It's Irresistible

“Honey! I’m home!” Bex buries her laugh against Victor’s uninjured shoulder and listens to the way that he sighs. Sounds more exasperated than annoyed.

“Can I kill him?” Victor asks when she peeks up at him.

“Kill me and you’ll lose your favorite delivery boy,” Jackson says as he deposits two pizza boxes on the coffee table. It smells delicious. Definitely better than the cereal she and Victor had for breakfast. She peels herself away from Victor’s side as Jackson collapses onto the couch on her other side, and her good fingers pop open the top box. The smell hits her right in the face, and her eyes actually roll back a little.

“You’re a good friend,” she says in Jackson’s direction before grabbing a slice. She leans back against the couch with a sigh and raises the slice for Victor to take the first bite, and Jackson laughs quietly as he grabs his own slice of deliciousness.

“You two are kind of disgusting. Anyone ever tell you that?” Bex has already taken her first bite, so she just smiles around her puffed out cheeks.

“If they did, they didn’t live long enough to repeat it,” Victor says before she raises the slice for him again. Jackson makes a fake gagging sound, but Bex can see the soft smile around the edges of his lips. Her mentor is happy for her, in his own way.

“So, this Hobbs guy that hid behind four armed thugs and cops with machine guns. Apparently he’s leaving town, just until the heat dies down, because he’s afraid for his life or some shit like that. Want him to stay gone?” Jackson manages to get out from around his own mouthful. Hobbs was Victor’s kill, not hers, so Bex turns to look at him.

“I can take care of him,” Victor says and takes the last pepperoni. She’d pout, but she’s already reaching for another slice.

“Not sayin’ you can’t, but I think our girl here wants you close to home for at least another day or two.” When Bex smiles innocently at him, Jackson rolls his eyes. “Insatiable little minx. The man got shot.”

“Just means we have to get a little creative,” she says while Victor just grunts next to her. His teeth nip at her fingertips as she lets him take another bite, and she can hear Jackson muttering about the downfall of assassin honor codes as her and Victor continue to watch each other.

“You’re both incorrigible, and you deserve each other.” Jackson grabs two pizza slices, balances them on top of each other, and then turns silently on the heel of his boot. “Consider Hobbs permanently retired. I’ll call when Hawthorne gets back and send Chinese tomorrow!”

“He’s such a considerate friend,” Bex says after the front door audibly closes. Victor pulls her in closer to his side, and she slings her legs over his lap as they finish off the first pizza. Maybe she should get Jackson some kind of present. A new rifle, maybe. Or a pair of those ridiculous sunglasses he seems to favor. She’ll have to think on it. First though, she has something a little more fun to plan.


The next day, around lunchtime, Bex and Victor are pulled out of bed by a Chinese delivery guy at the front door. There’s enough food to last them both until that night, and there’s a series of notes in their fortune cookies. Victor ignores her to talk to Max on the phone as she arranges the slips of papers into something that resembles coherency, and she laughs so hard when she completes the little puzzle that Max can hear her even though Victor is on the other side of the kitchen. She’s still smoothing down the last two strips, and possibly I like the thrill/of under me you so quite new, so that she can laminate them and maybe put them on the fridge when Victor comes up behind her.

“Your friend likes poetry?” The phone is put away so Victor can read over her shoulder, and her eyes scan the little slips of paper.

“Jackson is a strange individual. He thinks he’s being funny.” Victor hums as he props his chin on her shoulder, and she turns just enough so that she can nuzzle her nose against the side of his cheek.

“It did make you laugh,” he points out. It’s a good point, and it’s probably why Jackson did it.

“I think we should frame it.” Teeth nip at the exposed side of her neck, right in the center of the already prominent bruise, and she pushes back against Victor with a quiet groan. “Later. We should frame it later.”


“You look…well rested,” Max says as he steps inside. Mark is sitting in a chair, perfectly still with his back straight, but his eyes widen just the smallest amount when Victor walks into the room.

