Moving Forward Pt. 2

You’re wondering how we got here.

Vincent’s car smells like leather and cheap cologne, and your lipstick is smudged. Your hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking, while his breathing grows heavier. His cock is right there, in your hand, and the realization of how far you’ve gone sits uncomfortably in your chest. You press your lips to his, the taste of him mingling with the lingering bitterness of regret, wondering when necessity started to feel so much like submission.

But let’s rewind a bit.

After Richard left, you and Vincent were still lingering in the quiet, mostly deserted hallway. The distant hum of chatter from the main hall had dulled, and the emptiness of the space made his presence feel far too intimate.

Vincent, of course, was in his element. He leaned casually against the wall, the aftereffects of the conversation with Richard leaving him smug and cocky. “Well, that went better than expected, Luna” he said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction.

You let out a polite laugh, trying to play along, though your mind was elsewhere. You’d done what you came here to do: meet Richard, secure the next step of the trial, and leave an impression. There was no reason to stick around, especially not with Vincent circling like a predator looking for a reason to pounce.

“I think I’ll call it a night,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint off your dress as if to signal your exit. Then, because you knew you needed to keep him on your side, you added flirtatiously, “You’ll take me to the summit next week, right? Oakville sounds... promising.”

Vincent’s lips curved into a slow smile, and before you could react, he closed the space between you. His hand cupped your cheek, and his lips descended on yours, hot and demanding. The kiss was deep, insistent, and you found yourself leaning into it, your body betraying you as a little thrill sparked in your chest.

You told yourself it was just to keep him happy. That was the reason you slid your arms around his neck, the reason your lips parted for him. But deep down, a part of you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

When the kiss finally broke, you pressed your palms lightly against his chest, feigning breathlessness. “Alright, Vincent,” you teased. “I really do need to head out. Subway’s still running.”

Vincent frowned, clearly unhappy with the idea. “Subway? Why not take an Uber?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Don’t exactly have Uber money right now.”

His smirk returned, lazy and confident. “Come on. I can pay to keep arm candy like you around. How much are we talking?”

The comment made your stomach twist, but you kept your composure. You tilted your head, giving him a playful smile. “How much are you talking?”

“We’ll figure that part out,” he said smoothly. Then, stepping closer, he added, “For now, let me drive you home. None of that subway crap. In return, you can do something... special for me.”

You hesitated, his words making your skin prickle with unease. But you told yourself it was just more making out. Nothing worse than what you’d already done tonight. It was easier to agree than to fight. “Fine,” you said, your voice even. “Just to get home faster.”

Which is how you ended up here, in Vincent’s car, his cock out before you even buckled your seatbelt. You stared at it, feeling your stomach churn as reality set in.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Vincent asked, his voice a low, coaxing purr. “Thought we had a deal.”

Backing out now wasn’t an option. You’d agreed, hadn’t you? And after everything you’d already done tonight—meeting Richard, playing the part of Vincent’s perfect little accessory—this was just... more of the same.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Right,” you murmured, leaning closer.

The car rolled out of the lot, the rumble of the engine blending with the soft whir of tires against the pavement. You shifted slightly, adjusting yourself in the cramped passenger seat, the leather cool against your skin. Your hand rested on Vincent’s cock, fingers grazing the firm fabric of his tailored trousers as your mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

Vincent exhaled a contented sigh, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tracing through your hair. “Relax, babe,” he murmured, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “This’ll be fun. Trust me.”

Fun? The word rang hollow in your ears. You **** a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your grip on his cock tightened momentarily before you released the tension. You were in too deep now, and there was no backing out. The path was set the moment you’d stepped into his car.

You glanced up at him, your lips twitching into a coy smile that you didn’t feel. “Keep your eyes on the road,” you teased, hoping to maintain the facade.

His grin widened, his gaze flicking between you and the road ahead. “Oh, don’t worry. I trust you to handle things down there.”

You leaned down, the faint musk of his arousal hitting you as you closed your lips around him. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. The sensation of something filling your mouth sent a surprising flicker of calm through you, momentarily grounding your racing thoughts.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Knew you’d be good.”

Your movements were slow and deliberate at first, your lips sliding over him with a practiced rhythm. His free hand found its way to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you, his touch firm but not forceful.

The car hit a bump, jolting you slightly, and you braced yourself with one hand on his thigh, trying to maintain your balance. Vincent laughed softly, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“Careful,” he teased. “Don’t want you biting.”

You shot him a glare from the corner of your eye but didn’t break your rhythm. The humiliation of the situation burned in your chest, but you pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

Vincent’s breathing grew heavier, his occasional groans filling the small space of the car. The vibrations of the engine beneath you, the low hum of the tires against the road, and the warmth of his hand in your hair all combined to create an overwhelming sensory experience.

The car’s low hum vibrated through your body, a constant reminder of the setting you found yourself in. Vincent’s breathing, ragged and heavy, filled the confined space, punctuated by the occasional groan as you worked. You focused on the motions, every swirl of your tongue and movement of your lips as deliberate as the next. The rhythmic movement soothed some deep, restless part of you, the repetitive action oddly satisfying despite the situation.

