Chapter 15: The Interrupted Game
The word hung in the air between them, charged and specific. Anal.
Her smile was a promise of ownership. The taste of her was still a chemical burn in the back of his throat, a warm, sloshing weight in his stomach that anchored him to this humiliating spot on the floor.
He had written the word himself, months ago over a bottle of wine, his mind filled with a very specific, very selfish image. Him, driving into her, claiming that tight, forbidden territory as his own. The naivety of that fantasy now felt grotesque. He looked up at her, at the victorious arch of her eyebrow, and a cold wire of fear tightened around his ribs.
Knowing her, knowing the last twenty-four hours, “anal” wouldn’t mean his pleasure. It would mean hers. A different kind of sheathing altogether. His mouth went dry despite being recently flooded.
“Wait,” he whispered, the word scraping out. His eyes darted to the dice on the blotter. A three. A one. Her hand had scooped them, shaken them, released them. The math was trivial, the assumption monumental. “You rolled both.”
“So?” Her voice was a low, amused hum. She didn’t look at the dice.
“So which is yours? The three or the one?” He felt a pathetic surge of desperation, a lawyer clinging to procedure as the prison door swung open. “How do you know you won?”
She leaned forward, the movement causing her unzipped jumpsuit to gape further. The warmth of her body, the scent of her skin and the lingering hint of lavender soap from their shower washed over him. Her gaze held his, unblinking.
“Because I’m the one defining it,” she said, each word a soft, deliberate tap on his resolve. “You’re the one on your knees with my piss in your guts and your dick out at ten-thirty on a Tuesday. Does that feel like winning to you?”
It didn’t. It felt like absolute, physiological submission. The evidence was a heat in his belly and a throbbing ache between his legs. Arguing semantics felt impossible, like trying to debate thermodynamics while drowning.
He opened his mouth, a weak protest forming. Her eyes flashed, not with anger, but with a thrilling, terrifying challenge. Go on, they seemed to say. Try and take this from me.
A sharp, authoritative knock shattered the silence. Three rapid raps on the office door.
They both froze.
“Shauna? You in there?” Olivia’s voice, clipped and clear, came through the polished wood. “I need the Q3 campaign mockups for the eleven o’clock. My email’s been ignored.”
Panic, cold and immediate, flooded Hayden’s system. Shauna’s eyes went wide, her professional mask slamming down over her expression of deviant triumph. Her hand shot out in a frantic, sweeping motion toward the floor under her desk.
Her meaning was unequivocal. Hide.
He scrambled, his movements clumsy with adrenaline. The space under the modern desk was a cramped, dark cavity of cables and dust. He folded himself into it, his back against the side panel, his knees drawn up. The grey carpet fibers pressed against his cheek.
From this vantage, he had a profoundly intimate and utterly disastrous view: the pale skin of her inner thighs, the dark shadow between them, the crumpled burgundy fabric of her jumpsuit pooled at her hips. The intimate smell of her was overwhelming.
He heard the swift, frantic whisper of fabric as she tried to pull herself together. The zipper started its ascent, then jammed. “Just—just a second!” Shauna called out, her voice strained into something resembling pleasantry.
The door handle turned. It was unlocked. Of course it was unlocked; he’d only bolted it after.
Olivia walked in. Hayden stopped breathing. He saw Olivia’s shoes first: practical, expensive black leather flats that stopped just a foot from his hiding place. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make him disappear.
“There you are,” Olivia said. Her tone was all polished suspicion. “Your blind was down. Door was shut.”
“Deep focus mode,” Shauna replied, her voice smoother now, though Hayden could see the subtle tremor in the muscle of her thigh just inches from his face. “You know how it gets. The mockups are on the server, folder labeled ‘Q3_Final_V7_ForReal.’”
“I looked there. It’s empty.”
“That’s impossible, I synced it this morning.” Shauna shifted in her chair, a tiny movement that brought her knee perilously closer to Hayden’s nose. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin. “Let me just… I’ll pull it up.”
Olivia didn’t leave. Her feet remained planted. Hayden watched one foot tap slowly, a metronome of impatience. “While you do that,” Olivia said, her voice lowering slightly, “maybe you can clarify something for me. I saw Hayden from Engineering leaving this wing earlier. He looked… intense.”
Under the desk, Hayden’s blood turned to ice. Shauna’s thigh muscle tightened.
“He was brainstorming packaging solutions for the new drive unit,” Shauna said, the lie effortless, professional. The click of her mouse was abnormally loud. “You know how those engineers are. Single-minded.”
