Chapter 6: The First Claim
The choice wasn’t a choice at all. It was a reflex, a pull as fundamental as gravity.
His hips angled, and he sank into Catriona with a single, deep, claiming thrust that pushed a gasp from her lungs and molded her body to the rug. Her eyes, wide and dark, held his. This was home. This was the center of the storm. He watched her pupils flare as he filled her, her mouth forming a silent ‘oh’ he knew by heart.
“Yeah,” she breathed, her hands scrambling up his back, nails biting. “Like that. Don’t you dare be gentle.”
He wasn’t. He set a relentless, driving rhythm, the kind that shook the floorboards and made her curls dance against the wool. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, her sharp cries, the desperate clutch of her around him. The Moroccan pattern swirled in his peripheral vision, a dizzying kaleidoscope.
Isla watched, propped on an elbow beside them. Her breath was quick and shallow. One hand idly cupped her own breast, thumb flicking over her nipple. The other was busy between her legs, her fingers moving in a frantic, slick circle. Her gaze was fixed where their bodies joined, absorbing every detail—the way Catriona’s thighs trembled, the sheen of sweat on Aidan’s back, the raw, wet sound of each penetration.
“Fuck, Cat,” Isla muttered, her voice ragged with arousal. “Look at you take it. You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Her words were a warm exhale against Catriona’s shoulder. Catriona turned her head, her face contorted with pleasure, and found Isla’s mouth. The kiss was messy, open, a shared gasp.
Aidan felt the sight of it like a physical blow to his gut. The coil within him tightened, a spring wound past its limit. The heat gathered, molten and inevitable. He was close, too close, the familiar crest rushing up.
With a ragged groan, he pulled out of Catriona. She whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her body arching off the rug.
He didn’t hesitate. He shifted his weight, his hands grasping Isla’s hips, turning her onto her back. Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist with surprising strength, pulling him down. He didn’t tease. He drove into her in one smooth, searing plunge.
Isla shattered. A scream tore from her throat, high and unfettered. Her back bowed, every muscle in her dancer’s body drawn taut as a wire. “Oh god! Oh, fuck, yes! It’s so much!” Her inner walls clenched around him, a fierce, rhythmic pulsation that milked him instantly.
It was too much. The shock of her tightness, the violent welcome of her orgasm, the sight of Catriona watching with heavy-lidded, approving eyes—it broke him. A guttural sound was ripped from his chest. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as the first jet of release hit. He pulsed into her, again and again, a hot, endless flood, filling her until he felt it seep out around the stretched join of their bodies.
He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his forearms, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He was shaking. Isla beneath him was trembling, her breaths coming in tiny, hitched sobs. Her legs slowly unlocked from his back, falling bonelessly to the rug.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the distant call of a blackbird in the garden.
Then, movement. Catriona.
She rose onto her knees and leaned over them. She didn’t look at Aidan first. She looked at Isla, brushing sweat-damp auburn hair from the girl’s forehead. Then she kissed her. It was tender, slow, a deep exploration. When she finally pulled back, she licked her own lips.
“I can taste him,” Catriona murmured, her voice awed. “In you.”
Isla’s eyes fluttered open. A slow, sated smile spread across her face. “Yeah. You can.” She reached up, her fingers tracing Catriona’s jaw. “Your turn next time. I want to watch that.”
Aidan finally pushed himself up, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He looked down. The evidence of his release was already glistening on Isla’s inner thighs and the dark curls below her stomach. The sight sent a dull, satisfied throb through him.
Isla followed his gaze. She hooked a finger, scooping up a trickle that had escaped. She brought it to her mouth, her eyes locked on his as she sucked her finger clean. “Legendary,” she said, the word a playful challenge.
Catriona laughed, a rich, warm sound that seemed to cleanse the air of its intensity. She swatted Isla’s thigh lightly. “You’re insatiable.”
“Says the woman who asked for this,” Isla retorted, grinning. She stretched, a long, cat-like motion that made the muscles in her abdomen ripple. “Christ. I need water. And my camera.”
“Camera?” Aidan asked, his voice rough.
“The light’s changed,” she said, sitting up with a wince and a satisfied sigh. She nodded toward the windows. The golden afternoon had mellowed to a deep, honeyed amber. “It’s perfect now. Soft. Glowing.” Her eyes travelled over both of them, assessing. “You both look properly wrecked. It’s brilliant.”
She stood, wobbled for a second on her feet, then steadied herself. Naked and utterly unselfconscious, she padded over to the table, retrieved her camera—a sleek, professional digital SLR—and turned back to them. She lifted the viewfinder to her eye.
The soft click-whirr of the shutter broke the spell.
Aidan looked at Catriona, who was still on her knees on the rug. She met his gaze, her smile softening into something private and profound. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. Her skin was warm, slightly damp.
Isla circled them, a predator with a lens. Click-whirr. The sound was casual, decisive. She captured Catriona’s hand in his, the tousled nest of her hair against the patterned wool, the languid, spent expression on Aidan’s face.
“This is good,” Isla murmured, not to them, but to herself. “This is really good.”
Aidan lay back on the rug, pulling Catriona down to sprawl against his chest. He was tired, satiated, his mind blissfully quiet. He watched Isla work, her focus absolute, her youthful body etched against the dying light. This was the aftermath. This was the new, strange, exhilarating shape of their world. And for now, it felt perfectly, impossibly right.