“Are you concerned about my well-being?” he asks as Jade circles around Mark. To the man’s credit, he doesn’t move or flinch as Jade gets increasingly closer.

“You got shot, boss man. By cops on steroids. Then went radio silent for a day,” Jade says as she circles a finger just in front of Mark’s eye. Still immobile.

“I was recuperating at Bex’s. You could have called.” Jade snorts but wisely doesn’t comment, and Max leans back against the wall as she looks him over.

“How is Miss Bex?” Jade stops teasing Mark to look over at him, and he quickly looks at both of them.

“Bex is perfectly fine. She’s meeting with Cobblepot now.” He tried talking her out of it, but he could tell that she was growing restless. Whenever they’re not occupied with each other, she’s moving around the apartment like an animal looking for a weakness in its cage. She’s still heavily bruised, but the concussion seems better. The nausea is gone and the headaches are diminishing, but he still thinks it’s too soon for her to be out.

“I know she looks like a walking bruise, but she’s made of tough stuff. What she did to that guy?” Jade whistles quietly while she rocks back on her heels and then grins. “That was some serious horror movie stuff, boss man. She ripped into that guy.”

“She had some aggression to work out. Now, what should we do with you today?” Mark doesn’t make any movement, except for the small hitch in his breathing, and Victor grins. Maybe he has a little aggression of his own to work through.


Bex pauses just outside of Oswald’s office and blinks up at the large form taking up the entire doorway. Butch tilts his head as he looks down at her without smiling, which is unusual. She was under the impression that Butch liked her. She raises her brow at him in question and then winces when the move pulls at her multitude of bruises, and she watches as Butch’s hard expression softens. He raises a finger at her and then turns to open the door to stick his head in, but the DJ in the nightclub is already playing music so loud that she can’t hear the exchange. It only lasts for a few moments though. Then Butch is looking down at her again.

“Boss said you can go in.” Butch holds the door open for her, and she makes sure to smile up at the big guy before slipping past him. The door closes behind her, and her eyes make a quick sweep of the room. Oswald is already getting out of his chair, and her smile feels more genuine as he walks over to her. His hand reaches for hers, and she extends her right hand.

“It’s so good to see such a friendly face tonight,” he says and gently pulls on her. He pulls her over to a couch in the room, instead of the chair she normally sits in, but she doesn’t question it. They sit close together, angled towards each other so that their knees knock together, and she easily slots their fingers together.

“It’s good to see you too, Oswald.” Now that she’s closer to him, she can see how tired he looks. He’s pale and drawn, and the skin under his eyes looks bruised. Something’s happened since he came to visit her at her apartment, but what?

“What brings you in tonight?” She’s dressed in jeans that cover her entirely and a gray sweater that makes her look shapeless, so she’s not really dressed to perform.

“I wanted to know when I could come back to sing,” she answers honestly. Then, after surveying his tired eyes a second time, she adds, “And to see you, of course.”

“You are a treasure, Bex,” he says and leans back against the couch. She has a feeling that he’d fall asleep right there if he’d let himself, and something stirs in her stomach. She wants Oswald to stop looking so tired; she wants to hurt whoever is making him feel this way, because someone has to be bothering him. Maybe she should come clean about her identity? That way he really can rely on her. She’ll have to bring it up with Victor soon.

“What can I do?” she hears herself ask. As a nightclub singer, she can’t really do much. As a friend? Maybe she can do something as a friend. Tired eyes regard her for a long moment, long enough that it would make most people uncomfortable but she just waits patiently, and then he sighs. Releases the sound with his whole body.

“I am going to ask something completely unorthodox of you.” Her head tilts out of curiosity, studying him, and then she straightens up as she nods. Whatever he wants, she’ll do. Within reason, of course.

