Chapter 10: The Confession and the Command
The silence after the front door closed was a physical thing, a thick, elastic tension stretched from the foyer down the hall to where Aidan stood, frozen. Catriona’s fingers were still pressed against him, a brand through the fabric of his trousers.
She didn’t move her hand. She just looked at him, her green eyes reflecting the low hall light, dissecting him. The warm, chatty hostess was gone, wiped away. What remained was something sharper, more elemental.
“Upstairs,” she said. The word wasn’t a suggestion.
She turned and walked toward the staircase, not checking to see if he followed. He did, his limbs moving on autopilot. The house felt different. The artwork on the walls, the carefully selected console table, the rug underfoot—it all seemed like a set dressing for a play whose script had just been burned. They climbed in silence, her heels ticking a metronome beat against the wood.
Their bedroom was a cavern of shadows. She’d left one lamp on earlier, a low, golden dome that cast more gloom than illumination. The bed was neatly made, but the air smelled faintly of her perfume from the morning, now mixed with the lingering scent of the dinner wine on her skin.
Catriona walked to the center of the room and stopped. She shrugged out of her blazer, letting it drop to the floor. She didn’t pick it up. Her fingers went to the remaining buttons of her silk blouse, working them open with deliberate slowness. She let that slide off her shoulders too. It joined the blazer. She stood in her lace bra and trousers, her skin glowing in the dim light.
“Tell me,” she said. Her voice was flat, devoid of its earlier warmth. It was a command from a general.
“Catriona…”
“The first time. In this house. The day I was in Milan.” She unhooked her bra, shrugged it off. Her breasts were freed, the nipples already taut. She wasn’t doing it to seduce him. It was a statement. A leveling. “Start at the beginning. You were napping. In the office.”
Aidan’s mouth was dry. He could taste the whiskey, the chocolate tart, the ghost of Jenny. The memory was a live wire. “I was on the sofa. I woke up… and she was there.”
“Where?”
“On her knees. Between my legs.”
Catriona’s breath hitched, just once. A tiny fracture in her control. “You were hard?”
“I was half-asleep. Confused. Then… I wasn’t confused.”
“Did she ask? Did she say anything?”
He shook his head, the scene replaying in stark, vivid fragments. “She just… looked up at me. And then she took me in her mouth. All of me. I’d never… no one had ever taken it like that. Not even close.”
A low sound escaped Catriona’s throat. Her hand drifted to her own breast, her thumb brushing over her nipple. She didn’t take her eyes off him. “She was skilled? For a virgin?”
The word hung in the air. It was the admission he’d been holding back, the ultimate boundary crossed. He saw the moment it landed. Catriona’s eyes widened, her pupils swallowing the green.
“She was a virgin?” The question was a whisper, sharp as a blade.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“I’m sure. There was… blood. On the sofa. Not much. But it was there.”
Catriona’s other hand came up, both now kneading her own breasts, her touch rough, fascinated. “You took a twenty-year-old virgin’s first time. On our office sofa.” She said it like she was tasting the concept. “Did you use anything?”
He knew what she was asking. The final layer of transgression. “No.”
“No condom.”
“No.”
“You came inside her.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
The specificity was brutal. He felt stripped bare, more naked than she was. “The first time? In her mouth. She swallowed. The second time… inside her. I pulled out the first few times. After that… I didn’t. I haven’t. Not once.”
Catriona’s hands slid down her stomach, over the flat plane, popping the button on her trousers. She pushed them down, along with her underwear, stepping out of the puddle of fabric. She stood completely nude before him, but she was the one in absolute power.
“Every time?” Her voice was thick now. “You’ve come inside that tight, innocent pussy every single time?”
“Yes.”
“Describe it. The feeling.”
He closed his eyes, but she hissed, “Open your eyes. Look at me and tell me.”
He forced his gaze to hers. “It’s… consuming. She’s so small. So tight. It’s like a hot, perfect fist. When I finish… she clenches. She milks every drop. She makes this sound, this little gasp, like she’s surprised it’s happening, even when she’s begging for it.” The words were ash in his mouth, and yet saying them, under her relentless gaze, was its own terrifying kind of arousal.
Catriona had sunk onto the edge of the bed. Her legs were parted. One hand was back on her breast, pinching, pulling. The other was between her legs, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. The slick sound of her touching herself was louder than his voice.
“She begs?” Catriona’s head tipped back, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders.
“She begs. ‘Please, Aidan.’ ‘Give it to me.’ ‘Fill me up.’”
“And you do.” Catriona’s breathing was becoming ragged, her hips starting a tiny, rhythmic push against her own hand. “You pump your married cum into that young, fertile Latina cunt. God.” Her back arched. “Do you think about me? When you’re in her?”
The question was a trap. The truth was a weapon. “At first, no. I couldn’t think at all. Now… yes. Sometimes. I think about what I’m doing. I think about you.”
“Good.” The word was a gasp. Her movements grew frantic, her fingers working faster. “That’s good. You should. I’m here. I’m always here.” Her eyes were glazed, fixed on him but seeing the scene he’d painted. “You’re so deep inside her, aren’t you? Stretching her open. Leaving your mark. Claiming her.”
“Yes.”
“And she loves it. She takes it all. Your giant, cheating cock.”
“Yes.”
Catriona cried out then, a sharp, guttural sound that wasn’t his name. Her body seized, tensed, shuddered. Her thighs clamped around her wrist, her back bowing off the bed. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and obvious, her features contorting in a mask of intense, solitary pleasure.
She collapsed back onto the duvet, breathing heavily. The room was silent except for the sound of her panting. The air was thick with the musk of her climax and the heavy weight of his confession.
For a long minute, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Then, slowly, she sat up. She reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her face was flushed, her expression serene but utterly focused.
Aidan watched, paralyzed, as she unlocked the screen, her thumbs moving swiftly.
He didn’t hear the sent message tone. He saw her type, pause, then press send.
She placed the phone back on the nightstand, screen down. Then she looked at him, her gaze clear and cool.
“We need the house kept to a higher standard,” she said, her voice businesslike, as if discussing a new supplier. “With my travel and… everything. Daily cleaning is more efficient.”
She swung her legs off the bed and stood, walking past him toward the en suite bathroom. At the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The lamplight caught the elegant line of her naked back.
“I asked Jenny what hours she can come,” Catriona said casually. “Starting tomorrow.”
The bathroom door clicked shut. A moment later, the shower hissed to life.
Aidan remained standing in the middle of their dark bedroom, the phantom sensations of Jenny’s body and the chilling echo of his wife’s climax warring inside him. On the nightstand, the screen of Catriona’s phone glowed once, faintly, with an incoming notification. A reply.