Chapter 11: Breakfast Confessions
The hum of the fluorescent light in Freya’s kitchen was a sterile counterpoint to the warm, musky silence of the bedroom. Aidan watched the buttery crumbs on her plate, the smudge of yellow yolk on her lip.His own eggs sat congealing, forgotten. His phone, face-down on the sticky table, felt like a live wire.She’s not the only one. Come home.We need to talk.
Freya’s hand was still on his, her touch cool and light.Her words hung in the air between them, sweet and terrifying. I think I’m falling for you.
He looked at her, wrapped in his oversized shirt, her legs bare, her expression so open it was like a physical blow. He saw the student who blushed when discussing red shifts, the model who knew how to arch her back for a camera, the girl who had whimpered his name into the office carpet and again into her own pillow. And he saw the inevitable, brutal cost.“Freya,” he began, his voice rusted shut.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly, a flicker of fear in her blue eyes. She pulled her hand back, tucking it under the table. “I just… I needed you to know how it felt.How you make me feel.Safe.Seen.”
That word.Safe. It lodged in his ribcage like a shard of ice. He had made her feel safe while his oldest friend was sitting in his flat, her world atomized, thinking he had chosen this girl over her.The guilt was a sour taste in his mouth, sharper than the cheap coffee.
“I have to go,” he said, the words abrupt and ugly.
Her face fell, the hopeful light snuffing out.“Oh.”
“It’s Catriona. She…” He couldn’t finish.She’s breaking.And I broke her. He stood up, the chair legs scraping against the linoleum.“I’m sorry.That was incredible. You are incredible. But this… it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” she repeated, the word flat.She pulled the shirt tighter around herself. “Right.”
He dressed quickly, his clothes smelling of her lavender and sex.He couldn’t meet her eyes.At the door, he paused. “I’ll call you.”
She just nodded, staring at the empty plate.
The night air outside was a shock, cold and mean. He drove through silent streets, Catriona’s text burning in his mind.She’s not the only one.What did that mean?A confession? An ultimatum? The chaos of the office replayed in his head—Catriona’s furious tears, her commanding voice telling Freya how to take him, the searing, public possession of it all. His cock stirred traitorously in his jeans, the memory of both women winding together into a single, potent fantasy.Freya’s tight, accepting warmth. Catriona’s knowing, hungry gaze.
His flat was dark except for the faint blue glow of the fishtank in the living room. He smelled her perfume first—that metallic, spicy scent cutting through the familiar smell of books and dust.She was sitting on his sofa, in the dark. Not curled up, but straight-backed, regal. She had changed into a simple black dress, one that clung to her famous curves.Her red hair was down, a riotous cascade over her shoulders. In the aquarium light, her face was all shadows and sharp angles.“You came back,” she said. Her voice was calm, a flat surface over a void.
“You said we needed to talk.”
“Do we?” She turned her head, and the light caught the tracks dried on her cheeks. “Seems like you’ve been doing plenty without words, Aiden.”
He didn’t move from the doorway. “Cat…”
“Was it good?” she interrupted, swivelling fully to face him now.Her green eyes glinted.“Fucking your perfect little student in my office? Training her to take that magnificent cock?Was it everything you wanted?”
He flinched. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that!” The calm shattered. She shot to her feet.“I saw it!I fucking orchestrated it! I taught her how to worship what every other woman was too scared to even try! And then you just… you took her away. You looked at me like I was a monster, and you took her away to cherish her.”
She was across the room in seconds, stopping a foot from him. Her rage was a physical heat.“All these years, Aiden. All the jokes about your ‘problem,’ all the times I listened to you feel sorry for yourself because you were too much for your petite little girlfriends. I was never scared.I wanted.I dreamed about it.And I waited. I fucking waited for you to see me.”
Her confession slammed into him, truer and darker than Freya’s sweet admission.This was no gentle fall.This was a landslide.
“You never said…”
“What was I supposed to say?” she hissed. “‘Hey, Aiden, your lonely, prickly, fat-arsed best mate is secretly desperate for you to split her in two’?”
The crude words, in her cut-glass accent, sent a jolt straight to his groin.His breath hitched.She saw it.She always saw him. A savage smile touched her lips.“There it is.That’s the look.Not pity. Not friendship.” She stepped closer, until her breasts brushed his chest. “You want to punish me, don’t you?For tonight.For all of it. You want to make it hurt.”
