Chapter 15: The Final Act
The silence after Catriona’s last command was total, broken only by the faint drip of a tap in the kitchen. Jenny’s breath hitched. She pushed herself up on trembling arms, her dress still bunched around her waist, and swung her legs off the table. Her feet touched the floor, and she took a shaky step toward the kitchen, toward the sponge, toward the semblance of a task.
“Stop.”
Catriona’s voice was quiet, but it had the force of a slamming door. Jenny froze.
“Leave it.” Catriona walked around the table, her heels clicking on the hardwood, coming to stand between Jenny and the kitchen doorway. She studied Jenny’s face, the tear-streaked mascara, the swollen lips. She reached out and tucked a strand of sweaty hair behind Jenny’s ear, the gesture almost maternal. Then her fingers curled, gently gripping Jenny’s chin, tilting her face toward the candlelight. “You’re not done. Lie back down.”
Jenny’s luminous eyes flicked to Aidan, who stood frozen by his chair, still exposed, still slick with her. There was a question in her gaze, but also a dark kind of understanding. She didn’t argue. She turned and hoisted herself back onto the table, the wood cool against her bare skin. She lay back, staring at the chandelier, its crystals fracturing the light into a hundred tiny stars.
Catriona turned to Aidan. “You too. Again.” She nodded toward Jenny. “You didn’t finish.”
Aidan’s body responded before his mind could formulate a protest. A deep, aching throb answered the command. But his voice was raw. “Cat, she’s—”
“She’s exactly where I want her,” Catriona finished. She moved behind him, her hands sliding around his waist, her front pressing against his back. Her touch was shockingly intimate, grounding. She guided him back to the table’s edge. “Slowly this time. I want to feel it.”
Her hands settled on his hips. Aidan positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against Jenny’s slick, tender entrance. He looked down. Jenny’s eyes were closed, her lips parted. He pushed in, a slow, undeniable invasion, and Jenny let out a soft, choked sigh.
Catriona’s breath was hot on his neck. “That’s it,” she whispered, her thumbs digging into the muscles of his hips. She began to direct him, a subtle pressure forwards, a pull back. Her rhythm was deliberate, possessive. She was fucking Jenny through him. “Feel how tight she is? How she takes all of you? Look at her.”
Aidan looked. Jenny’s hands were fisted in the tablecloth now, her knuckles white. With each of Catriona’s guided thrusts, her body shifted on the linen.
“She loves it,” Catriona hissed, her own arousal a palpable heat against his back. “Look at her face. She’s never felt anything like you. She never will again. This is yours. Ours.”
The words, the control, the utter surreal carnality of it dismantled the last of Aidan’s resistance. A guttural sound tore from his throat, and his own hips began to piston, meeting Catriona’s guidance with a frantic hunger of his own. The table groaned. A wine glass toppled, rolling in a semicircle before shattering on the floor.
“Yes,” Catriona chanted, her voice breaking. “Just like that. Give it to her. All of it.”
Aidan’s climax wasn’t a wave this time; it was a detonation, violent and total, wrenching a raw shout from his lungs as he emptied himself deep inside Jenny’s clenching heat.
He slumped forward, bracing his hands on the table on either side of Jenny’s head, spent and trembling.
Catriona’s hands didn’t leave him. She held him there for a moment, then gently pulled him back. She stepped around him, her eyes fixed on the point where their bodies were joined. She didn’t speak. She simply reached between Jenny’s splayed thighs with two fingers, collecting the thick, pearlescent proof that was already beginning to seep out.
Jenny flinched as Catriona’s fingers made contact, her eyes flying open.
Catriona ignored her. She raised her glistening fingers to Jenny’s mouth. “Open.”
Jenny obeyed, her lips parting. Catriona smeared the substance over her lips, across her tongue, a crude, unmistakable marking. The salt-bitter taste made Jenny’s eyes water.
Then Catriona bent, her own mouth capturing Jenny’s in a deep, devouring kiss. It was a claiming. A sharing. Aidan watched, stupefied, as his wife’s tongue swept into the younger woman’s mouth, as Jenny’s hands came up to clutch at Catriona’s shoulders, not pushing away, but holding on.
When Catriona finally broke the kiss, both women were panting. She straightened, licking her own lips, her gaze triumphant and glazed.
“Okay,” she said, her voice husky but eerily practical. She looked at the wreckage of her dining room—the shattered glass, the soiled linen, the two of them wrecked and glowing in the candlelight. “We’re moving this party upstairs. My back is killing me.”
She held out a hand to Jenny, who took it, allowing herself to be pulled upright and off the table. Jenny’s legs buckled momentarily, and Catriona steadied her with a firm arm around her waist.
“Can you walk?” Catriona asked, not unkindly.
Jenny nodded, swallowing. “Yes.”
“Good.” Catriona turned to Aidan. “You. Bring the candles. And the wine.”
She led the way, Jenny leaning into her side, a shocking image of care and complicity. Aidan, moving on autopilot, blew out two of the candles but picked up the third holder and the nearly empty bottle of burgundy. He followed them out of the dining room, through the shadowed hall, and up the wide staircase.
The master bedroom was cool and orderly, a monument to Catriona’s design taste. She flicked on a single dim lamp.
“Here,” she said, guiding Jenny to the foot of the large bed. She turned to Aidan. “Put the wine on the nightstand. The candle too.” She began unzipping Jenny’s dress, the sound loud in the quiet room. The black fabric pooled at Jenny’s feet. Catriona looked her over, a clinical, appreciative glance. “Gorgeous.” She then turned her attention to Aidan, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his trousers down. “You’re not done either. Dawn is hours away.”
She pushed him back onto the bed, then guided Jenny to straddle him. “You know what to do,” Catriona said, settling herself into the armchair in the corner, pulling her knees up to her chest. She took a long, direct swallow from the wine bottle. “I’m just watching now. Properly.”
And as the single candle flame danced, reflecting in the dark window against the deepening night, Jenny began to move. Aidan’s hands found her hips, his eyes locked on his wife’s silhouette in the chair, her green eyes wide and unblinking, drinking in every detail as if storing it for a future hunger. The night stretched before them, vast and unbound, and the only rule left was Catriona’s want.