His hand releases her so that he can reach up to push at her shoulders, and she scoots until her back is pressed flat against the couch cushion. The couch is so large that her feet just barely skim the floor. Before she can question him, Oswald twists and turns until he gets comfortable lying horizontal on the couch. It means that his head is resting directly in her lap, and he moves his legs around until they’re in a comfortable position. A small part of her panics, because she has no idea what to do with her hands now, but Oswald solves that for her. He grabs her right hand and presses it against the top of his head, and she feels a small smile curl her lips as she starts to gently run her fingers through his hair. Her left arm balances along the back of the couch, and she watches in slight amazement as the mob king relaxes with his head in her lap.

“Would you like me to sing something for you?” she whispers. When he nods, she thinks back to the quiet songs her mother used to sing to her. She keeps her voice quiet and soft, and Oswald’s eyes close as she gently touches his hair. It’s soft despite the product in it, it tickles between her fingers, and she carefully presses her nails against his scalp at irregular intervals.

Bex isn’t sure how much time passes, but she cycles through her favorite lullabies at least twice and mixes in a few other soft songs as she sits on the couch with Oswald resting in her lap. She knows that he stays awake, despite how relaxed he seems at times, but she doesn’t take offense. Falling asleep with someone is dangerous, especially for him, but he’s still showing her trust just by letting her do this for him. By letting her comfort him. That’s what this is. Comfort. She spent so many years completely avoiding human contact, unless she was killing someone, that she forgot how people seek out contact for comfort. It’s nice, to be needed this way.

“Can you work tomorrow? It’s Halloween.” Oswald’s voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, and his eyes are still closed when she looks down. She didn’t even realize it was that time of year.

“You betcha, boss. I won’t let you down.” She waits until he opens his eyes to grin, and she stops herself from wincing at the movement. Her face will be bruised for another week, possibly longer, but it’s an ache she can deal with.

“Costumes are not mandatory but appreciated.” She has several costumes, clothes and wigs and makeup, but she’s not sure if she has anything for Halloween. She might have to go shopping. Maybe she can talk Victor into shopping with her again. The last time was so much fun. He goes a very particular shade of red whenever she brings up Care-Bears.

“I think I can handle that,” she says and scrubs her nails against the crown of his head. The smile he gives her is gentle and makes him look years younger, but she can already see something brewing in his eyes. His night is probably just getting started. “You want me to stick around tonight?”

“Go home, Bex. Tell Victor that he won’t be needed for a few days.” She knows that he’s only saying that because of Victor’s shoulder, but Oswald misses her grateful smile because he’s sitting up. He somehow manages to change his hair back into its usual style before turning to face her, which is insanely impressive, and he reaches over to lightly pat her knee. “Take care of him, Bex.”

“He’s fine, really. Bullet went right through. He got lucky.” Eyes narrow, because most people probably don’t talk about gunshot wounds so easily. The hand on her knee bears down a little harder, not to hurt but just to register, and she waits for him to ask.

“How do you know how to patch up gunshot wounds?” She raises her right arm, locks her jaw, and then uses her damaged left hand to pull her sleeve back. She doesn’t stop pulling until the fabric is bunched around her elbow, and she uses her bandaged fingers to carefully grab Oswald’s hand and press it against her scarred skin.

“The bullet entered here.” The smaller scar is on the inside of her right forearm, where the surrounding skin is softer, and she keeps his fingers pressed against her arm as she turns it over. The scar on top of her forearm is bigger, the scar tissue a slightly darker pink and thicker, and his fingers look especially pale against the scars and black ink. “And came out here. The bone stayed intact, but the muscle took a hard hit.”

“What about these?” She’s not holding his hand anymore, so his fingers are tracing the edges of the scar tissue around her wrist. Oswald is good at noticing the little things, so she knows that he’s made note of the matching scars on her left wrist.

“From being restrained. I know how to patch up pretty much anything at this point.” She smiles as she says it, but it feels like every scar on her body is starting to itch. She never allows anyone to touch her scars. (Except for Victor. Victor gets a pass.)

“You really are something else, Bexley.” When Oswald lets his hand slide away from her skin, she holds in her sigh of relief. She shakes her sleeve until it falls down, covering her completely again, and she smiles.

