Slice of Pi 2 (12 page)

“Enjoy the free time now.” Caleb shook his head. “It's all going to be gone once we start working on this new game.”

“You mean
Orion
?” Iris asked, wondering if the table picked up on the note of eagerness in her voice. Now that
Frost Prince
had gone into production, the team was full steam ahead on
Orion,
a space exploration adventure game slated to release in a couple of months. Iris had overheard various colleagues discussing it and thought it sounded amazing.

Caleb shook his head, still chewing, and then swallowed. “Something else. It's actually a game Will had the idea for a while ago and wants to bring back. It's called
Endgame
.”

Iris remembered filing trademarks on the name and logo years ago, one of her first tasks on the job, but she had never heard anything else about it. “I remember seeing the name somewhere. What's it about?”

Isabel perked, her free hand waving as she spoke. “It's a psychological game. The idea is that you're a character who has died, and you're exploring the afterlife. It's not scary or anything. I mean, maybe parts of it are, but it's a puzzle game that's supposed to reveal aspects about your personality by the choices you make. Will told us this morning that he met a psychologist on his honeymoon who's willing to consult with him on it.” Isabel stopped talking to take a sip of her drink, then went back to her sandwich.

Phil looked at Isabel and Caleb in turn. “When do you think we're going to have time to do this? Isn't
Orion
a full team undertaking?”

“Will's not putting the whole team on
Endgame.
” Matthew shook his head. “He met with us this morning because he's looking for a couple of people to do double duty with some overtime. Deadlines aren't for a while, but I'm not jumping on that grenade alone. I'll let the team divide it up.”

“Yeah, because far be it from you to take on extra work.” Isabel snorted and raised her glass in a mock toast.

Matthew gave her an affectionate shove. “Just because I don't put my job before the rest of my life doesn't mean I'm lazy.” He paused. “There are many more obvious signs of my laziness.”

They all laughed at that.

“Seriously, though,” Matthew continued, “I don't know why Will singled me out for
Endgame.
He could have called any of us in for that meeting.”

“He's trying to get you to take on some leadership,” Isabel said. “Which you should definitely do.”

Matthew shook his head. “Not me, not now. I'm happy with the way things are. Nine to five at PI Games, some bartending at Gigi's, and all the parties I could ever want.” He grinned. “I've got my hands full with
Orion,
anyway. That's the big-run game and
Endgame
is more like an experiment.”

“Yeah,
Endgame
is going to be a small-batch run at first,” Caleb explained. “I think I'm going to hire out freelance artists for it. My team is maxed out with what we've got now. Will wants promo material for DiceCon at the end of March, but it won't go into open beta until the summer.”

Iris felt her heart start to beat a little faster. “You're soliciting freelancers for the design?” She'd always done the paperwork to hire those freelancers and made sure they got paid, but she had never thought of the positions from the side of a prospective applicant before. The situation suddenly seemed much more exciting.

“Sure thing.” Caleb drank some of his soda. “You know, that's how I used to make my living before this job. Freelancing.”

Iris remembered her conversation with Owen just the day before, when he'd pushed her to apply for freelancing positions and pursue her dream. It had seemed ludicrous at the time, but maybe it wasn't as crazy an idea as she'd originally thought. She wasn't much for fate or destiny, but it was awfully coincidental to have a position open up right after they'd had that conversation, the kind of sign she probably shouldn't pass up. Maybe Owen was right. Maybe she should put together a portfolio and submit it for consideration, the same as anyone else.

The thought of doing so brought up a wave of anxiety. Who was she to call herself an artist? She didn't have that kind of confidence.

Although she also didn't have anything to lose.

A rattling noise from next to Iris made her jump. She'd put her phone on vibrate, but it was rattling against some pens in her bag and making as much noise as if she'd left the ringer on. She pulled it out and saw Owen's name pop up on the screen. He'd sent her a text.

She felt her heart jump into her throat, because she knew what this text probably was. Owen had Mondays off, at least “technically,” so maybe he was at home, thinking about yesterday as much as she was at work trying not to do the same. It was silly to open that text here at the table, but if she didn't, it would be on her mind anyway. A quick glance to her left showed her that Phil and Matthew were engrossed in their cheesesteaks. She unlocked the screen and read his message.

May I?

She licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry. She wanted to respond correctly, because the tenor of her response was going to set the tone for their entire text message–based communication in the future. With her phone in her lap, almost under the table, she texted him back.

Ask me properly.

His reply came back after only a moment.
Miss, may I please have permission to touch myself and come?

She imagined him at home, sending the message, his cock already hard. Her coworkers were still chatting all around her, oblivious to the text conversation happening. Rather than send a quick yes or no, she could have a little fun with him.

Pocketing her phone, she scooted out of the booth. “I'll be right back.”

The bathroom in the back of the restaurant was a single-seater setup, so she wouldn't be disturbed. She locked the door behind her.
Are you horny?

Yes, Miss.
He had good texting etiquette, that was for sure. Complete sentences and punctuation, plus he capitalized “Miss.” Iris hadn't realized how much she would like seeing it in print like that, but it was sexy as hell. Almost as sexy as when he said it, his voice wracked with need, and upon imagining that, now she was getting hot and bothered herself.

Going on instinct, she messaged back.
Get to the edge twice for me and then stop. You may not come.

She waited for him to text her back. Hopefully this was all right. Hopefully he wasn't going to say this was enough, that he didn't want to play like this. When her phone buzzed again, she almost dropped it.

Thank you for controlling me, Miss.

Realizing she was sweating, she wiped her hand across her forehead. She was far too worked up after just a few text messages, but controlling his orgasms gave her a heady sense of power. While she could leave this conversation as is, she wanted to give some other kind of closure.
You may ask again tonight after I get out of work.

