Chapter 2: Possessive Rage in the Restroom Stall
The office Christmas party pulsed with a forced, synthetic cheer. Tinsel choked the ceiling tiles, and a sad plastic tree flickered in the corner by the photocopier. Liv nursed a warm glass of chardonnay, her eyes tracking Will across the crowded bullpen. He was leaning against the filing cabinets, holding court, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He was too loud, his laughter a fraction too sharp. He was drunk.
Weeks had passed since the rooftop. Since his bed. They’d fallen into a fragile, unspoken pattern—electric nights at his place or hers, conversations that frayed into raw, hungry sex, followed by quiet mornings where the future hung between them like a held breath. They didn’t talk about it. They just were, in a way that felt both inevitable and doomed.
“He’s hammered,” Chloe Davies chirped, materializing at Liv’s elbow. Her HR colleague wore a dress that was more glitter than fabric, and her eyes, bright and calculating, were also fixed on Will. “I think he’s telling the story about the squirrel in the studio again. It’s funnier every time he tells it.” She took a sip of her drink. “He’s kind of adorable when he’s sloshed, isn’t he?”
Liv made a non-committal sound. Chloe’s crush on Will was office background noise, something Liv had always dismissed with a faint, internal eye-roll. Now, it felt like a splinter under her skin.
“I should probably cut him off,” Chloe sighed, not moving. “For his own good.”
Will pushed off the cabinets, swaying slightly. He mumbled something to the group and turned, weaving toward the hallway that led to the restrooms. Chloe watched him go, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Duty calls,” she said, and with a little wink at Liv, she followed him.
The wink did it. It was conspiratorial, intimate. A cold wire of suspicion threaded down Liv’s spine. She counted to ten, then set her glass down and followed.
The hallway was quieter, the thump of bass from the party speakers muffled. The men’s room door was slightly ajar. Not closed. Ajar. A sliver of yellow light cut across the linoleum. Liv moved silently, her heels making no sound on the cheap carpet.
She heard it before she saw it. A wet, rhythmic slurping, and a low, guttural groan she’d recognize in her sleep—Will’s groan.
Her hand pushed the door open another inch.
The scene was lit in the harsh, unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. Will was braced against the sink, his head thrown back, eyes closed. His belt was open, his pants pushed down just enough. And Chloe was on her knees in front of him, her glittery dress pooling on the grimy floor. One of her hands gripped the base of his cock, the other cupped his balls. Her head bobbed with efficient, enthusiastic strokes, her mouth stretched wide around his thickness. The sound was obscene, wet and greedy.
Liv’s vision tunneled. The same cock that had been inside her, that she had tasted, that had filled her just two nights ago, was now glistening with another woman’s saliva. A white-hot fury, pure and possessive, exploded behind her ribs. It burned away every civilized thought, every fear of consequence.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t hesitate.
She kicked the door. It slammed against the wall with a crash.
Will’s eyes flew open, bleary with alcohol and shock. Chloe jerked back, his cock popping from her mouth with a lewd, wet sound. A string of saliva connected her lip to the head.
“Liv—fuck, it’s not—” Will stammered, fumbling to cover himself.
Chloe stared up, wide-eyed, but there was no real surprise there. Only a sharp, challenging curiosity. She didn’t move from her knees.
Liv crossed the small space in two strides. The smell of cheap beer and urinal cakes and sex filled her nostrils. She reached down, her fingers tangling in Chloe’s perfectly curled blonde hair. She didn’t pull her away.
She yanked her head forward.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Liv growled, her voice a low, venomous thing she didn’t recognize.
Chloe’s eyes lit up. A slow, knowing smile spread across her slick, reddened lips. Without breaking eye contact with Liv, she opened her mouth and took Will back in, deeper this time, her throat working around him.
Will moaned, a confused, overwhelmed sound. “Jesus Christ…”
Liv held Chloe’s head there, forcing the pace, her own breath coming in short, sharp pants. She watched the other woman’s lips stretch, watched her own boyfriend’s cock disappear into that willing, treacherous mouth. The jealousy didn’t fade; it mutated. It fused with a dark, voyeuristic power. This was hers. He was hers. And she was making another woman service him.
