Chapter 50: The Live-In Arrangement
The smell of clean linen and moving boxes filled the hallway. Aidan stood in the doorway of the guest suite, watching Jenny lift a stack of medical textbooks from a cardboard crate. She’d changed into soft grey sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun. This was a different Jenny—not the shy cleaner, not the ardent lover, but a young woman building a nest.
“You need a bookshelf,” he said, leaning against the frame.
She smiled over her shoulder. “I know. I’ll get one this weekend. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“This.” She waved a hand around the bright, airy room. The bed was made with her own colourful quilt. A small desk by the window already held her laptop and a neat stack of notebooks. “Being allowed to be here. Not having to… hide.”
Aidan nodded, the truth of it settling in his gut. The secrecy had been a kind of fuel, sharp and adrenaline-laced. This permission was a slower, warmer burn. “We’ll get used to it.”
“I already am,” she said simply, and the ease in her voice surprised him.
From down the hall, in the master bedroom, he could hear Catriona’s voice, crisp and clear on a client call. The mundane soundtrack of their lives played on, even as the stage had been radically redesigned.
That evening, after a dinner where the conversation revolved around Jenny’s pharmacology midterm and Catriona’s upcoming trip to New York, a new kind of tension threaded through the air. It was expectant, patient. Lucia had gone back to her own apartment to pack a weekend bag, leaving the three of them in the quiet, open-plan living room.
Catriona closed her portfolio. She looked at Jenny, then at Aidan. “She’s nervous,” she stated.
“Lucia?” Aidan asked.
“Of course Lucia.” Catriona stood, smoothing her silk trousers. “Last night was intense. For her, it was a revelation. For us,” she gestured between herself and Jenny, “it was a culmination. We need to bridge that gap. Make her feel like a participant, not a spectacle.”
Jenny put down her highlighter. “She was a participant. A very eager one.”
“Theology student in a brothel,” Catriona said with a faint smile. “Eager but theoretically overwhelmed. Practical application requires guidance.” She extended a hand to Aidan. “Come. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
The command was gentle but absolute. Aidan took her hand, letting her lead him. Jenny followed, a quiet shadow.
In the master bedroom, the last of the sunset bled orange and purple across the floor. Catriona didn’t turn on the main light, instead igniting a few low lamps that cast long, dancing shadows. She went to the large armchair in the corner and sat, crossing her legs.
“Jenny, sweetheart, go and get your sister. She should be back by now.”
Jenny slipped out. Aidan remained standing in the middle of the room, feeling oddly formal. “What’s the plan here, Cat?” he asked, using the old nickname.
“No plan,” she said, her green eyes gleaming in the half-light. “An orientation. You are the constant. They are the variables learning to harmonize.” She picked up her phone, not to use it, but to hold it, a modern sceptre. “Let them learn.”
Footsteps, light and hesitant, approached. Jenny re-entered, followed by Lucia. Lucia had changed into soft shorts and a thin camisole, her hair damp from a shower. She clutched a small duffel bag to her chest.
“It’s okay, Luce,” Jenny murmured, taking the bag and setting it down.
Catriona spoke from her throne. “Lucia, come here, please.” Her voice was kind, inviting.
Lucia approached, her usual confident curiosity tempered by a flicker of uncertainty. Catriona took her hand. “Last night was about breaking boundaries. Tonight is about building comfort. This,” she said, looking at Aidan, “is yours. Ours. But you must learn how to take what you want from it. How to give what he needs. Jenny will show you.”
She released Lucia’s hand and gave a slight nod to Jenny.
Jenny moved to Aidan. She didn’t kiss him. Instead, she began unbuttoning his shirt with practiced, domestic ease. “See?” she said to her sister, her voice low and instructional. “It’s just undressing him. It’s not a ceremony. It’s just… opening a gift you’ve been given permission to enjoy.”
Aidan stayed still, a statue in their gallery. The shirt slid off his shoulders. Jenny’s fingers went to his belt buckle. The click of the metal was loud in the quiet room.
Lucia watched, her dark eyes absorbing every detail. The shyness began to melt, replaced by that focused, academic intensity. “You don’t ask?” she whispered.
