Chapter 14: The Fourth's First Claim
The deep, driving rhythm Aidan set within Elara seemed to shake the very air in the room. Her cries were shorter now, punched out of her with each thrust, her analytical composure utterly dissolved into pure physical response. Catriona watched, her hand still stroking Isla’s back, her own breath coming in synch with Elara’s.
Then Aidan’s pace hitched. He withdrew from Elara in one smooth, slick motion, leaving her gasping and empty on the silk. He turned, his gaze locking onto Catriona’s, and the look in his green eyes was feral, possessive. It was a silent question that needed no answer.
He reached for his wife, his large hands spanning her waist, and laid her back where Elara had just been. The heat from Elara’s body still radiated from the sheets. He didn’t tease. He fitted himself to her entrance and pushed in, a single, profound stroke that buried him to the root.
Catriona’s back arched, a sharp “Yes” escaping her lips. This was different. This was them. The familiar stretch, the perfect fit, the history in every movement. His thrusts into her were claiming, reaffirming, a bedrock beneath the night’s experiment.
Seeing Elara dazed and wanting beside them, Isla slid over. She straddled Elara’s face, her knees framing the older woman’s head. “You liked watching,” Isla whispered, guiding herself down. “Now taste.”
Elara’s hands came up to grip Isla’s thighs, her tongue finding its target without hesitation. Isla threw her head back, her auburn hair catching the candlelight. “Fuck, she’s good.”
The room became a circuit of sensation. Aidan drove into Catriona, each slap of skin echoing. Catriona, in turn, reached out a hand and tangled it in Isla’s hair, pulling her down into a desperate, sideways kiss over the curve of her own breast. Elara’s moans vibrated against Isla, her fingers digging in. The scent of sweat and sex and sandalwood was overwhelming.
Aidan felt the coiling tension in his gut, the familiar, urgent rise. He slowed, pulling almost all the way out of Catriona, his voice a raw rasp. “Look at me.”
Catriona’s eyes, dark and hazy, focused on his.
“I’m close,” he growled.
She understood. She always did. With a final, deep kiss to Isla’s mouth, she pushed the younger woman gently aside. “Elara. Here. Now.”
Elara moved without question, her face and chin glistening from Isla. She knelt beside Catriona, their shoulders touching. Both women looked up at Aidan, their expressions open, waiting.
He fisted his own length, stroking hard and fast, his other hand braced on the carved bedpost. The sight of them together—his wife and this sharp, beautiful stranger, both marked by the same night—pushed him over the edge.
“Oh god,” he choked.
The first pulse landed hot and thick across Catriona’s cheek and lips. The next streaked across Elara’s collarbone. He kept working himself, painting them with it, stripes of white on skin flushed pink and gold. Elara’s eyes closed, her mouth parting. Catriona never broke her gaze from her husband’s, her tongue darting out to catch what had landed on her mouth.
When he was spent, he dropped his hand, breathing like he’d run a mile.
For a second, there was only the sound of their ragged breath and the distant jazz. Then Catriona turned her head. She looked at Elara, at the mess on her skin, and closed the distance between them.
The kiss was deep, slow, and filthy. Catriona licked into Elara’s mouth, sharing the taste. Elara kissed her back with a stunned, surrendered hunger, her hands coming up to cradle Catriona’s face.
Isla watched, her own fingers sliding between her legs, her expression one of awed, lustful reverence. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, almost to herself.
The kiss broke. Catriona rested her forehead against Elara’s, both of them streaked and sticky. She looked over at Aidan, a slow, sated smile spreading across her face. “Welcome to the ecosystem,” she murmured to Elara, her voice hoarse.
Elara let out a shaky laugh, more a breath than a sound. “The data is… overwhelming.” She looked down at herself, then at Catriona, then at Aidan. “I need a whisky.”
Aidan nodded toward the dresser. “Help yourself.”
Elara slid off the bed, her legs unsteady. She padded naked to the mahogany dresser, poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler, and knocked it back in one go. She stood for a moment, her back to them, the lines of her spine elegant in the low light.
Isla crawled up the bed, nestling into Catriona’s side, nuzzling her neck. “She’s brilliant.”
“She is,” Catriona agreed, stroking Isla’s hair, her eyes on Elara’s silhouette.
Aidan settled beside his wife, his body humming with spent energy. He watched Elara turn, the glass in her hand, her grey eyes now clear and appraising once more as they swept over the tangle of limbs on the bed.
“So,” Elara said, a new, curious tilt to her head. “Is the protocol always this thorough?”