“I do.” Olivia paused. The tap of her shoe stopped. “It’s just, I’ve seen him leaving this wing a lot lately. And you both took unlogged PTO on the same afternoon two weeks ago.”
“Coincidence.” Shauna’s tone was light, but Hayden heard the razor’s edge beneath it. “Here, found it. It was in ‘_Archive’ by mistake. Sending the link now.”
A moment of silence, filled only by the hum of the computer fan and the deafening pulse in Hayden’s ears. Olivia’s feet didn’t move. He could almost feel her gaze sweeping the room, over the closed blind, the single desk lamp, the two bone-white dice sitting blatantly on the blotter beside Shauna’s elbow.
“What are those for?” Olivia asked.
Shauna didn’t miss a beat. “Creative direction. Rolling for layout options. Breaks the mental block.”
“Hmm.” It was a sound of pure, unconvinced skepticism. “Well. The link came through. Thank you.”
The flats finally turned. They took two steps toward the door, then paused. “Shauna?”
“Yes, Olivia?”
“Zip up your jumpsuit. It’s unprofessional.”
The door clicked shut. For five full seconds, neither of them moved. Hayden heard Shauna’s exhale, a long, shaky release of breath.
“Now,” she whispered, the word dropping into the quiet like a stone into a deep well. “Where were we?”
“Where were we?”
Her voice was no longer a whisper. It was a reclaiming of territory, low and certain, sweeping away the ghost of Olivia’s suspicion. Before Hayden could move, before he could even process the danger of their near-discovery, her legs slid forward, planting her feet firmly on the floor outside the desk’s cavity.
She spread them wide, deliberately. The burgundy fabric of her jumpsuit, still unzipped and gaping, framed the shadowed junction of her thighs. It became a wall, a fleshy barricade of soft skin and dark curls, blocking his only exit from the dim cave.
He was sealed in.
“Shauna, wait—”
Her hand plunged under the desk. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command. Her fingers tangled in his hair, gripping a fistful at the crown, and pulled. Not roughly, but with an inexorable, steady pressure that brooked no resistance. His face was dragged forward, through the charged air, and pressed directly into the damp heat of her.
His nose buried itself in her folds. His mouth was muffled against her slick skin, every protest dying into a wet, suffocated sound. The intimate, musky scent from moments before was now the entire universe, dense and overwhelming. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe.
She held him there, his features compressed against her. Then she began to move. Slowly at first, a rolling shift of her hips that ground her vulva against the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips. The friction was deliberate, seeking. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her above the desk.
“There,” she murmured, her voice a vibration he felt through his skull. “That’s better. No more talking from you for a bit.”
The grinding became more purposeful, a rhythmic use of his immobilized face. She found a pace, a pressure, riding the unmoving bone and cartilage of his features to stimulate her own clit. Each forward push smothered him deeper. He could feel the nub of her hardening, seeking, against his skin.
“Anal,” she said again, the word conversationally light, belying the intense, focused motion of her body. “I’ve got two or three ideas. Well, more than that, but we’ll start simple.”
Her hips didn’t stop. Hayden’s world narrowed to the lack of air, the taste of her skin, the dizzying, shameful throb of his own erection trapped in his trousers.
“Number one is non-negotiable,” she continued, her breath catching slightly on an upward grind. “You’re going to rim me. Properly. It’s an embarrassment your tongue hasn’t been up there yet, honestly. A glaring oversight in your education.”
She punctuated the statement with a firmer, slower rotation, letting out a soft, satisfied hum. “But after that… after you’ve cleaned that up for me… I’ll give you a choice.”
Her hand tightened in his hair, not pulling, just holding him perfectly in place as her movements became slower, more sensual, luxuriating in the sensation.
“You’re a receptacle. That’s your theme with me. We’ve established that.” She listed them off, her tone almost fond. “My spit in your mouth. My sweat from my armpits on your tongue. My piss in your stomach just now.”
She paused, letting the inventory hang in the air between her ragged breaths.
“So the choice is about the… substrate. The medium.” She leaned forward slightly, increasing the pressure on his face. “Option A: we continue with the digestive theme. I’ve been thinking about it since the bar that first night. Do you want to literally eat my shit, Hayden? Be my actual toilet?”
The crude, devastating question hung in the perfumed office air. His stomach, still warm from her earlier offering, clenched violently.
“Or,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Option B: we stick with piss, but change the plumbing. I bend you over the armchair in the corner. I find a nice funnel. I fit it into you, nice and tight. And I fill you up from the other end. My piss in your ass. A different kind of vessel.”
