Chapter 1: A Contract of Pleasure
The air in the penthouse bedroom was thick with the smell of beeswax candles and jasmine, undercut by the crisp, expensive scent of chilled champagne. Catriona watched from the deep velvet chaise, one leg curled beneath her, the stem of her flute held loosely between her fingers. The bubbles were a tiny, frantic constellation against the gold.
“On your knees, darling,” she said, her voice a low hum in the quiet room.
Mei-Ling moved without hesitation. The black silk robe whispered open and pooled around her on the charcoal carpet, a dark puddle from which her pale form emerged. She knelt, back straight, hands resting on her thighs. Her gaze was lowered, but it wasn’t submission. It was preparation. Catriona admired the clean line of her spine, the delicate knobs at the base of her neck, the way the candlelight painted her skin in shades of honey and gold.
Aidan stood by the bed, a statue of restrained force. He’d shed his shirt earlier; the muscles in his shoulders and arms were tense cords, his weathered hands opening and closing at his sides. His eyes, usually so calm and assessing, were fixed on Catriona with a feverish intensity. She owned that look. She’d put it there.
“Come here,” Catriona said to him.
He crossed the room in three strides, the floorboards giving a faint sigh under his weight. He stopped before her, a giant before a queen. She reached up and traced the scar that knicked his lower lip, a remnant of a childhood fight he never talked about.
“You remember the rules,” she whispered, though it wasn’t a question.
“Every one.” His voice was rough.
“Say them.”
He didn’t look at the girl on the floor. He kept his eyes on Catriona’s, on the knowing green fire in them. “Her mouth is mine. Her cunt is mine. Her ass is mine.”
“And?”
“And only you get my seed inside. I fill her. I fill her until she leaks with it. But it’s all for you.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Ten times. Before dawn.”
Catriona’s smile was slow, satisfied. She took a sip of champagne, the cold a sharp contrast to the heat building in the room. “It’s not a punishment, my love. It’s a testament. A… celebration of capacity.” She flicked her eyes toward Mei-Ling. “Show her.”
Aidan turned. The difference in their sizes was almost comical. He was all broad planes and roped strength; she was a collection of fine bones and slight, graceful curves. He cupped her face, his thumb spanning nearly the entire width of her jaw, and tilted her head back until their eyes met.
Mei-Ling didn’t flinch. She held his gaze, her dark eyes pools of serene acceptance. A professional acknowledging the terms of a contract. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
“She’s not a porcelain doll, Aidan,” Catriona’s voice floated from the chaise. “She’s been paid to withstand you. To enjoy it. So don’t hold back on my account.”
That was the final leash slipped. A low sound rumbled in Aidan’s chest. He leaned down, his other hand sliding into the black waterfall of Mei-Ling’s hair, fisting it gently but with undeniable ownership. He didn’t kiss her. He studied her parted lips, the quick flutter of a pulse in her slender throat.
“Open,” he commanded, his voice thick.
Mei-Ling obeyed, her tongue touching her bottom lip. Aidan guided himself into the warm, wet haven of her mouth, a groan tearing from him as her lips sealed around him. His head fell back, cords standing out in his neck. Catriona watched, her own breath catching. The sight was profoundly more erotic than any direct touch. The control was hers, the performance was his, the instrument was this beautiful, paid stranger.
The mirrored ceiling above them fractured the scene into a dozen dizzying repetitions: the man’s hunched back, the girl’s upturned face, the woman lounging in shadow, a faint smile on her lips.
It was a long, slow, relentless rhythm. Aidan’s hips began to move, shallow thrusts that made Mei-Ling’s shoulders tense. A soft, choked sound escaped her. Catriona saw her small hands tighten on her own thighs, knuckles blanching. Good. Let her feel the weight of him, the reality of the night. This was not a fantasy of gentle lovemaking. This was a transaction of grit and sweat and endurance.
After an eternity, Aidan pulled himself free with a wet sound. Mei-Ling gasped, a string of saliva bridging her lips to him for a second before she swallowed, composing herself. Her eyes were watering, but her expression remained placid.
“Turn around,” Aidan growled, his breath coming hard. “On your hands and knees.”
Mei-Ling moved with that same efficient grace, presenting herself. The curve of her ass was pale and perfect in the low light. Aidan’s hand, rough and broad, smoothed over it, a gesture that was almost tender before it hardened into a grip.
Catriona set her champagne down, the glass clicking softly on the obsidian side table. She stood, the silk of her scarlet chemise whispering against her skin. She walked over, a silent curator of the scene. She placed a hand on Aidan’s damp back, feeling the powerful muscles coil and release.
“Wait,” she murmured.
She knelt beside Mei-Ling, bringing her face level with the girl’s. Mei-Ling turned her head, her cheek resting on the carpet. Up close, Catriona could see the fine sheen of sweat on her temple, the rapid beat of her pulse.
“Are you alright?” Catriona asked, her tone genuinely curious.
Mei-Ling nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“He’s going to fuck you now. It will likely hurt. That’s part of it. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.” Catriona stood and nodded to Aidan. “Now.”
There was no gentle penetration. Aidan was beyond that. He guided himself and pushed forward in one deep, claiming stroke. Mei-Ling cried out, a sharp, startled sound that was quickly muffled by the carpet as her face pressed into it. Her whole body went taut, a bowstring vibrating.
Aidan froze, buried inside her, his own body trembling with the effort of the pause. He looked over his shoulder at Catriona, a question in his wild eyes.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice cool and clear. “She can take it. Give her what she’s here for.”
The obedience in him was total. He began to move, a hard, driving rhythm that shook Mei-Ling’s slight frame with every thrust. The sounds filled the room—skin on skin, ragged breaths, the soft, distressed cries Mei-Ling could no longer completely swallow. Catriona watched, a strange, potent cocktail of lust and power swirling in her gut. This was her design. This beautiful, brutal machine was operating on her fuel.
She saw the moment Aidan’s pace began to falter, his rhythm turning frantic and shallow. He was close.
“Not inside her,” Catriona reminded him, her voice cutting through the haze.
With a raw shout that was more agony than pleasure, Aidan pulled out. He spent himself across the small of Mei-Ling’s back, the hot stripes stark against her pale skin. He collapsed onto his elbows above her, his great body heaving.
Mei-Ling lay utterly still beneath him, her face still hidden, her breaths shallow hitches. The first deposit. Catriona walked to the bedside table, picked up a thick white towel, and returned. She tossed it onto Aidan’s back.
“Clean her up,” she said. “You have nine to go. And the night is long.”
Aidan slid off Mei-Ling, his movements heavy. He picked up the towel and began to wipe her back with a clumsiness that was almost apology. Mei-Ling finally pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. She looked past Aidan, her dark eyes finding Catriona’s. There was no resentment there, no anger. Just a deep, fathomless exhaustion, and beneath it, a flicker of something else. A challenge met.
Catriona smiled and returned to her champagne. She took a long sip, the alcohol buzzing through her veins. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered, a cold, distant galaxy. In here, the world was reduced to heat, and rule, and sweat-slicked skin.
Aidan was already stirring again, his hand running up the inside of Mei-Ling’s thigh. The girl closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and opened herself for the second round.