He wrote back.
Thank you, Miss.

Returning to her seat at the table, she felt like everyone was watching her. They must know, right? They would know that she had just had been sexting with a guy in the restroom. She'd just told a guy not to orgasm, and he'd thanked her. And now she was sitting down at a table with a group of friends who were eating cheesesteaks and discussing the popular new games slated to be released before the year was out. Surreal didn't even begin to describe the situation.

It felt good, though. She was serious Iris here, in her business skirt and suit jacket, all professional and composed. But on her phone, she was professional in a different way, dominating Owen and controlling his pleasure. That was fucking hot. And hell, if she was confident enough to pull that off, maybe she could send in a portfolio of her art in response to Caleb's ad. What did she have to lose?

She returned to her cheesesteak with a secret smile on her face, feeling lighter than she had in quite some time.

---

It didn't make sense for Owen to simultaneously want Iris to say no to him while also wanting her to say yes to him, but that was his feeling as he waited for her reply. He hadn't been desperate to rub one out, only mildly aroused, but he was curious about how she was going to respond. Her instructions to him to edge twice and then not come, though, took him by surprise. So much for distracting himself.

Lying back on the bed, he unbuttoned his jeans and freed his dick, which had grown rock-hard at her instructions. Being told what to do was more arousing than he'd expected. Each long, slow stroke of his hand over the sensitive skin felt like a brush of heaven, and the tantalizing knowledge that he couldn't orgasm made the pleasure even more intense. He drew it out as long as he could, extending the sensations while holding off the climax, until he was right on the edge. Then he released his cock and took several deep breaths. His body felt hypersensitive and aware. When his arousal had begun to die down, several agonizing minutes later, his erection started to wane. Then he took himself in hand again, feeling the surge of arousal once more, and steadily brought himself to the edge again. He wanted so badly to keep going.

Of course, he could do what he wanted. It wasn't like she'd even know. But obeying her, even from afar, gave him the same level of pleasure as when he'd made her come. It wasn't the physical release of a climax, but it felt mentally gratifying. He didn't have to be in charge. He could let her control him.

When one more stroke would tip him over the edge, he let go and closed his eyes. He'd almost gone too far that time. The tantalizing feeling of waiting, of being denied, was hotter than he had expected it to be. And he'd been working with these fantasies for years. At last, when he had gone half soft, he tucked himself away and fastened his jeans again.

He had a few more hours until Iris got home from work, and the shop was about to close, so it was a perfect time to head in and get the monthly order complete. Sugar Rush ordered its perishables on a weekly basis on Sundays, but he placed the larger bulk orders—items that could last all month like flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt—once a month, and today would be a perfect day to finish that. Calculating the month's usage from his records, updating his spreadsheets, and contacting his vendors would be enough to distract him from the uncomfortable “unfinished” feeling in his body.

The shop was just closing when he arrived. Sebastian, the other part-time front counter worker, looked up when Owen walked in the door. He picked up a cloth like he'd been wiping down the cabinets this entire time and got right to work, the phone he'd been holding magically tucked into a pocket somewhere. “Hi, Owen. Everything all right? I thought you were taking your days off now. Juan said you weren't here on Thursday.”

“Monthly order time,” Owen said in explanation as he went around behind the counter and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.

Juan had music playing on the sound system, but as soon as he saw Owen walk in, he turned it down. “Owen! Thought I might see you today, boss. Two days off in a week a little too much for you?” He grinned, teasing.

“Just pretend I'm not here. I'll lock up when I'm finished.” Owen pulled up his spreadsheet and started inventorying their current stock levels.

“You doing the monthly order? I told you, man, I can do that for you sometime.” Juan approached with an earnest look on his face. “Or maybe make the specials? Let me show you I can do it.”

“Maybe next month.” Owen wasn't ready to let these aspects of his job go, because no one knew this shop like he did. Even though Juan had shown himself to be a strong employee, Owen wasn't sure Juan had all the skills he needed quite yet. Owen returned to his work, and after some time registered that Juan had left and he was effectively alone.

By the time he'd finished placing the monthly order and putting together the calendar of specials, which accompanied the monthly order like clockwork, the afternoon had gone. It looked like Juan and Sebastian had done all right closing up while he was busy in the back, and everything was in tip-top shape for him to open the next morning.

Iris was back on his mind again as he cooked dinner that night in his small, tidy kitchen. He could see how easily this sort of situation could escalate emotionally. With her controlling his orgasms, she became the focus of all his attention. He couldn't say it was unpleasant, but it could be concerning if he was this focused this early on.

After dinner, he sent her a text. She'd know what he was texting for, but he could at least pretend nonchalance.
Did you have a nice day at work?

Her reply came back a few minutes later.

Yes, thanks. How was your day off?

Busy but good,
he responded.
I went in to do the ordering this afternoon.

So much for a day off. Do you want to Skype? Or FaceTime, whatever you have?

He hadn't expected an actual video chat session, and his body responded immediately to the prospect.
Sure.

She sent him her contact info, and a few moments later, her face appeared on the screen. She was actually wearing a business suit, and his neglected cock came all the way to attention.

“You look nice. Is that what you wear to work every day?” He kept the leer off his face, but barely.

Iris shifted, her face lighting up in a pleased expression. “Generally, yes. I'm glad you like it. I thought you might prefer it if I was wearing this, although I thought about putting on pajamas.” Her mouth curled into a mischievous smile. “Or nothing.”

The sudden mental image was practically too much to handle in his hypersensitive state. “You knew I'd text?”