Viktor continued washing the dish, his hands over hers, unhurried, as if nothing unusual was happening. As if his cock wasn't steadily pressing harder against her ass.
As if her body wasn't doing a complete betrayal of everything her sense of self-preservation had been working toward since this morning.
He moved slightly, adjusting his angle on the dish, and the motion dragged him against her in a slow, almost rhythmic roll that was—
'That was absolutely intentional.'
'Why am I not moving. Why am I not—'
"By the way," Viktor said, casual, his voice rumbling against her ear. "You seem hurt."
Vivian blinked.
"...hurt?"
"Not physically." He took the dish from her hands, rinsed it, set it aside. His arms remained around her, hands returning to the basin, now picking up the next item. His hips hadn't moved. "The way you look at things. Like you're waiting for them to be taken away."
The warmth in her cheeks shifted. Something different.