“You like that, don’t you?” Liv hissed at Chloe. “You’ve always wanted a taste. Now suck it. Properly.”
Chloe moaned around him, the vibration making Will’s knees buckle. He braced himself harder on the sink, his knuckles white. His eyes were locked on Liv, filled with a storm of terror and rampant, drunken arousal.
Liv released Chloe’s hair, but only to work at the fastening of her own tailored trousers. She pushed them down, along with her underwear, kicking them aside. The cold air of the bathroom bit at her exposed skin.
“Look at me,” she commanded Will.
His gaze, glazed and desperate, dragged from Chloe’s bobbing head to Liv’s face.
Liv climbed onto the cold porcelain of the sink next to him, spreading her legs. She was already wet, a shocking, betraying flood of heat between her legs. The anger, the visual, the sheer wrongness of it had ignited her. She hooked one hand around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. She kissed him brutally, biting his lip, tasting the stale beer and the sharp tang of her own jealousy.
“You’re mine,” she snarled against his mouth. “You fucking come in my mouth, you come inside my cunt. Not in her. Do you understand?”
He nodded, a frantic, broken movement.
She broke the kiss and shoved his shoulder, turning him roughly to face Chloe, who was still working on him with a dedicated, obscene hunger. “Watch her,” Liv ordered. “But you’re going to fuck me.”
She positioned herself behind him, her body pressed against his back. She reached around his hips, her hand joining Chloe’s, guiding his slick, hard cock. She notched the head against her own opening and then, using his body for leverage, she sank down onto him.
The feeling was brutal, overwhelming. He was impossibly hard, stretched from Chloe’s mouth, and Liv was tight, clenched with violent emotion. She took him all in one ruthless, downward stroke, a cry tearing from her throat.
Will shouted, a raw, ragged sound that echoed off the tiles. Chloe increased her pace, her tongue swirling, her hands gripping his thighs.
Liv set a punishing rhythm, riding him backwards, her breasts pressed against his shirt, her mouth at his ear. “Is this what you wanted?” she panted, her voice raw. “Two women at the office party? You drunk, worthless fuck?”
“Liv… God…”
“Shut up.” She fucked him harder, each impact jolting through both of them. She could feel the tension coiling in his balls, feel the way his breath hitched. Chloe was sucking him with a feverish intensity, urging him toward the edge.
Liv’s own orgasm built, a twisted vine of anger and possession and raw physical stimulus. It wasn’t sweet. It was a demolition. She came with a choked, silent scream, her body seizing around him in vicious, pulsing spasms.
The clenching of her around him was the final trigger. Will’s whole body went rigid. He tried to pull out, as she’d ordered, but Liv held him inside her, milking him as he erupted, his release hot and endless inside her, his shout muffled by Chloe’s continuing, hungry mouth until he finally pushed her head away, spent and gasping.
Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breaths and the distant thump of music. The air reeked of sex and shame.
Chloe slowly got to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked between them, her expression unreadable. Then she smoothed down her glittering dress, picked up her clutch from the floor, and walked out without a word. The door swung shut behind her.
Liv slid off Will, her legs barely holding her. She leaned against the cold, tiled wall, pulling her trousers up with trembling hands. Will fumbled with his own clothes, his head down, not looking at her.
The fluorescent light buzzed overhead. A faucet dripped.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, scraped raw. “Liv…”
“Don’t.” The word was flat. Final. All the fire was gone, leaving only cold, grey ash. She looked at him—the man who was her best friend, her lover, the person she had just claimed with a ferocity that now horrified her. He looked like a stranger. He looked ruined.
She turned and left him there, standing in the wreckage. The party noise swelled as she opened the door, a wave of meaningless cheer that washed over her and receded just as fast. She walked straight through the bullpen, past the blinking tree and her abandoned wine glass, out into the frigid, clean air of the December night.
She didn’t look back. The chill on her skin was nothing compared to the ice now forming in the pit of her stomach. It was over. It had to be. Whatever they had built—or destroyed—in the shadow of that rooftop, had just shattered in a filthy bathroom under a flickering light.
And she had been the one to swing the hammer.