“Of course I am. I’m Oswald Cobblepot’s nightclub singer.” That gets a real smile out of him, and she shifts a little as the scars on her back start to itch.

“You’re a friend of the Penguin,” Oswald corrects. She dips her chin as she smiles, but she looks up as Oswald gets to his feet. “Do you want a ride home?”

“I don’t mind the walk. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He walks her to the door, like a true gentleman, and she holds still as he drops a kiss just off the center of her forehead. She manages to slip out of the nightclub without being noticed, which is a small blessing, and she’s ambushed the moment she walks outside. Thin arms wrap tightly around her waist as she rocks back on her heels, and she laughs as she smooths her hand down Ivy’s unruly hair.

“You were gone,” Ivy says after she steps back. Bex smiles down at the girl, who is looking up at her with a completely blank face, and slowly nods.

“I was, but I asked my friends to make sure you ate dinner. You met Jade and Max, yeah?” she asks. Ivy spins on her heel to start walking, and Bex walks next to her.

“Jade called me a doll. Max told me to be strong. Victor said the man who hurt you is dead.” Ivy lists the interactions off easily, without inflection, and Bex hums a little. Victor told her everything the two of them talked about, so she knows that he didn’t hold back much when talking to the girl.

“He is,” Bex promises.

“So Victor really didn’t hurt you.” They’re almost to the diner now, and Bex realizes that Ivy is looking up at her. Ivy rarely looks away from her destination.

“Victor wouldn’t. Do you think Victor will hurt me?” The girl doesn’t answer her. They just walk into the diner, and Ivy orders their usual as they move over to the table that they normally sit at. Once they get comfortable, Ivy props her small hands on top of the table and looks at Bex straight in the eye.

“I don’t think Victor will hurt you.” Bex nods, because that’s true, and she’s glad that Ivy can accept the knowledge that not all men are like her father.

“That other thing you and Victor talked about, what do you think?” In all honesty, she’s surprised that Victor brought up bringing Ivy home. She’s not really sure what Victor thinks about Ivy, other than finding her amusing at times, but he knows that the street girl means something to her. (Bex isn’t even really sure what Ivy means to her. Maybe she sees herself in the girl?)

“Could I leave?”

“Yes, at any time. A heads-up would be nice though, if you decided to actually live with us.” Ivy nods, just once, and then doesn’t say anything until after their food has arrived. After a few bites, Ivy taps her fingers on the tabletop on either side of her plate.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Bex pinches off another bite for herself and chases the vegan burger with a couple of fries.

“Why do you want me to live with you?” Instead of answering straight away, Bex waits until Ivy takes another huge bite of burger.

“I remember what it was like to live on the streets, and I didn’t like it. I want to give you a safe place to sleep at night, clean clothes, food whenever you want it…we can even homeschool you, if that’s something you want. I never finished high school myself, but an education is important. You’d be free though, Ivy. Free to do as you want and continue to make your own decisions. I don’t want to be your mother. I just want to help.”

She’ll never forget the gnawing feeling of hunger, the miserable wetness of sleeping under soggy blankets, or rough uneven pavement under her tired body. She dropped out of high school as a freshman, because no one cared anyway. She has her GED now, a warm bed, and a fridge full of food. She’s not usually one for sharing, but she likes Ivy. The kid’s different, in an interesting way, and Bex honestly believes that she can help the girl. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but not all kids need a traditional upbringing.

“Do I have to decide now?” Ivy’s food is gone now, and the girl is working on Bex’s plate.

“No. If you ever decide that you want to come stay with me, you just let me or Victor know.” Ivy nods, and Bex thinks of the date. Ivy might not be moving in anytime soon, but there’s no time like the present for her to experience something of a normal childhood. “How do you feel about trick-or-treating?”


“How did I let you talk me into this?”

“I’d tell you, in detail, but there’s a minor in the backseat.” Victor’s eyes flick upwards, to check the rearview mirror, and he can see Ivy happily munching on a candy bar. She’s surrounded by several empty wrappers, and the large purple pumpkin shaped bucket is still nearly full to the brim with even more candy.