“Not here,” Jenny said, pushing his trousers and boxers down. “Not in this room. The asking happened outside. In here, we just… appreciate.” She knelt, her hands running up his thighs.
Aidan’s breath hitched. The visual was paralyzingly intimate: Jenny on her knees before him, her sister standing a few feet away, his wife observing from the shadows. The dichotomy of instruction and raw sensuality was more potent than any blindfold.
“Your turn,” Jenny said softly, looking at Lucia.
Lucia didn’t hesitate. She stepped out of her shorts, peeled off her camisole. She joined Jenny on the floor, their bodies a study in contrast—Jenny’s soft curves, Lucia’s pronounced, lush lines. They looked up at him, their faces bathed in lamplight.
“Touch him,” Jenny guided. “Learn how he feels.”
Four hands rose. Fingertips traced the lines of his hips, the hard plane of his abdomen. Lucia’s touch was bolder, more inquisitive, mapping the terrain. Jenny’s was reverent, familiar. When they finally made contact with his stiffening length, Aidan groaned, his head falling back.
“He’s so much thicker than you think,” Lucia murmured, her voice full of scientific wonder. She wrapped both hands around him, her fingers not meeting. “The vascular engorgement is… spectacular.”
Jenny laughed, a light, breathy sound. “Don’t dissect him, Luce. Just taste him.”
Jenny leaned in first, her tongue painting a slow, wet stripe from root to tip. She closed her lips over the head, sucking gently. Then she pulled back, a silvery string of saliva breaking between her mouth and him. She looked at her sister. “Now you.”
Lucia needed no further invitation. She mimicked the motion, her technique less refined but fueled by sheer, enthusiastic curiosity. Her large breasts pressed against his thigh as she leaned in, taking him deeper on the second try, gagging slightly before finding a rhythm.
“Good,” Catriona’s voice floated from the chair, approving. “Together now. Share the weight.”
The sisters adjusted, their heads tilting, their mouths finding a synchronized pattern. Jenny took the upper half, Lucia the lower, their tongues meeting in the middle, their lips sliding against each other as much as against him. The wet, soft sounds of their shared effort filled the room. Aidan’s hands came down, one tangling in Jenny’s bun, the other in Lucia’s loose waves, not guiding, just anchoring himself against the tidal pull of sensation.
It was obscene. It was beautiful. It was a collaboration. He could feel the differences—Jenny’s practiced, devoted suction, Lucia’s hungry, learning enthusiasm. Their combined focus was an almost tangible force, drawing the pleasure up from his core in a relentless, tightening coil.
“He’s close,” Jenny whispered, pulling off for a second. “Look up at him, Luce. Watch his face.”
Both sisters looked up, their lips glistening, their eyes dark and waiting. That image—their twin gazes locked on his, utterly focused on his pleasure—was the final trigger.
“On your faces,” Catriona instructed calmly. “Don’t swallow yet. Let me see.”
They understood instantly. They pressed their cheeks together, turning their faces up, mouths slightly open. Aidan’s control shattered. With a rough, helpless sound, he spent himself over them. Hot, pearlescent stripes painted across Jenny’s brow and Lucia’s cheekbone, catching in Lucia’s eyelashes, dripping onto Jenny’s parted lips.
They held still, breathing heavily. The proof of his release gleamed on their skin in the lamplight.
The click of Catriona’s phone camera broke the silence. Once. Twice.
“Perfect,” Catriona said, her voice rich with satisfaction. “A perfect first lesson. Now, Jenny, show your sister where the towels are. And Lucia?” She waited until the younger girl, dazed and glazed, looked at her. “Tomorrow, you can choose what we do. It’s your turn to direct the tutorial.”
As the sisters rose, helping each other up, laughing softly at the mess, Aidan sank onto the edge of the bed, his legs weak. Catriona came over, placing a cool hand on the back of his neck. She kissed his temple.
“See?” she murmured, her lips against his skin. “We’re building something. It just needs a firm hand.” She looked over at the bathroom door, where the sound of running water and girlish laughter now spilled out. “And willing, eager students.”