He was hardening, fully, painfully, his body betraying every decent intention. “Catriona, this is fucked up.”
“Yes,” she breathed, her hand snaking down between them, palming him through his jeans.He jerked at the contact.“It is. And you’re fucked up too.You liked it.You liked her watching.You liked me telling her what to do. You liked being my dirty secret, my project.” Her fingers worked his zip open, shoved his jeans and boxers down his hips.His cock sprang free, thick and ruddy in the dim light.
She dropped to her knees.
“Cat, don’t—”
“Shut up,” she growled, and took him into her mouth.It was nothing like Freya’s tentative, learning suction. This was an assertion.A conquest. She engulfed him, her lips stretching around his girth, taking him deeper than he thought possible. She used her tongue like a weapon, lashing the sensitive underside, probing the slit. She gagged once, harshly, and pulled back only to swallow him down again, deeper, her eyes streaming. She was claiming what she saw as hers, using her mouth with a brutal, practiced skill that spoke of years of private fantasy.
He tangled his hands in her hair, not to guide, but to hold on. The sight of her, on her knees, her gorgeous face contorted in effort around his cock, was the most obscenely beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His hips pistoned forward, fucking her mouth in shallow, desperate thrusts. “Jesus, Cat… your mouth… fuck…”
She pulled off with a wet pop, saliva stringing between her lips and his gleaming head. “Not there,” she panted, her voice wrecked. She got to her feet, turned her back to him, and looked over her shoulder. That famous, massive arse, the one he’d stolen glances at for a decade, was a lush curve under the black dress.“There. I know you’ve always wanted to.Do it.”
His fantasy, spoken aloud in the dark. Every hesitation, every past rejection, crystallized into this single moment.The sheer, audacious want of her obliterated everything else.
He pushed the hem of her dress up, revealing the black lace of her thong. He hooked his thumbs in the sides and yanked them down. She bent forward, bracing her hands on the back of the sofa, presenting herself. The pale, full moons of her arse cheeks, the dark furl of her arsehole, the glistening wetness of her cunt below—it was a vision of pure, carnal surrender.
He spat into his hand, slicking his length, the act crude and necessary.He guided the broad, purple head to her tightest hole. “It’s… I’m too big, Cat. I’ll hurt you.”
“Good,” she snarled, pushing back against him.“Hurt me. Make it so I can’t sit down tomorrow without thinking of you. Make it so I can’t fucking walk.Do it, Aiden.Take what’s yours.”
He pushed.
The resistance was profound, a tight, gripping ring of muscle that defied him. She cried out, a sharp, pained sound that tore through the room.He stilled.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she sobbed, her knuckles white on the sofa.“Push. Now.”
He pushed again, putting the weight of his body behind it. He felt her open, a brutal, gradual yielding.An inch.Then two.She was choking back screams, her whole body shaking. He was sheathed in a scalding, impossible tightness, a velvet fist clenched around him, tighter than any pussy he’d ever known.It was terrifying.It was transcendent.
He began to move.Short, grinding strokes at first, letting her body adjust to the invasion. Her cries melted into long, low moans. “Oh god… oh fuck, Aiden… it’s so deep…”
He found a rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into that breathtaking tightness.Each thrust was a raw act of possession, a boundary annihilated. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arse, spreading her wider for his penetration. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of skin, her ragged pleas, his own guttural grunts.“You feel that?” he growled, his calm persona incinerated. “That’s my cock in your arse, Cat.This perfect, filthy arse. All mine.”
“Yes!” she shrieked, her body convulsing around him. She came then, a rippling, internal quake that squeezed him like a vise, her cunt dripping onto the cushions below.It tipped him over the edge. With a final, brutal drive, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. His orgasm was a violent, prolonged seizure, pumping his come deep into her clenching channel. He saw stars, his vision whiting out, all thought obliterated by the sheer, physical triumph of it.
He collapsed over her, his sweat-slick chest against her back, both of them gasping, wrecked. He softened inside her, feeling the impossible, sticky mess they’d made.The reality crashed back in, cold and heavy.
He had done it. He had fucked his best friend in the arse, savagely, on a floor littered with broken trust. And as he held her, feeling her silent tears wet his forearm, he knew with a sinking finality that nothing between them would ever be simple again. The choice wasn’t ahead.It was here, buried inside her, a permanent, complicating scar. And Freya’s hopeful, sleeping face was already a ghost in the room.