“She’s currently occupied with giving herself cavities,” Victor answers as he makes a turn. They’re moving back into Gotham now, and Bex has turned around in her seat so that she can watch Ivy.

When Bex brought up trick-or-treating the night before, Victor thought she was joking. Then she was planning a shopping trip to get costumes for herself and Ivy, and Bex decided that trick-or-treating would be safer in Metropolis to keep them from getting spotted. So he spent the majority of the afternoon watching as Ivy and Bex picked last minute costumes and losing an argument about wearing his own costume. Bex and Ivy are dressed as witches, in the loosest sense of the idea. Ivy is wearing her usual clothes and a pointed witch’s hat, and Bex is wearing a black dress with a matching hat. Victor is wearing his usual style of suit, but in a dark blue instead of black and with white pinstripes, and Ivy found a fedora with a purple feather for him to wear. It’d made Bex laugh until tears leaked from her eyes when she saw it, so Victor reluctantly wore it. The feather matches the ridiculous leggings that Bex is wearing under her obscenely short dress.

Once they reached Metropolis, they let Ivy lead the way and ring doorbells like all of the other meandering children. At the first house, Bex had leaned up on her toes and asked him to look his most menacing. So he’d made sure his shoulder holsters were clearly visible and gave the middle-aged couple his best glare. He did the same thing at every other house, until Bex had to take over carrying Ivy’s bucket for her. They walked several neighborhoods for a couple of hours, until Bex and Ivy were both satisfied with the amount of candy that Ivy had, and they’re just now getting back into Gotham.

If Victor has timed this right, they’ll get to Oswald’s just in time. He looks away from the road just for a moment, to see the corner of Bex’s smile as she watches Ivy, and then focuses on the task at hand. The child had actually laughed tonight and looked almost like any other kid. Almost, because there’s a look in her eyes that’s unlike any other child he’s ever seen. Street kid or otherwise. Bex enjoyed herself too. She’d kept her left arm looped through his right, since his left shoulder is still stiff, and pointed out the decorations with a constant smile. It was good for her to get out, and it seems like she enjoys seeing Ivy happy.

He parks Bex’s car behind the nightclub at the same time that Butch parks Cobblepot’s car, and Bex springs out of the passenger seat with a happy cry of Cobblepot’s name. Victor meets Butch’s eyes as the man walks away, off to do whatever Cobblepot has commanded him, and he hears Cobblepot complimenting Bex on her costume. On her hat. Then Cobblepot’s eyes move over to him and then down, and Victor looks down next to his left hip. Ivy is standing next to him, hat sitting crookedly on top of her head, and holding her pumpkin bucket up with two hands.

“And this must be your little apprentice,” Cobblepot says and smiles at the girl. Ivy shifts so that her side brushes Victor’s leg and hip, and he raises a brow. It’s like the child is seeking him out for safety.

“This is Ivy. Ivy, this is my boss, Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Hi.” Her tone is flat, and Cobblepot looks puzzled for a moment before looking at Bex.

“Does she live around here?” Cobblepot asks Bex.

“I live wherever,” Ivy answers instead and shrugs.

“Streets,” Victor sees Bex mouth when Ivy looks down at her candy. Cobblepot hums a little as he looks at the orphan girl and then over at Bex, and Victor feels Ivy tense when Cobblepot suddenly laughs.

“Bring her in with you, but keep an eye on her. She’s your responsibility.” Cobblepot points between Victor and Bex as he says it, and Bex makes a delighted squeal low in her throat as she bounces up onto her toes. Victor’s sure that she’d clap if her left hand wasn’t still hurt.

“Whattaya think, Ivy? Want to watch me sing?” The girl tears her eyes away from her candy, glances up at Victor, and then looks over at Bex.

“I can stick around,” she says after a beat.


“Isn’t she just the cutest?” Bex sighs.

“She’s drooling,” Victor drawls.

“Tell me again about how you made Victor Zsasz go trick-or-treating,” Cobblepot laughs.

