Chapter 4: The Professor's Lesson
The steam from the shower still clung to their skin as they stumbled, towel-damp and laughing, back towards Aidan’s bed. The room was fuller now, the golden morning light sharpening the edges of the whiskey bottle, the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes.It felt less like a secret and more like a stage they owned.
Catriona fell back onto the mattress, the cool cotton a shock against her warmed skin. Aidan followed, but instead of covering her, he knelt beside her, his eyes tracing the water droplets snaking through the freckles on her chest. He picked up her wrist, his thumb pressing gently into the delicate underside.Then the other. He held them both loosely above her head, his fingers not clamping, but presenting.
“You said,” he began, his Yorkshire accent softening the words, “all three in one go.Let’s try that again.” He leaned down, his lips brushing hers. “But slower this time. A proper tour.”
A shiver that had nothing to do with being damp ran through her. She flexed her wrists in his light grasp, testing, and he tightened his hold just enough to feel like a decision. She nodded, a quick, breathless dip of her chin.
He released one wrist to trail a single finger down her throat, between her breasts, over the quivering plane of her stomach. He bypassed the triangle of red curls, instead continuing down the inside of her thigh, spreading her legs with a firm, unhurried pressure. Then he settled between them, his shoulders pushing her knees wider.He didn’t look up. He just looked, his gaze a physical weight on her most intimate skin.
His first touch was his breath, warm and shocking.Then the flat of his tongue, a long, slow lick from bottom to top. She gasped, her back arching off the bed. He ignored her reaction, focusing with an academic’s precision. He licked and probed, learning her shape, the give of her lips, the hard little pearl of her clit that he circled but did not attack.He was mapping her.
Her hips began a shallow, restless undulation. “Aidan…”
“Not yet,” he murmured, the vibration against her making her jolt. His free hand came up, two fingers slick from her own arousal, and pressed against her back entrance.He didn’t push in. Just held pressure there, a silent promise, as his mouth finally closed over her clit and sucked.
The dual sensation—the sweet, pulling focus of his mouth and the insistent, forbidden pressure behind—unraveled her.A high, thin whine escaped her throat. Only then did his finger begin to press inward, slowly, inexorably, as he sucked harder. The stretch was a bright, clean line of sensation, anchoring the whirlpool of pleasure building between her legs. She was split, known, utterly occupied.Her trembling became a violent shake.
“I can’t… I’m gonna…”
He withdrew his finger and lifted his head, his chin glistening. “I know.” His voice was rough. He moved up her body, his cock heavy and hard against her thigh.He guided himself to her lips. “Open.”
She did, taking him in, the taste of herself on him intensifying the act.He pushed deep, her throat relaxing to accept him. As she sucked, gagging slightly on his girth, his hand slipped down between her legs again. Two fingers, slick and sure, slid into her pussy, curling upwards.
She was being played, a instrument strung tight between his hand and his cock. She moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length. He pumped his fingers in time with the shallow thrusts into her mouth, a devastating, coordinated rhythm.Pleasure, thick and urgent, coiled at the base of her spine.
He pulled from her mouth with a wet pop, his breathing ragged. “Turn over.”
She moved clumsily, her limbs liquid. On her knees, she felt the cool air on her heated skin, then the hotter press of his body covering hers.He didn’t enter her immediately. He kissed the knob of her spine, bit the swell of her arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh. Then the blunt head of him pressed against her opening, and he pushed into her pussy in one deep, seamless stroke.“Oh, god,” she choked, her head dropping forward. This was different again—deeper, fuller from this angle. He set a steady, grinding rhythm, his pelvis bumping against her soreness with each thrust, sparking echoes of the night before. One hand gripped her hip, the other tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back.
“You take me so well,” he grunted, the pace increasing.“Every part. Fucking made for it.”
She was babbling, nonsense words and his name, the coil tightening to a breaking point.Just as the first tremor rippled through her, he stopped, pulling out completely.
A sob of frustration was ripped from her. But his hands were on her, turning her, arranging her on her back again, a pillow shoved under her hips. He fumbled for the lube on the floor, slicking himself with a quick, rough stroke. His eyes were black with need, all patience gone.
He guided himself back to her, past her wet folds, to the tighter, darker ring of muscle.He pressed.The initial resistance, then the slow, yielding surrender. He watched her face as he entered her ass, this time in one continuous, smooth invasion that stole the air from her lungs.The fullness was immense, shocking, complete. He held there, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. Then he moved, a slow, withdrawn stroke, then a deep, hard return.His hand found her clit, his touch rough and perfect.