She finally stilled her hips, holding him tightly against her, a human seal. The only sound was her breathing and his own desperate, nasal attempts to pull in air through the prison of her flesh.
“So,” she said, her voice crisp and clear, all business. “Think about it. While you’re taking care of step one. You have until I come to decide.”
The choice wasn't a choice.
It was a verdict he had to voice. The first option sent a visceral, greasy wave of revulsion through him, a line he could not and would not cross. His mind screamed a silent, immediate veto. The second option was a different kind of violation, clinical and deeply invasive, but it didn't trigger that same primal nauseous reflex. It was merely a terrible extension of the theme, an exploration of a different receptacle, as she’d said.
His mouth was still pressed against her, smothered and hot. He managed to turn his head a fraction, just enough to gasp a damp breath from the crook of her thigh. Her skin tasted of salt and lavender soap.
"Two," he mumbled, the word deformed by her flesh. "Option two."
Shauna went perfectly still above him. The hand in his hair loosened, not letting go, but becoming thoughtful. He felt her shift, just enough to look down through the opening between her legs and the chair.
"Say it properly," she commanded, her voice quiet. "Use the words."
He swallowed, his throat dry. "The funnel," he whispered. "I choose the funnel."
A slow, delighted smile stretched across her face, visible in the slight tightening of the muscles of her stomach. "Good," she purred. "That’s the one I was hoping for. Now, as for your payment for the privilege..."
Her hand guided his face back to its original position. "You have a job to do. And I haven't come yet. I suggest you get persuasive."
This time, he didn't resist. The decision, however coerced, had been made. A strange, pressurized clarity replaced the panic. The fog of unfairness about the dice roll evaporated, burned away by the more immediate, physical reality.
His tongue found her. He didn't tease. He serviceably licked a broad, wet stripe from her opening up to her clit, gathering the slickness that had been smeared across his face. The taste was strong, musky, uniquely hers, layered over the faint, ever-present hint of bitter amber from earlier. He circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, then stiffened it, applying a focused, rhythmic pressure.
He worked with a kind of desperate ambition, a man trying to complete a crucial, unpleasant task with maximum efficiency. His own dick throbbed painfully against the zipper of his trousers, a traitorous counter-rhythm to the flicks of his tongue.
Above him, Shauna’s breathing deepened. One of her hands remained fisted in his hair, a loose anchor. The other came down, her fingers sliding over his, guiding them to grip her hip. He held on, kneading the soft flesh there as his mouth worked.
Her thighs began to tremble again, but this time it was a different frequency. The earlier tension had been fear of discovery. This was a gathering wave. A low, humming sound started in her chest.
"Don't stop," she breathed, the words slurring slightly. "Right there. Just like that."
He didn't. His jaw ached. His nose was crushed. He was a machine built for this single function. The sloppy, wet sounds filled the under-desk cavity, obscene and secret. He could feel the precise moment her orgasm began, a sudden clenching and a gush of warmer fluid against his tongue. He drank it down, swallowing her release as readily as he’d swallowed her piss not thirty minutes before. The act felt consecrating, a direct exchange of her pleasure for his continued, willing degradation.
She cried out, a sharp, stifled gasp she bit off halfway, remembering where they were. Her whole body tightened, then melted into the chair in a long, shuddering collapse.
For a moment, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing and the faint, humid panting from his concealed mouth. Her grip on his hair went slack, patting him almost affectionately.
"Okay," she sighed, her voice husky with satisfaction. "Okay. Good."
She lifted her hips, releasing him. Cool air rushed into the space she vacated. Hayden slumped back against the desk panel, his face slick and shining, his mouth numb. He felt utterly used, and yet his erection felt like stone.
"Come out," she said, her voice regaining its composed timbre. "Slowly. And be quiet."
He unfolded himself from the cavity, muscles protesting. He rose to his knees, then, gripping the edge of the desk, pushed himself to his feet. The office seemed too bright, too real. Shauna was already zipping her jumpsuit, the sound loud in the quiet. Her face was flushed, her purple hair slightly mussed, but otherwise she looked like any other designer after a concentrated bout of work.
She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the obvious strain in his suit pants. A smirk played on her lips. "You look a mess."
He said nothing. He couldn't.
She picked up the two dice from the blotter, rattled them in her palm, and dropped them into her desk drawer, shutting it with a firm click. The game was filed away, for now.
The finality in her voice, the bureaucratic shift back to normalcy, was more unnerving than her earlier commands. His choice now hung between them, a future appointment inscribed in humiliation.
