brother enters another building, or you see the actual guy, you call me and I take it from there. Clear?"

"Yes."

Not that eye contact is super necessary right now when you're just watching a house for movement, but you find it nearly impossible to look in Victor's direction. Though the minutes are ticking steadily by, you've still got a pressurized buzz between your legs and in this tight space, with no William or other distractions, you can smell him. That gorgeous, fresh outside kind of smell that's not air or water or earth, but all of them at the same time. It's an effort not to think about all the times you've been in close contact with that scent, had it all wrapped around you while other things were going on. And the worst thing is you can still feel his eyes on you, like he's trying to figure out why you're over here silently suffering.

"Are you alright, baby?"

"Don't call me that," you snap, eyes never leaving the mark's house. "I'm fine."

"You seem kinda… keyed up."

Your eyes finally flick to him, taking in the way he actually seems earnest. "Well, we are on a job, so."

"Hmmm," he says, sounding unconvinced, but he shifts back in his seat and finally looks away from you.

If you'd only had fifteen minutes extra to take care of things this morning. Hell, you're pretty sure you could have done it in five. Five minutes is all it would have taken to give you perfect focus and comfort for the rest of the day, but no, you couldn't even have that. You wiggle around in your seat a little, trying to find an angle that's less distracting on the swollen area between your legs, and keep your eyes locked on the house because you're afraid if you look at Victor, you'll really start to look.

"You know what you need?" he says unexpectedly.

You stop fidgeting and clamp your legs together a little tighter. "I have everything I ne—"

"Some really good head."

Your face whips around to look at him now, trying to tell if he's messing with you or… somehow serious. He's raising one eyebrow with an unreadable expression and, fuck, he might be serious.

"That," you say, steeling yourself for the biggest whopper of a lie you've ever told, "is the last thing I need, especially from you."

He twists in his seat a little so he can watch you more conveniently. "Nah, just look at you. See how tense and grumpy you are?"

"I'm grumpy because it's the ass crack of dawn, and I have to be in here all day wi-–"

"What you need," he says, all slow and smooth like he's purring it out, "is a comfortable place to just relax, and a nice warm mouth to cum in."

Fuuuuck himmm. Despite your best efforts, despite every wall you've built between you, as if you're not suffering enough as it is, he's just stomping all over your aching uterus with his stupid ideas and his stupid, rumbly voice. It's an effort not to rub your thighs together a little just to get some relief, and you absolutely would if he weren't just staring at you so intently. Instead you just clamp your teeth and glare out the window, fists clenching in your lap, trying to ignore the dull ache and just hoping he'll take the hint and shut up for a little while so you can calm yourself dow—

"I should eat you out tonight."

That's it. That's all it takes for something inside you to snap. It hurts so bad, and he's just there, twisting the knife while you have nowhere else to go. You're helpless and stuck and the power dynamic is so fucking far from even, so you do the only thing you can think of and stab him right back.

"Oh yeah," you spit out, eyes flashing with anger, "you know how much I love pretending to cum when someone's going down on me, and then getting ghosted for a month. It's my favorite. Or even better, we should totally just fuck tonight. Scratches all over me and a bruised cervix. Sounds fucking great."

You wrench your eyes away and suck air into your lungs, and then there's a long silence and you even hate him for that, for letting your scathing words settle into the still air and reverberate through your head until you loathe yourself for saying them.

"I told you," he says quietly, like he wants to make sure you're listening, "you're getting it soft next time."

You glare over at him and he isn't even looking in your direction, just staring at the mark's house with one hand clenched a little too tight on his knee.

"There won't be—"

"On my bed," he says, cutting you off with a flick of his suddenly bright eyes to your red face. "You'd be more comfortable on your bed, but mine will make you feel powerful, like you're controlling me."

You clench your legs together and just seethe in his direction. So he twists in his seat again until his shoulders are facing you, and casually says, "I'll let you lick me, you know. I'll let you play with it and do it however you want."

Fuck. FUCK. Painful heat washes through your middle against your will. Of course you want that. You've always wanted that.

"Shut up," you grit out, but he plows ahead like he hasn't heard you.

