Chapter 5: The Sixth Surge
The silence after the fifth was different. It wasn’t the quiet of satiation, but of a hollowed-out exhaustion. Aidan hadn’t moved from where he’d collapsed. Mei-Ling stared at the mirrored ceiling, her chest rising and falling in shallow, quick rhythms, as if the air had grown thin.
Catriona watched them from the edge of the bed, her fingers drumming a silent pattern on her own thigh. The arithmetic was a cold, hard line. Five was a milestone. Six would need to be a reinvention.
“You’re fading,” she said, not unkindly. It was an observation.
Aidan turned his head on the pillow. His expression was stripped bare, all the hungry intensity from hours ago softened into a dazed surrender. “I just… need a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute. The night isn’t waiting for your recovery.” She stood, the movement slicing through the stagnant air. Her own need was a low, insistent thrum, neglected but not forgotten. This was her design, and she would not let it falter from a lack of stamina. “Up. Both of you.”
Her voice held no room for debate. Mei-Ling pushed herself onto her elbows, a visible wince tightening her features before she smoothed it away. Aidan rolled onto his back, dragging a hand down his face.
Catriona walked to the foot of the bed. She looked at Mei-Ling, then at the space beside her. “On your hands and knees. Face the headboard.”
Mei-Ling obeyed, moving with a stiffness that betrayed the ache in her muscles. She assumed the position, her back a pale, graceful curve, her black hair veiling her face. Catriona placed a hand on the dip of her spine, feeling the fine tremor there.
Then Catriona climbed onto the bed. She didn’t go to Aidan. Instead, she positioned herself over Mei-Ling, facing away from the girl’s head. She lowered herself, settling her weight onto Mei-Ling’s back, then shifting until she was straddling her face.
“Look at me, Aidan,” Catriona said.
He was sitting up now, watching, his eyes clearing from their fog as he processed the new geometry.
“You’re not done. But you’re tired. So I’ll help.” She reached behind herself, her hands finding Mei-Ling’s head, guiding it upward until she felt the warm puff of the girl’s breath against her. “You take her from behind. Where it’s tightest. You understand?”
Aidan’s gaze locked onto hers. That flicker reignited, a spark fanned by the sheer, audacious command of her posture. He gave a single, slow nod.
“Do it.”
He moved behind Mei-Ling, his hands rough on her hips, positioning himself. Catriona felt the shift in the girl’s body, the instinctive flinch and subsequent forced relaxation. Then the low, strained groan from Aidan as he pushed forward into a much tighter, drier channel.
Mei-Ling’s cry was immediate, muffled completely by Catriona’s body. It wasn’t a whimper this time; it was a raw, vibrating scream of shock that Catriona felt in her bones, a seismic tremor of sensation. She ground down against the girl’s mouth, taking what she needed, the pleasure a bright, sharp counterpoint to the girl’s distress.
“That’s it,” Catriona breathed, her own voice unsteady. She watched Aidan’s face over Mei-Ling’s shuddering back. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth bared in a grimace of effort and overwhelming sensation. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
The rhythm was brutal, out of sync. Aidan’s thrusts were desperate, seeking his own climax to escape the sheer physical toll. Mei-Ling was sobbing openly now, the sounds choked and wet, her body rigid between them, a live wire of overstimulation.
Catriona felt her own climax building, a tense coil springing from the chaotic friction below and the absolute dominion above. “Look at me!” she commanded Aidan.
His eyes flew open, glassy and wild.
“Come inside her. Now.”
It was like tripping a switch. His body convulsed, a harsh, barking shout torn from his throat as he spent himself, deep and shuddering. He collapsed forward over Mei-Ling’s back, his weight driving the girl’s face harder into Catriona.
But Catriona wasn’t finished. “Keep moving,” she ordered, her voice a guttural scrape. “Until I say.”
Aidan, dazed and obedient, managed a few more ragged, shallow thrusts. It was enough. The combined sensations—the violation beneath her, the complete submission around her—crashed over Catriona. She cried out, a short, sharp sound, her body clamping down as waves of release tore through her, leaving her trembling and slick.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged symphony of their breathing. Catriona slowly lifted herself off Mei-Ling’s face. The girl slumped forward, her cheek pressed to the soaked sheets, her entire body shaking with silent, relentless tears. Aidan had rolled onto his side, one arm still draped across Mei-Ling’s legs, utterly spent.
Catriona sat back on her heels, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. She looked at the wreckage of them—the weeping girl, the obliterated man. She felt a surge of something fierce and possessive. This was her creation.
“Six,” she said, the word hanging in the perfumed, ruined air.
Four to go. The number now felt less like a countdown and more like a cliff edge they were all approaching, momentum lost, simply falling toward.