Chapter 32: The Kitchen Table Confession
The silence in the office lingered long after Catriona left, a thick, tangible thing. Aidan finally stood, his legs unsteady. He walked to the window and watched the late afternoon light glaze the backyard. The maple tree cast a long, finger-like shadow across the manicured lawn. From here, he could just see the corner of the patio where, months ago, Jenny had first knelt before him on a cool stone bench, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and want.
Now there was Lucia. And Catriona’s curriculum.
He showered in the guest bathroom, the water scalding, trying to wash the feeling of hidden eyes and secret mouths from his skin. It didn’t work. The phantom sensations had moved in, permanent tenants under his skin.
By the time he emerged in fresh jeans and a t-shirt, the house had transformed. The scent of roasting garlic and searing steak wound through the halls. Music played softly from the kitchen—something jazzy and unfamiliar.
Catriona stood at the stove, a glass of Pinot Noir in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other. She glanced over her shoulder as he entered. “Better?”
“Cleaner,” he said, leaning against the island. The marble was cool through his shirt.
“Good. Set the table? We’re eating in here. Casual.”
He moved to the cupboard, fetching plates and cutlery. The domestic normalcy of it was surreal. The fork tines gleamed under the pendant lights. Every clink of glass on granite echoed.
The back door opened and closed. Light footsteps.
Jenny came in, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her face lit with the residual energy of a day spent studying. She wore cut-off denim shorts and a faded university sweatshirt. Her hair was in its usual ponytail. She dropped her bag by the door and breathed in deeply. “Something smells amazing.”
“Just a steak,” Catriona said, smiling. “How was the library?”
“Productive. I finally nailed the Krebs cycle.” Jenny’s eyes found Aidan. A slow, private smile touched her lips. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The word felt inadequate.
Jenny came to the island, snagged a piece of carrot from a chopping board. “So. Lucia’s first day. How’d it go?” The question was directed at Catriona, but her gaze flicked to Aidan, sharp and knowing.
Catriona turned down the heat under a pan. “A promising start. Very attentive. Quiet.” She took a sip of wine. “She’s got a talented mouth. You trained her well.”
Jenny’s smile widened, proud. “I told you. She’s a quick study.”
“Indeed.” Catriona turned fully now, leaning back against the stove, her arms crossed. The casual pose was deliberate. “In fact, it’s got me thinking. About advancement.”
Aidan stopped moving, a napkin in hand.
“Oh?” Jenny’s interest was piqued. She hopped up to sit on the countertop, legs swinging.
“She’s mastered the introductory… techniques. The silent service. The controlled environment.” Catriona’s green eyes moved from Jenny to Aidan and back. “But true proficiency requires adaptability. Different settings. Different pressures.”
“Where are you going with this, Cat?” Aidan asked, his voice low.
She ignored him, addressing Jenny. “You’re the expert, darling. The one with the most hands-on experience. I think it’s time for a demonstration. A live tutorial, so to speak. For Lucia’s benefit, of course. She can observe the master at work.”
Jenny’s swinging legs stilled. Her dark eyes glittered. “Right now?”
“Why not? The kitchen is the heart of the home. It’s a good test.” Catriona’s tone was light, conversational, as if suggesting a new recipe. “Aidan’s been wound up all day. He could use the release. And you…” She tilted her head. “You’ve been thinking about him all afternoon at that library, haven’t you? I can tell.”
Jenny didn’t deny it. She slid off the counter. The look she gave Aidan was one of pure, hungry ownership. It bypassed his mind and spoke directly to his guts.
“Catriona,” Aidan started, a last, weak protest.
“Ssh.” She put her wine glass down and walked over to him. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “It’s just a lesson. For our household. Everything is better with clear instruction.” Her fingers went to the button of his jeans. “Jenny? Come show Lucia how it’s properly done.”
The world seemed to tilt. Aidan’s hands found the edge of the marble island behind him, gripping it. He saw Jenny approach, her movements sure now, no longer the shy cleaner but a young woman in command of her desire.
She dropped to her knees on the polished concrete floor, right there between the island and the breakfast table. The sunset streamed through the skylight, painting her in warm gold.
“Lucia’s watching from the hallway,” Catriona murmured, close to his ear. Her breath was hot. “She needs to see the form.”
Aidan glanced. In the shadowed hallway, just beyond the kitchen’s pool of light, a small, still figure stood. Lucia. Observing.
Jenny’s hands were on him now, pulling his jeans and boxers down his hips. The cool air of the kitchen was a shock, then the warmer envelopment of her hands. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and nuzzled him, breathing him in, before looking up at Catriona. “Emphasis on deep throat control? Or sustained rhythm?”
“Start with reverence,” Catriona instructed, her voice a quiet, coaching drone. “Make him feel worshipped. Use your hands in conjunction. Remember, he’s substantial. It’s about managed pressure, not speed.”
Jenny nodded, a devoted student. She licked a long, slow stripe from his base to his tip, her eyes locked on his. Then she took him into her mouth, sinking down with a practiced, effortless glide that made his knees buckle. A low groan was torn from him.
“Good,” Catriona said, as if grading a presentation. “See how she doesn’t fight the size, Lucia? She accommodates. She relaxes her jaw.”
Jenny began to move, establishing a deep, languid rhythm. Her mouth was a slick, perfect heaven. One hand worked his shaft in tandem, the other cradled his balls with gentle firmness. Her ponytail brushed his thigh with each bob of her head.
Aidan’s head fell back. He stared at the recessed lights, his knuckles white on the marble. The sensations were overwhelming—the expert suction, the wet heat, the brutal intimacy of being taken like this in his own kitchen, with his wife narrating and another woman watching from the dark.
“Now increase the tempo,” Catriona said. Her own breathing had quickened. “Introduce the humming vibration on the upstroke. That’s his favorite.”
Jenny obeyed, a low, resonant hum building in her throat that traveled straight into his core. The vibration was exquisite, maddening.
“He’s close,” Catriona observed clinically. “You can see the tension in his abdomen. Now, take him all. No hands. Just your throat. Show her how you swallow him.”
With a wet, slick sound, Jenny pulled off, gasping for a second. Her lips were swollen, glistening. She looked at Catriona, then at Aidan with a fierce, loving gaze. “Come for me,” she whispered, raw and wanting.
Then she took him again, deep, until his entire length vanished into her. She held him there, her nose pressed into his skin, her throat working around him in rhythmic, swallowing pulses.
It was too much. The visual, the instruction, the forbidden audience, the sheer skill of her. The climax detonated in him, a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He shook, helpless, as he spilled into the welcoming depths of her throat. She drank him down, making small, satisfied sounds, until he was spent and sensitive.
She finally released him, sitting back on her heels, breathing heavily. A single, pearly trickle escaped the corner of her mouth. She caught it with a finger and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact with him.
The kitchen was silent save for the soft jazz and the ragged sound of Aidan’s breathing.
Catriona let out a long, soft sigh. She reached out and smoothed Jenny’s hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Perfect,” she said, her voice thick with something like pride. “That was a masterclass.” She looked toward the hallway. “Lucia? Do you see the commitment required?”
From the darkness, a small, awed voice replied. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. You can go up to your room now. We’ll continue your practicals tomorrow.”
Footsteps retreated softly up the stairs.
Catriona turned back to Aidan, who was still leaning against the island, trembling. She handed him his clothes. Then she kissed Jenny, a slow, deep kiss full of tasted salt and shared triumph.
“Now,” Catriona said, straightening her blouse, a serene smile on her face. “Let’s eat that steak before it gets cold.”