Chapter 7: The Debt Collector
The click of Jenny’s glass on the kitchen counter echoed like a period at the end of a sentence. She walked back into the living room, but didn’t sit. She stood in the space between the sofa and the coffee table, a silhouette against the city’s neon bleed. The two slips of paper were pinched between her fingers.
Aidan watched her. The analytical calm was back, but it was fiercer now, electrified.
“I’ve decided,” Jenny said. Her voice didn’t fill the room; it carved a space in it. “I’m cashing these in.”
Catriona leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Alright, boss. What’s the verdict?”
Jenny’s eyes moved from Catriona to Freya, then to Aidan, holding his gaze for a heartbeat before returning to the two women on the couch. “Both of you. Together.” She let the words hang. “On your knees. Now.”
For a second, nothing happened. The hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen seemed loud.
Then Catriona let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Shit.” It wasn’t a protest. It was acknowledgement. She swung her legs down and, without breaking eye contact with Jenny, slid gracefully off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. She knelt, back straight, hands resting on her thighs. The flickering light from the window painted stripes across her freckled shoulders.
Freya was slower. More deliberate. She placed her palms flat on the cushion, pushed herself up, and then lowered herself down beside Catriona. Her movements were fluid, a practiced descent. She settled onto her knees, her blonde hair falling forward to frame a face that was all serene focus. She looked up at Jenny, waiting.
Aidan’s mouth was dry. He felt pinned to his chair, a spectator in his own living room. The dynamic had shifted seismically. This wasn’t the chaotic free-for-all of the poker game. This was a directed execution of terms.
Jenny walked behind them. The old floorboards creaked under her weight. She stopped, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Catriona’s skin was warm, Freya’s cool. They both tensed under her touch, then relaxed into it.
“You wanted him,” Jenny said, her voice low and clear. She nodded towards Aidan, who felt the words like a physical touch. “You said it. Both of you. But tonight…” Her fingers pressed down slightly, a possessive anchor. “Tonight, you answer to me.”
She stepped back into their line of sight, folding her arms. “Cat. Your IOU. You’re going to cash it. But not on him. On Freya.”
Catriona’s eyebrows shot up. A genuine spark of surprise, then a slow, dawning grin. “Really.”
“Really,” Jenny confirmed. “You wanted to practice? Consider this a warm-up. Show me you meant what you wrote.”
Freya turned her head, her blue eyes meeting Catriona’s. There was no shock there, only a deep, curious intensity. She gave a barely perceptible nod.
Catriona didn’t need more invitation. She shifted on her knees, turning to face Freya. “You heard the lady,” she murmured, her voice losing its performative edge, turning intimate. “Don’t be shy, Frey.”
Aidan watched, every nerve alight. This was for Jenny. This was by Jenny. The power was intoxicating to even witness.
Catriona reached out, her fingers brushing Freya’s cheek, then tucking the fall of blonde hair behind her ear. Her touch was unexpectedly tender. She leaned in, closing the space, and kissed her. It started soft, a question. Freya’s lips parted in answer, and the kiss deepened, becoming exploratory, hungry. A quiet, wet sound broke the silence.
Jenny watched, her expression unreadable. Analytical. Assessing.
After a long moment, Catriona broke the kiss, trailing her lips down Freya’s jaw to her neck. Freya’s head tilted back, a sigh escaping her. Her eyes were closed, long lashes dark against her skin.
“Good,” Jenny stated, as if checking off a box. “Now. The rest of it.”
Catriona understood. Her hands went to the waistband of Freya’s soft sleep shorts, hooking her thumbs in. She glanced up at Freya for permission. Freya’s eyes opened, hazy, and she lifted her hips just enough.
The shorts came down, along with the simple cotton underwear beneath. Catriona tossed them aside. Freya was bare now from the waist down, kneeling on the hard floor, exposed in the erratic light. She made no move to cover herself. Her breath was just slightly quicker.
Catriona’s hands slid up Freya’s thighs. “Always so composed,” she whispered, almost to herself. Then she lowered her head.
Aidan’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair. He saw Freya’s whole body tense, then shudder as Catriona’s mouth found her. A sharp, choked gasp tore from Freya’s throat, her hands flying down to tangle in Catriona’s fiery red hair, not to push away, but to hold on.
Jenny circled them like a curator. “Don’t stop,” she said, her voice cool. “The IOU doesn’t say ‘until she gets close.’ It says the whole thing.”
Catriona moaned in response, the vibration pulling another broken sound from Freya. Freya was coming undone, her yoga instructor’s control unraveling under a relentless, practiced tongue. Her hips began to move in tiny, involuntary arcs, her head thrown back, mouth open in silent cries.
It was brutally intimate. It was a performance. It was both.
Jenny finally looked at Aidan. His conflicted awe must have been plain on his face. She walked over to him, stopping by his chair. She put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down so her lips were near his ear. Her voice was a private, hot whisper beneath the other sounds in the room.
“Your truth,” she breathed. “You’re attracted to all of us. You hide it. Don’t. Look at them.” Her fingers dug in slightly. “Watch what my winnings bought. And tell me what you want right now. The truth.”
He was hard, painfully so, confined by his jeans. The sight of Freya trembling towards her peak, of Catriona’s dedicated, fierce focus, of Jenny’s commanding presence beside him—it was a feedback loop of desire. The friendship he’d clung to was already in the rearview, a pleasant memory fading under the glare of this new, raw reality.
“I want…” he started, his voice rough. He forced himself to watch as Freya’s back arched, a low, continuous moan building in her chest. “I want to be part of it. I don’t want to just watch.”
Jenny’s smile against his temple was triumphant. “Good.”
Across the room, Freya cried out, a short, sharp sound that melted into a series of trembling sighs. Her body convulsed, held steady only by Catriona’s hands on her hips. Catriona didn’t let up until the last tremor had passed, then finally lifted her head, chin glistening. She looked dazed, her own desire plainly written on her flushed face.
Freya slumped forward, catching herself on her hands, breathing hard. A sheen of sweat coated her skin.
Jenny released Aidan’s shoulder and walked back to the center of the room. “Stand up.”
Both women, moving slowly, got to their feet. Freya was unsteady. Catriona reached out to steady her, her earlier bravado replaced by a kind of shared, breathless solidarity.
“The favor,” Jenny said, holding up the second slip. She looked at Freya. “You wanted to see. You wanted him to finish inside you.” She paused, letting the memory of Freya’s blunt confession hang between them all. “Your favor is that you go first.”
She turned her gaze to Aidan. “Your other truth is still owed. But it can wait.” She pocketed the slips again. “The game’s over. This isn’t poker anymore.”
She walked to the hallway leading to the bedrooms, then stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression was no longer that of a cool judge, but of a woman stepping into a current she’d decided to ride.
“My room’s a mess,” she said, her tone almost conversational. “We’ll use yours, Aidan. Bring them.”