Vergil paced back and forth, ruminating on the insolence he had been experiencing as of late.  That damn secretary of his brother’s had been weighting heavy on his mind.  It had become a theme, and it was beginning to be bothersome.  He did not even know the woman’s name, though she made it clear that she knew his.

“Afternoon, Vergil,” she’d so curtly say, always making it a point to acknowledge his presence upon arrival so she could make it known she was ignoring him afterwards.  His upper lip curled into a snarl at the sound of her voice in his head.  Her accent was so… grating, like that of Nero’s friend with the van, but somehow with more of a drawl.  From what his brother had told him, her voice was “pleasant” and “popular with clients who called in.”  Vergil couldn’t imagine how that saccharine act could fool anyone.

The only thing worse was her laugh.  That absurd giggle.  Dante was not that funny.  She did not need to titter like a schoolgirl at every damn thing he said.  He’d consider she were faking it if he didn’t believe that she was so easily amused.  For someone who presented herself as a modest young lady, she was certainly too flirtatious for her own good.  It irked Vergil to witness it.  So pathetic for a woman to shamelessly charm her way into the hearts of everyone…

Well…

Most everyone.

But Vergil did not care.  He was better off this way, not having to entertain her drawn out words or constant girlish laughter.  Just the thought of having to listen to her all night was enough to boil his blood.  He felt hot all over, but especially deep within.

He looked down, noticing the stiffness in his pants.  His frown deepened at the sight of his obvious arousal.  He’d been plagued with this inconvenience more and more recently.  He opted to ignore it, not wanting to dignify it with attention.  He was better than this.  He was not some hormonal youth that could not control himself, especially not in regards to that woman of all women.  There was nothing special about her.  Nothing that made her worth all this turmoil, and certainly nothing that made him desire her.

Pacing proved to be uncomfortable in this state, so he seated himself, continuing to dwell on his irritation.  He told himself he’d sooner be damned than fall under her spell.  He was not so easily captivated by a pretty face and a smile, not that any were spared in his direction.  The pain he felt was disregarded in favor of his mounting ire.  He did not need her attention, nor her affection.  He did not need her.  Part of him, the weak, human part that he had attempted to be more mindful of after realizing neglecting it was what had been holding him back for so long, may have wanted all this and her, but that was beside the point.

The swelling of his troublesome erection had not gone down any.  In fact, it felt more prominent than before.  He faced the reality that he would have to satisfy himself in order to move on.  He was not typically one to take care of his own “needs” in this fashion.  Such urges were beneath him.  If he did have to suffer this flaw of humanity, he would have preferred to have a woman to put this in.  He could no doubt go to Fortuna and find a willing consort, but he did not have the time to bother with that.  He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.  The bitter truth was that he did not feel like that would be any more satisfying.  Another woman would only serve to remind him of that insufferable one.

With a huff, he unbuttoned his leather pants.  Once freed, he gripped the appendage, feeling it throb against his palm.  A squeeze, and fluid seeped from the head.  He grit his teeth as he began to pump his fist.  It was all that woman’s fault.  She had worked him up to the point that he couldn’t even think straight.  He didn’t understand it.  Was he a glutton for humiliation?  A masochist?  There was no pleasure to be had in her treatment of him…  Yet here he was, stroking himself as his cheeks burned in shame.  What would she think if she knew she had reduced him to this?  He tried to shake that thought, but he could not deny the effect it had on his body.

With jaw clenched, he rubbed harder.  When he closed his eyes, he saw her.  He heard her.  The mental image of her covering her mouth behind her hand and giggling was so clear in his mind; it made him groan.  He lost rein of his thoughts.  The fog of lust clouded his mind.  He was succumbing to the vision of her.  He could almost feel her, how soft and warm she would be sprawled out beneath him.  What would she sound like in the throes of pleasure?  With a shuddering moan, he spilled into his hand.  For a few moments afterwards, all he could do was pant and savor the brief feeling of bliss before reality set in again.  His eyes cracked open and he looked at the cool, sticky mess he’d made in disgust.

This was too embarrassing.  He couldn’t keep going like this.  He’d have to put an end to it sooner rather than later.  He needed to talk to that wretched woman.