Chapter 31: The Afternoon Lesson
The numbers on the spreadsheet blurred into grey static. Aidan’s cursor hovered over a quarterly projection, unmoving. He’d been staring at the same cell for ten minutes. The phantom sensation was a live wire: the memory of twin pressures, one deep and swallowing, one clever and lickin
A knock at his office door, firm and crisp. It opened before he could answer.
Catriona leaned against the frame, already changed into a tailored linen trousers and a simple white blouse. Her hair was up. She surveyed him—the loosened tie, the hollow look in his eyes, the way he sat too still in his leather chair.
“Productive afternoon?” she asked, her voice light.
“Trying to be.”
“You’re not.” She stated it as fact, pushing off the doorframe and walking into the room. She trailed a finger along the edge of his mahogany desk, a familiar piece she’d sourced from an estate sale years ago. “You’re somewhere else. I know where. So does Lucia.”
Aidan didn’t respond. Denial felt pointless, another layer of the performance.
“She’s finished the downstairs windows. Eager for her next… assignment.” Catriona stopped in front of his desk, placing her palms flat on the dark wood. She leaned forward slightly. “Jenny’s at the library until seven. It’s just us. And her.”
She didn’t wait for his compliance. She never did anymore. She turned and called out, her voice carrying down the hall. “Lucia? Bring the brass polish. The desk needs attention.”
Footsteps, soft and prompt, approached. Lucia appeared in the doorway. She’d changed into a simple navy sundress, her feet bare. In her hands was a small basket containing cloths and a bottle of polish. Her eyes flicked to Aidan, then to Catriona, awaiting instruction.
“The lower panels and the footwell get neglected,” Catriona said, her tone all business. “Dust gathers. It requires a thorough, hands-on approach.”
Lucia understood. A faint blush rose on her cheeks, but her chin lifted slightly. She placed the basket silently on the floor, then without ceremony, she sank to her knees and crawled under the vast expanse of the mahogany desk.
Aidan’s breath caught. From his seated position, he could see the top of her head, the part in her dark hair, as she settled between his legs. The world narrowed to the cave of wood above her, the cathedral of his knees on either side.
Catriona pulled the leather visitor’s chair close and sat, crossing her legs. She picked up a folder from his desk—a mock-up of a client proposal he’d left there yesterday. “Now,” she said, flipping it open. “The Henderson project. Their notes on the renderings. They’re concerned about the load-bearing aesthetics in the great room. Your thoughts?”
Under the desk, small hands found his belt buckle. The click of the metal release was deafening. The tug of his zipper. The cool air of the office, then the warmer, confined air under the desk, on his exposed skin.
“I… the steel beams can be cladded in reclaimed oak,” he managed, his voice tighter than he intended. “It’ll maintain the rustic look without compromising the structure.”
Lucia’s hands, slightly cool from polishing, wrapped around him. She began a slow, firm stroke. Her thumb swept over the head, spreading the bead of moisture already forming there.
“Mmm. Reclaimed is good. Expensive, though.” Catriona made a note on the margin of the paper. “Would powder-coated steel, faux-finish, be a viable alternative? Cost analysis?”
Her mouth. Oh god, her mouth. She didn’t take him all at once. She painted him with her tongue, long, flat strokes from root to tip, as if he were the thing needing polish. The wet heat was exquisite, concentrated. Aidan’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair.
“Faux-finish… can look cheap,” he gritted out, fighting to keep his eyes on Catriona. “The Hendersons… they’d notice. They have an eye for detail.”
“True.” Catriona nodded, watching him struggle. “Stick with the oak. We’ll absorb the overage.” She turned a page. “Now. Your calendar. You have the conference call with the Singapore team at 9 PM our time tomorrow. Can we move that? I was thinking we could have the Martins for dinner.”
Lucia chose that moment to take him in, deep, hitting the back of her throat in one smooth, practiced glide. A muffled, guttural sound escaped Aidan. His hips jerked upwards involuntarily, bumping the underside of the desk with a soft thud.
Catriona’s eyes sparked. “Aidan? The Martins?”
“Yes. No. Dinner is fine.” The words were gasps. He was drowning in the dark, in the wet, silent suction. Lucia’s rhythm was relentless, a perfect, hidden piston. One of her hands cupped and gently kneaded his balls, the other stroked what her mouth couldn’t take.
“Good. I’ll tell them Thursday.” She set the folder down. Leaned back, steepling her fingers. “Now, the more pressing matter. Jenny mentioned something to me. About curriculum expansion.”
Aidan’s eyes flew open wider. Jenny. The car.Advanced placement.
“She seems to think Lucia is ready for a more challenging module.” Catriona’s voice was a low, considering purr. “A… comprehensive study. Demands greater preparation. Greater trust.”
Under the desk, Lucia’s pace slowed. She was listening, her mouth still working, but attentively. Her tongue swirled.
“Do you think,” Catriona continued, her gaze locked on his tortured face, “that our student is prepared for that level of dedication? The total surrender it requires?”
He couldn’t speak. Pleasure was a vice, tightening its jaws. He was on the precipice, the coil spring-tight in his gut. Lucia felt it. Her humming increased, a vibration that traveled straight to his spine.
“Aidan?” Catriona prompted, a smile playing on her lips. “Your professional opinion?”
It was the final nudge. The coil snapped. His climax ripped through him with silent, devastating force. He arched, his mouth open in a soundless cry, as he emptied himself in pulsating waves down Lucia’s accepting throat. The world telescoped to a single, blinding point of release.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing. The office was preternaturally still.
Under the desk, Lucia gently cleaned him with her tongue, tenderly, thoroughly. Then she slowly withdrew. He heard the soft rustle of her dress as she settled back on her heels.
Catriona watched him come back to himself, his chest heaving. She stood, smooth and unruffled. She walked to the side of the desk and offered a hand down to Lucia, who emerged, blinking in the light. A strand of hair was stuck to her damp cheek. Her lips were swollen.
Catriona used her thumb to wipe a tiny, glistening trail from the corner of Lucia’s mouth. “Excellent work,” she said, her voice warm. “Impeccable concentration. And silent as a mouse.” She glanced at the perfectly polished desk leg. “See? Multitasking.”
Lucia breathed out a shaky, proud little smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Go wash up. Then you can start on the guest room linens.”
Lucia nodded, collected her basket, and slipped out of the room without looking at Aidan.
Catriona turned her attention back to him. He was still slumped in his chair, spent, undone. She came around the desk and knelt before him, not in submission, but in assessment. She deftly fastened his pants, her movements efficient and possessive.
“The Singapore call,” she said, her voice now soft, intimate. “We’ll keep it at nine. You’ll be focused by then.” She stood, brushing a piece of lint from his shoulder. “And as for Jenny’s proposed curriculum… we’ll discuss it tonight. After dinner. I want to hear your thoughts when you’re thinking clearly.”
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, the gesture unbearably wifely, and left him there in the sunlit office. The scent of brass polish and sex and her perfume hung in the air, a new formula he was learning to breathe. The spreadsheet on his monitor glowed, utterly meaningless. The only thing that felt real was the faint, lingering tremor in his thighs and the certain, terrifying knowledge that the lesson plan was far from complete.