A flicker of movement beyond the tilted slats of the window blind caught his eye. A shadow passing in the corridor. It paused.
Olivia's voice, right outside the door, crisp and clear, carried through the glass. "Shauna? I need one more thing."
This time, the doorknob didn't turn. This time, the handle jiggled,
This time, the doorknob didn't turn. This time, the handle jiggled, then caught. The lock, which Hayden had thrown in his panic, resisted with a solid, echoing click.
A beat of dead silence stretched beyond the door.
Then a key slid into the lock.
Hayden’s heart hammered against his sternum, a trapped bird. He and Shauna stared at each other, frozen in the aftermath, the evidence of what they’d done plastered across his face and tenting his trousers. The click of the deadbolt retracting was the loudest sound he’d ever heard.
He moved on pure, adrenalized instinct. He lunged away from the front of the desk, wiping his mouth furiously with the back of his hand as he strode to the side, putting the bulk of the furniture between him and the door. He snatched a folder from Shauna’s in-tray, flipping it open, presenting his back to the room as if studying a complex schematic.
Shauna smoothed her hair, drew a steadying breath, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. The casualness she forced into her posture was a masterpiece of acting.
The door opened. Olivia stood there, HR lanyard swinging, master key in hand. Her eyes went first to Shauna, then immediately to Hayden by the bookshelf. A flicker of something hard and satisfied passed through her expression. Her suspicions were vindicated. He was still here.
“Olivia,” Shauna said, her voice a dry, pleasant plateau. “The key is a bit dramatic, don’t you think? I said I was focusing.”
“The door was locked,” Olivia stated, her gaze sweeping from Shauna’s flushed face to Hayden’s turned back. “During core hours. That’s a fire code violation.”
Hayden turned then, the folder held loosely in one hand. He hoped his expression conveyed polite, engineerly confusion. “Fire code. Right. We were just wrapping up the drive unit packaging. Sound isolation requirements are tougher than they look.”
He stood by the desk, seemingly having just finished briefing her. Shauna sat comfortably, the attentive listener. Olivia’s eyes, sharp and missing little, scanned the scene. They found nothing she could officially query.
But they saw everything.
They saw the damp sheen on Hayden’s lower cheek and jawline, not quite properly wiped. They saw the unmistakable, heavy bulge straining against the fine wool of his suit trousers. Her gaze lingered there for a half-second too long, then snapped up to his face. If anything, she seemed slightly jealous. The hunger in her look was well-disguised, a professional appraisal that dipped a fraction into the personal, but Shauna caught it. She mentally filed the flicker of possessive heat in Olivia’s eyes away for later, a potential tool or a threat.
“I see,” Olivia said finally, her voice clipped. “It must have been a very intense discussion.” Her implication hung in the air, sour beside the lingering scent of sex and lavender.
“The best ones are,” Shauna replied, a slight, challenging smile on her lips. “Was there something else? The mockups went through.”
Olivia’s jaw tightened. She had nothing. “No. That’s all. Just remember the policy on locked doors.” Her eyes cut to Hayden once more, a cryptic glance that held a strange cocktail of reproach and want. “And perhaps schedule brainstorming sessions in a conference room. It looks more professional.”
She left, pulling the door shut with a soft, definitive click. The lock didn't engage.
Silence descended, thicker now.
Shauna let out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She swiveled her chair to face Hayden fully, her eyes roaming over him—the remnants of her arousal on his skin, the rigid evidence of his hunger in his suit. “Well,” she said, her voice regaining its playful, dangerous edge. “That was close.”
Hayden lowered the folder. The adrenaline was receding, leaving a hollow, shaky feeling in its wake. He felt exposed, scrutinized in a new way. “She saw. She knew.”
“She saw a man with a hard-on in a woman’s office. She doesn’t know about the piss in your stomach or my come on your face.” Shauna’s smile was wicked. “Though she might have guessed part of it. She looked like she wanted a taste.”
He didn’t answer. The observation felt too accurate.
Shauna stood, rounding the desk. She stopped in front of him, so close he could feel the heat from her body. Her finger came up, not to wipe his cheek, but to trace the line of his jaw, collecting a residual wetness. She looked at her fingertip, then slowly put it in her mouth, her eyes holding his over her knuckle.
“So,” she said, sucking her finger clean. “My funnel. My choice of implement. My office, after hours.” She let her hand drop, patting the front of his trousers, making him gasp. “You’ve got the rest of the day to think about nothing else. I know I will.”