Chapter 4: Delia's Proposal
The email from Catriona glowed on his phone screen all afternoon, a silent, unopened verdict. Aidan moved through his spreadsheet audits with a mechanical focus, the numbers blurring into a grey static. His body felt strangely heavy, a vessel recently used and now waiting for the next assignment. The scent of jasmine had finally faded from his skin, replaced by the office’s sterile, recycled air.A flicker of movement caught his eye. Delia, leaning around the partition of her cubicle, her blonde curls bouncing. She didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows twice in quick succession and jerked her head toward her workspace. Her smile was wide, conspiratorial.He saved his file, the click of the mouse unnaturally loud. When he rounded the corner into her cubicle, she was already closing the flimsy door, twisting the little latch lock.The space was a testament to organized chaos. Sticky notes in a rainbow of colors plastered the fabric walls. A half-eaten protein bar sat on a napkin next to a coffee cup stained with last week’s lipstick. Her laptop screen, angled away from the aisle, displayed a monstrous spreadsheet titled "Quarterly Revenues (Please Don’t Screech)".
“So,” she said, turning to him and leaning back against her desk, crossing her arms under her soft bust.“The boss lady gave you a gold star, huh? I got the email blast. ‘Keep up the good work.’ Very inspirational.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp behind her glasses, watching his reaction.
Aidan felt a flush creep up his neck.“Something like that.”
“She’s not one for empty praise. If Catriona says you did good, you did good.” Delia pushed off the desk and took a step closer, her lavender body spray cutting through the cubicle’s stale air. “And it gave me an idea.You’re all warmed up, right?Primed. I was thinking we could… expand your skill set.”
“Expand?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She patted his chest, a playful gesture that felt loaded.“You’ve got the main event down. But a true artist explores all the textures.” She turned and gestured to her padded office chair. “Sit.”
He obeyed, the chair groaning under his weight. The confined space made everything feel more immediate, more intimate than Catriona’s vast office. The fluorescent light above them buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly, jumping glow.Delia didn’t face him. She unbuttoned her sensible trousers, pushed them and her underwear down to her ankles, and stepped out of them, kicking the bundle aside. Then, with the same practical efficiency she applied to tax codes, she climbed onto his lap, her back to him. He was already hard, a response that was becoming as routine as logging into his computer.
“Reverse cowgirl,” she announced cheerfully, as if naming a dance move. “Best view in the house for me, and you get to enjoy the… architecture.”
She reached behind herself, guided him, and sank down.He let out a sharp breath. She was tighter than Catriona, a different kind of pressure, and the new angle was shockingly deep. She began to move, a steadier, more rhythmic bounce than Catriona’s calculated piston.Her soft hips slapped against his thighs with a quiet, steady percussion.“See? Different,” she gasped, her head falling back.“God, you fill me up. It’s obscene.” She rode him for a minute, her curls shaking with the motion. Then she reached behind herself again, not to touch him, but to find his hand. She brought it around her hip, pressing his palm against the damp heat of her lower belly.“There,” she murmured. “Now… the other one.”
She took his other hand, guiding it lower, past where they were joined. His fingertips brushed against a tighter, furled knot of muscle.Her breath hitched. “Yeah.That.Just… press.Gently. Circle it.”
He did as instructed, his thumb slick with her wetness. She moaned, a high, delighted sound, and her rhythm broke, becoming jerkier, more urgent.
“That’s it, that’s it,” she chanted, riding him harder.“Oh, fuck, Aidan. You’re a natural.Isn’t that nice? Just exploring the options.”
Her words were a bizarre, cheerful contrast to the intense, grinding physicality. The spreadsheet on her screen flickered, numbers dancing in his peripheral vision. She reached one hand back, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling his face against her sweaty back.Her other hand covered his, pushing his thumb harder against her.
Her orgasm wasn’t the commanding roar of Catriona’s; it was a shivering, musical cascade of gasps and cries. She clenched around him, milking him, and it triggered his own release, a wave that left him dizzy, slumped in her chair as she shuddered atop him.
As the pulses subsided, she didn’t climb off. Instead, she lifted herself just enough to break the connection, then turned, still straddling his thighs. She was flushed, her glasses slightly askew.“Okay,” she panted, a business-like tone returning. “Now, here’s the next part.”
Her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down.“Under the desk. Now.”
Confused, sore, he slid out of the chair and onto the thin cubicle carpet.The space under her desk was a cavern of dust bunnies and forgotten power strips.
She remained in the chair, swiveling it to face him, and scooted forward until she was perched on the edge.She spread her legs, holding herself open with her fingers. The sight was vividly raw in the flickering light. “Lick me clean,” she said, and her voice held none of its earlier teasing.It was a direct order.“Every drop. I want to feel your tongue.”
The smell, musky and sharp, filled his senses. He hesitated for only a second before leaning in.The taste was complex, salty and bitter, layered with his own spend. He did as he was told, his movements clumsy at first, then more deliberate as her soft sighs of approval floated down to him. Her hand came to rest on top of his head, not petting, just holding him in place.When she finally pushed him away, she was smiling again. “Good boy. Very thorough.” She stood, fetched her phone from the desk, and before he could even get up from the floor, she crouched and took a picture. The flash was a stark, white explosion in the dim under-desk space.He crawled out, feeling utterly debased. Delia was already tapping her screen, her thumbs flying.She giggled.
“What?” he asked, pulling his clothes back on, his body feeling like it belonged to someone else.
“Just sending a little progress report to the team,” she said, showing him the screen.
It was the office group chat, ‘Finch & Co. – Water Cooler.’ The photo was graphic, close-up, damning.The caption read: ‘Team building!New wellness initiative is paying dividends. 😉‘
A second later, his own phone, still in his pocket, buzzed repeatedly. A cascade of notifications.He didn’t need to look to know his isolation was over. The verdict was no longer just between him and Catriona. It was public, it was playful, and it was permanently, digitally etched into the ledger of his new life. Delia squeezed his arm, her expression one of pure, mischievous delight.“Welcome to the family, Aidan. Really, truly welcome.”