Jackson narrows his eyes to better see through the small crowd and resists the urge to roll his eyes. It would mess up his line of sight. Cobblepot is sitting at a table in the packed nightclub, and Zsasz is sitting in the chair next to him. Bex is sitting in Zsasz’s lap and curled up against her assassin, and the witch hat that she’s been wearing for most of the night is balanced on her knee. On the table in front of them is a young girl, around twelve or so, and she’s been asleep for the past two hours. She’s curled up on top of the table and surrounded by candy wrappers, and a smaller witch hat is crushed under a wild mane of red hair. This is the orphan that Bex usually feeds after work.

He listens as Bex talks about trick-or-treating in a neighboring city, and Jackson can easily picture it. Bex has always been the persuasive type, when she wants to be, and he’s sure that Zsasz would do just about anything for the girl. It’s one of the reasons that Jackson likes him so much. Cobblepot laughs, probably at Zsasz’s expense, and then Bex announces that she’s thirsty. Jackson turns around before she can get up and orders another drink, and he holds completely still as Bex sidles up to his side. She’s careful not to touch him, just like he’s careful not to touch her.

“You are five feet and nine inches of concentrated idiocy,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth. With a bright smile, she asks the bartender for another bottle of water and a drink for the boss.

“And you are five feet and two inches of concentrated adorableness. I didn’t know you took in strays.” It doesn’t matter that she’s not looking at him or that he’s not looking at her. He can see the way her face softens from the corner of his eye.

“News?” she asks instead.

“Boredom,” he answers. Hawthorne is still out of town, Victor is setting up the takedown spot, so he doesn’t have much to do. This job might be an easy one, but it’s also boring at the moment.

“Come by tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can entertain you.” It’s whispered so low that she barely makes a sound, but he hears the words anyway. He taps his fingers against the bar twice, for yes, and then listens to Bex thank the bartender as she carefully grabs the drinks. Maybe he can find someone else to shoot before Hawthorne comes back and starts yelling in his general vicinity again.


The front door closes behind them, and Bex sighs at the familiar feeling of being home. It’s nice having a home. Having somewhere to return to at the end of the day, or night. She wishes Ivy had chosen to come with them, but the girl ambled off to wherever she’s currently sleeping after they woke her up. Oswald kept calling her a little darling, and he even let Ivy hold his umbrella. She then promptly asked if he’d ever beaten someone to death with it, but Bex is pretty sure that just endeared Ivy to the mob boss even more. Still, today was a good day.

“Was that Jackson at the bar? Dressed as the grim reaper?” Victor asks as they start directly for the stairs. She knows she looks amazing in these heels, but her feet are absolutely killing her.

“He has a strange sense of humor,” she answers as she walks inside the bedroom. She immediately drops onto the bed and starts pulling on her shoes, but she can still see Victor pulling at his own clothes.

“I think he’s just strange.” His guns are removed now, and she’s working on pulling her leggings off.

“He takes some adjusting to,” she agrees and then gets to her feet. She rocks up onto her toes as she spins around, and she looks over her shoulder to smile at Victor. “Help me with the dress?”

“Zipper or knife?” The knife would be quicker, but she actually likes this dress.

“Zipper, please.” Victor finds the zipper on the side of her dress and quickly pulls it down, and she holds still as he carefully peels the dress off of her.

She goes to reach for the clasp of her strapless bra, but Victor beats her to it. After that, he hooks his fingers around the sides of her panties and pulls them off too. She hears the sound of his knees hitting the floor as she lifts her feet, and the thought of him dropping down to his knees so easily makes her skin feel tight and hot. Hands lightly touch her hips and turn her around, and she sits heavily on the end of the bed. Victor is still kneeling on the floor between her spread thighs, and she places her hand on his cheek. Her thumb traces along his bottom lip, and her toes curl as his tongue flicks against her fingertip.

“What’s that look for?” he asks her as she drags her nails down his jaw line. Such pretty bone structure.