_This isn’t real. None of this is real. _You repeated the mantra in your head like a lifeline, trying to detach yourself from the reality of the situation. But it was impossible to ignore the way your stomach churned with disgust, the acidic burn of humiliation climbing up your throat.

“God, you’re amazing,” Vincent muttered, his hips shifting slightly. His voice carried a casual arrogance that only added to the knot of resentment growing in your chest. “Best decision I made tonight.”

The words cut deeper than you’d expected, each syllable scraping against your already fragile pride. Amazing? No, this wasn’t amazing. This was degrading. This was survival. You didn’t even care what Aphrodite thought of your actions anymore; you just wanted it to end.

Still, you **** a faint smile and redoubled your efforts, knowing full well what you had to do. You adjusted your rhythm, letting your tongue swirl around him as you increased the intensity. If you made him finish quickly, you could put this whole ordeal behind you. It was almost comforting, the way your lips moved over him, the texture and warmth against your tongue occupying your mind in a way that left no room for anything else.

“Fuck, babe,” Vincent groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair as his head tilted back against the headrest. “You’re so good at this. Makes me wonder what else you’re good at.”

His words were a knife, twisting in the pit of your stomach. You swallowed the rising bile, keeping your expression neutral as you glanced up at him. “Maybe you’ll find out someday,” you teased, the words slipping out in a sultry tone that made you hate yourself a little more.

Vincent’s lazy grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on your task as your mind drifted. How had you let it come to this? How had you gone from a regular university student to...this?

The curse wasn’t just changing your body; it was stripping away pieces of your identity, leaving you hollow and ****. Every step forward seemed to drag you deeper into Aphrodite’s web, and every attempt to maintain control slipped through your fingers like sand.

Vincent groaned again, his body tensing beneath your touch. You knew the signs, knew he was close, and relief flooded your system. Almost over. Almost done. Just a little longer.

At least now, the heightened sensation on your tongue distracted you from the swirling shame, leaving behind an odd kind of peace.

The car slowed as Vincent approached a red light, his head falling back against the headrest as he let out a long, satisfied moan. His hips bucked slightly, and you fought to keep your composure as he began to unravel beneath you.

“Almost there,” he muttered, his voice breathless. “Don’t stop now.” The command made your chest tighten, but the focus on your lips and tongue was like a balm, easing the tension in your body even as your mind screamed against it.

The light turned green, and the car started moving again, the gentle sway of the vehicle making you feel even more disoriented. You closed your eyes, focusing on your movements, blocking out everything else.

Finally, Vincent let out a strangled groan, his hand tightening in your hair as he reached his climax, spilling his hot seed in your mouth. You pulled back slightly, swallowing hard and trying not to let your disgust show as he shuddered beneath you.

“That was something else,” Vincent said, breaking the silence. He zipped up his pants and adjusted his belt, his grin smug and satisfied. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You **** a chuckle, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Guess I like to keep things interesting.”

Vincent glanced over at you, his expression one of lazy amusement. “Well, you definitely know how to make a guy’s night. We should do this again sometime.”

The casualness of his words, the way he spoke like this was just another notch in his belt, made your skin crawl. But you couldn’t afford to alienate him, not when he was your only link to Richard Solano and, by extension, Damian Kane.

“Maybe we will,” you said lightly, turning your head to flash him a coy smile.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, and returned his attention to the road. You leaned back against the seat, the leather cool against your skin, and tried to ignore the ache in your jaw, the bitter, salty taste in your mouth, the heaviness in your chest.

Vincent glanced over at you with that same smug grin, his fingers slipping into his wallet. “Hey,” he said, pulling out a few bills and holding them out to you. “For your time.”

You blinked at the money, unsure how to react. "I—"

Without waiting for a response, Vincent took the bills and, with a playful smile, reached over. "Don't worry, I’ve got it," he said, his hand gently sliding down toward your chest. You didn’t pull away. Maybe you should have.

With his touch, he carefully tucked the $250 into the soft fabric of your bra, pressing it firmly against your skin. His fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, but then he let go and sat back in his seat.

“There you go,” Vincent said, his voice low and satisfied. “You earned it, babe.”

You didn’t say anything. The weight of the money in your bra felt like a reminder of everything you were letting happen, but you couldn’t deny that it was necessary. Still, a part of you wanted to recoil from it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice tinged with something you couldn't quite place.

Vincent returned his focus to the road, humming softly to himself as the car glided through the streets. You sank back into the seat, the $250 burning against your skin. It felt wrong. It felt like your price.

But you couldn’t argue with the fact that you needed it.

What was wrong with you? How could you let this happen? And yet, even as the guilt and disgust churned in your stomach, you couldn’t deny the faint flicker of relief. Vincent was happy. You’d done your part. You could move on.

You stared out the window, the city lights casting fleeting patterns on the glass, and let the silence settle between you. Vincent seemed content, humming softly to himself as he drove, while you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of your choices pressing down on you like a leaden shroud.

This wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t who you wanted to be. But for now, it was who you had to be.