"You'll probably want to tease me a nice long time because it'll feel good to see me under your thumb for once." He smirks down at you like it's all just a funny joke. "Make me get all shaky and desperate, and find out if I'm the type to beg. You'll want to touch yourself while you do it, but you won't because you don't want me to know how wet you're getting with my cock in your mouth. Besides, you enjoy the deprivation. Turns you on."

"L-look," you say slowly, trying to find the will to resist, "if you're just gonna sit here and talk about blowjobs all da—"

A warm hand reaches over and lays itself on your knee. There's nothing inherently sexual or menacing about it, just a casual, steady weight, but you jolt because it takes all that aimless heat in your pelvis and sends it like an arrow straight to your clit.

"I'll want to lick you too, but I won't, not at first. I'll let you do what you need to do to me. I'll let you get on top and I'll pretend you aren't just wet as fuck and dripping all over my cock."

His hand moves. It's just fingers lazily running up and down the side of your knee, but it has your arguments scattering. You should grab his damned hand and peel it off you, should scream at him about sexual harassment in the workplace, but you don't. You sit there, muscles locked, enslaved to watching his hand move and feeling the shocks of it seep down into you. He begins to work lazy strokes up and down a few inches of your thigh.

"You'll let me touch you then. I'll have to squeeze your ass and tits a little so you can convince yourself that's what I'm really after, but then once you're nice and comfy on my cock I'll touch that pretty little clit."

You're certain it isn't so pretty looking right now with how tight and painful it feels, but you don't have time to think about that because his hand is moving lower now at each pass, his closest finger exploring under the hem of your shorts and nearly hitting the indent between the inside of your leg and the area that's currently screaming at you.

"That's when you'd get it soft. I'll make sure you can't feel anything sharp. Rub your clit just how you like it and let you get what you need on my cock. I'll keep you like that as long as it takes, until you're ready to just relax and let yourself cum."

Right as he says that last word, he reaches his little finger out and runs it lightly down the middle seam of your shorts. You gasp, legs jerking farther apart purely on instinct, and your hand snaps out to take hold of his wrist.

"Victor," you gasp, but he doesn't stop. He slides his hand up over the front of your covered pussy, so slowly that it's like he's dragging a deep, pulsing throb out of you.

You know his eyes are boring fucking holes into your scull with how closely he's watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You just sit there gasping and staring down at his hand between your legs and your grip on his wrist loosens, because you are a weak, weak woman. Slowly, like he's trying to make extra sure you're not going to stop him, he reaches over and undoes the button on your shorts one handed.

"Tell me again how I'm gonna make you pretend to cum."

Your zipper goes down, and his hand along with it. Slowly, right into your underwear, he slides two fingers down to your pussy.

You're wet. You know you're wet. There's not a single brain cell you possess that believes you're anything but fucking soaked down there, but you still pray to god he's not going to comment on it when his fingers find that hot little puddl—

"Mmmm, baby got wet hearing how she's gonna play with me."

Technically you got wet dreaming about fucking him, but you don't think that confession will work in your favor. The rage you feel at his audacity to mock you for your response is only surpassed by your body's need for him to touch you more. Your hand is sweaty, limp and useless on his wrist. You're not sure if it's there to pull his hand away or push it up harder so you can grind against his fingers. You're just completely undecided and needing that extra bit of control, so you keep holding on and hoping for both.

He slides a wet finger up to your clit, and your head slams backwards against the headrest, jaw hurting with the effort of keeping your noises contained. He makes a pitying sound in his throat and softens his pressure a little, to make it that much more of a tease.

"Baby hasn't let me touch her in so long, she's got this pretty little pussy so wet on her own."

"Fuck," you finally manage to say, but then it breaks off into another small, breathy, "fu-uck." The way he's touching you is, fuck, just right, and searing heat is just lancing down your legs every time he opens his goddamned mouth.

"It's okay, baby. Just stay like this, and I'll touch you as long as you need. You don't even have to pretend you want to cum right now. I'll be the bad guy for you, I'll make you do it."