“You look good on your knees.” His lips part just enough to show a hint of teeth, and she raises her leg to press her toes against his stomach. “You’d look better without the clothes though.”

“Is that an order?” His jacket and weapons are already off, and he raises his hands to touch against the top buttons of his shirt.

“Just a suggestion,” she says as the first button slips free. She locks her hands on the back of his neck as she kisses him, and she can feel him shifting to pull his clothes off without moving away from her lips. The kiss is messy and wet, nearly desperate, and she barely recognizes the sound she makes when Victor grabs her thighs and holds her open.

She misses the taste of him when he pulls away, but it’s worth it for the way his tongue moves in teasing circles around her. He starts slow with light touches that make her hips rock forward, searching for more contact, and his hands press down hard against her thighs as he firms his touch. Her thighs start shaking when he sucks at her while pressing two fingers inside of her, and she bows over him so that she can hold him against her as her whole body starts to shake. She bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she tastes blood when his fingers curl deep inside of her, and he keeps licking at her as she continues to shake against him.

“Want me to stop?” She’s lying back against the bed now, chest heaving as she stares up at the ceiling, and she tightens around the fingers still inside of her.

“I want more.” Victor’s body slides against hers as he stretches out over her, even though his feet are still on the floor, and she arches up against him as his hand trails along her arm and then presses her hand into the mattress. His other hand is still between her legs and slowly building her back up.

“This isn’t enough?” He’s teasing her! She never teases him like this, but she might start to pay him back for this. She pulls her legs up and presses her heels into the mattress, and she rolls her hips up against his hand.

“No, it’s not.” She grips the back of his neck and pulls him down so that she can kiss him, and she bites his bottom lip when his hand trails along her inner thigh before moving up to grip her hip. She twists her head to the side when Victor slides inside her, and he keeps one hand tight on her hip as he stands up. Her hips are balanced on the very edge of the bed, and she wraps her thighs around Victor’s hips when he stills inside of her.

“You look perfect like this,” he says as his other hand presses against the center of her chest. She wants to ask what he means by that, plans to make a quip about always looking good, but he pulls back and then roughly pushes inside of her again.

Her hips raise up towards him as he keeps a fast pace, and she can feel bruises forming on her thighs where he’s holding her. Her hands tear at the sheets as she meets him thrust for thrust, and the sound of the bed knocking against the wall is keeping time with her heart. She calls out Victor’s name, once, twice, and then nearly screams when he leans down over her. His hands lock around her wrists as he pushes against her harder, and she can feel every inch of him sliding against her. She mouths along his jaw and bites behind his ear as she rides out her orgasm, and she starts to shake when he keeps going.

“I don’t think I can.” Her voice sounds like a cross between a whine and a plea as he keeps moving inside of her, and she’s so sensitive that it’s bordering on pain.

“You can.” It’s growled against the shell of her ear as he rocks against her, and he’s staying so deep inside of her that he’s constantly grinding against her center. It’s too much and still not enough, and she feels tears slip down her cheeks as she claws at his lower back.

She can’t tell if it’s sweat or blood that’s making her fingers slip against his skin, and her thighs are tensed around his hips as she holds him against her. Her hips are rocking desperately up into his, because she’s right on the edge, and her whole body shudders against the bed as she starts calling his name. She doesn’t know what to ask for, doesn’t know what she needs, but she trusts Victor. His fingers curl around her wrists and squeeze as he bites her right collarbone, and she screams without making a sound as her body locks up. This time her orgasm is so strong that she blacks out for a moment, and she’s not aware of anything until Victor starts to gently clean her up. Gently, because she’s still sensitive. She’s going to feel this in the morning.

“That was…can we do it again?” She hears Victor laugh from the bathroom, and she’s still lying in the same place when he walks back out into the bedroom.

“Maybe in the morning.” Victor dresses her in a pair of panties and one of his tee shirts before pulling on a pair of his sweatpants, and she sighs happily as he settles them into bed.

“In the morning then. It’s a date.” If Victor replies, she isn’t awake long enough to hear it.