“This is it,” he rasped, his thrusts gaining speed, turning brutal, perfect. “This is what you wanted.All of you.Full of me.”
The pain had dissolved into a pure, radiant intensity. Each thrust hammered the spot inside her that sparked white behind her eyes. His words, filthy and tender, wove through the rhythm, binding her to him.The pressure in her belly exploded. Her orgasm wasn’t a wave but a detonation, silent for a second before her scream shattered the morning quiet. Her body clamped around him, milking him, and with a raw, shattered groan, he came, his hips stuttering as he poured into her.
He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his arms, his forehead damp against her shoulder. They were both slick, shaking, utterly spent. He softened inside her, and the feeling of him slipping out was accompanied by a hot, intimate trickle. He rolled beside her, pulling her into him so her back was against his chest, his arms a cage of safety.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing, and the distant growl of a rubbish truck on the street below.
Catriona finally stirred, wincing at the symphony of aches. “I think you might have actually broken me.”
He nuzzled her hair.“You’ll walk it off.” He paused. “Eventually.”
She laughed, a hoarse, happy sound.“Breakfast.You’re buying. I require substantial replenishment.”
The kitchen was a monument to their shared neglect. Mugs crowded the sink, a lone piece of toast fossilized in the crumbs of the toaster. Aidan, wearing only a pair of grey joggers, rummaged in the fridge. Catriona leaned against the counter in one of his old band t-shirts, watching the muscles shift in his back.
“Options are bleak,” he announced. “Eggs of dubious age, cheese that’s developed a personality, or beans.”
“Beans.Safe.Traditional.” She accepted the tin he tossed her. As she busied herself with the can opener and a saucepan, she felt his eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder. “What?”
He just smiled, a slow, private thing that warmed her more than the gas flame.“Nothing. Just looking.”
They ate beans on toast at the small, cluttered table, their knees touching underneath.It was absurdly ordinary.And utterly profound.
“So,” Catriona said, scooping up a saucy bite.“The, uh… logistics. Of this amended roommate agreement.”
Aidan nodded, wiping his mouth.“Right. We’ll need a system.A booking system, perhaps.Color-coded chart on the fridge.”
“Very practical. What about… other people?”
The question hung in the air.Aidan put his fork down. “Don’t want any,” he said simply. “The thought of you with someone else now makes me feel a bit feral, to be honest.”
A surge of fierce satisfaction rushed through her. “Same. The idea of you trying to find some other poor woman who can’t handle all… this,” she gestured vaguely at his lap, “is frankly tragic.”
He laughed, but his gaze was serious.“It was, a bit. Until now.” He reached across the table, his hand covering hers.“This isn’t just about that, though. Is it?”
She looked at their joined hands, then back to his face. The best friend’s face, now layered with the lover’s knowledge.“No,” she said softly. “It’s not.”
He squeezed her hand.“Good.”
After breakfast, she insisted on washing up. He dried, standing close behind her, his breath on her neck as he placed a cleaned plate on the rack. His fingers brushed the back of her thigh, crept under the hem of the t-shirt.
“You’re insatiable,” she murmured, leaning back into him.
“You’re here,” he replied, as if that explained everything.
Later, on the couch surrounded by their own laptops and the mundane debris of Sunday, the reality settled around them like a comfortable blanket. Catriona worked on a logo design, stealing glances at Aidan who was absorbed in a dense academic paper. He looked up, caught her looking, and smiled.“What?” he asked.“Just thinking. My ex… he made me feel like a pervert for wanting one thing. You make me feel like a goddess for wanting everything.”
Aidan closed his laptop. He moved hers aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms strong around her.“That’s because you are,” he said into her hair. “A greedy, perfect, glorious goddess. And I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to worship.”
She sighed, contentment a physical weight in her bones. The future, for the first time in a long while, felt less like a blank page and more like a map, thrilling and uncharted, waiting for them to explore it together. His hand slid down to cup the curve of her arse through the soft cotton, a possessive, familiar gesture.
“The couch is new territory,” he observed casually, his thumb stroking a slow circle.She laughed against his chest.“Later. Let me finish this design.Some of us have work to do.”
“Fine,” he sighed, theatrical. “But tonight, the couch is mine.”
She settled back against him, a plan already forming in her mind.Tonight, she’d wear the little black dress he’d always liked. They’d start on the couch.But maybe they wouldn’t finish there. The whole flat, she thought, was theirs to break in.Slowly. Thoroughly.