He's giving you an out, a way you can cum and deny that you even wanted it. Everything is rising up inside you so fast, and you've been deprived so long, there's no way it will take much to push you over. You close your eyes and try to breathe through your nose and attach yourself to all that rising pressure, and you don't fight it. You don't have to. You let it swell and a part of you hopes he's going to start talking again so you can latch onto the mental image when you cu—

Without warning Victor pulls his hand out of your shorts. Your eyes spring open and an undignified whine automatically bursts forth, but you don't have the opportunity to hold onto his wrist before it's yanked away.

"Take off your shorts."

For the first time today he's looking at you like he's not sure if what he's asking for is okay or not, like it's actually a question. This is where he draws the line? Not sexually harassing you, not touching you like he has some kind of right to your body, but this? Taking off your clothes so he can… watch? Fuck, okay.

Your hands aren't exactly steady when you hook your thumbs in your shorts and underwear and slide them off completely, getting rid of your shoes too, while you're at it. You settle back and angle your ass a little farther forward on the seat so he can have better access, and you look up at him. He's got his eyes locked on the front of your pussy that he can see, and it feels so raw and powerful that you don't even think about how you're naked in the front seat of a car where anyone could see. You just stare up at his face and watch him watch you spread your legs. You let one knee fall out by the gear shift and the other settle onto the arm rest, and you catch the way some kind of fierce longing sharpens his features, like he's having to hold himself back from something.

Maybe he is a pussy guy after all.

He twists in his seat so he can use the other hand this time and really touch you, easily gathering up some of your wet and smearing it all around your clit while you watch the path of his fingers around your hot, sensitive area. It's so bizarre being naked out here in the fucking sunshine and watching someone else's fingers work you up just as good as you could yourself. You can see the slimy coating all the way down to the first couple of knuckles and it's absolutely enthralling. What's happening inside, the tightening and the coiling and the way your pain has morphed into sticky goodness is all just in the back of your mind when you can watch him play with you so brazenly like this.

"Fuck," he breathes when a particularly strong throb has you dipping your hips back to get away from the intensity.

He never loses contact, following the movement and making sure the pressure stays steady and inescapable. You shove your hands flat under your ass in an effort to keep yourself still, because you don't want any temptation to take over the task and touch yourself. You can touch yourself any fucking time. This, Victor forcing you to cum when you desperately need to, this is a once in a lifetime kind of experience.

It's coming, you're cumming. You only allow your shallow breaths to turn into gasping pants when you fall over the edge, the force of it flexing your head down to your chest and finally breaking the lock between your gaze and his fingers. You've got your eyes shut tight, cutting off as much stimuli as possible so you can just focus everything on the electric shocks coursing through your body. It's so fucking sharp, and you thank god that Victor seems to know exactly when to slow everything down and just give you the barest caress that you can tolerate.

Eventually your muscles unlock and you're able to stretch back out against the headrest and you finally feel that relief, your body suddenly so soft and relaxed. You blink slowly up at Victor, whose beautiful eyes are now looking right back at yours. The thought of closing your legs never even occurs to you when his warm fingers are still stroking gently over your satisfied cunt like he's just petting you there for your own comfort. He's right, you needed that. It's a miracle cure for your pain and suffering, and now you feel all floaty and warm here with the sunlight hitting your bare legs. You will straight up fall asleep with his hand still petting you if you're allowed to stay here long enough.

You're not sure what you want to say, but the urge to tell him something along the lines of, 'thank you,' is pretty strong, and you decide to just wing it. You open your mouth and–

"Fuck." Victor's hand suddenly goes still and tense on your clit, and your eyes launch down with a fleeting terror that he's going to accidentally unleash his claws. But he just pulls his hand away from you and quickly wipes it on his jeans. "Gotta go, baby."

What? Your head is screaming at him to stay here and stop being so ridiculous, but the car door is already slamming behind him and he's running. You watch him cross the lawns and launch himself up the the roof with the agility of a tiger, like it's fucking nothing, a split second before the front door opens and a guy, the guy, not the brother but the actual guy you're here for, walks out the front door. Victor has already disappeared over the peak of the roof and all of a sudden you realize your vulnerable position. Cursing steadily, you yank your clothes and shoes back on and look around for any sign of movement.

Nothing. Victor is gone and so is the guy. What the fuck are you supoosed to do? Twenty minutes later you're still sitting there, growing more and more annoyed as the time passes. And then finally your phone dings, and you see:

VC: Go home