Chapter 2: A New Face in the Game
The city lights swam in the streaks on the glass, a dizzying kaleidoscope blurred by the relentless rain. A week had passed since the night with her friend, and the memory hung in the penthouse like a charged filament, ready to ignite again. Catriona stretched on the velvet sofa, the cool leather a contrast to her warm skin, and watched Aidan pour two fingers of whiskey. His back was to her, muscles moving under his shirt with a familiar, easy grace.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said without turning, his voice a low rumble that competed with the storm.
“I’m planning,” she corrected, a smile in her voice. She let the silence build, listening to the ice crack in his glass. “Remember Elena? From the gallery opening last month.”
He turned then, his green eyes finding hers in the dim light. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “The one who argued with me about postmodern symbolism for an hour. Yeah, I remember.”
“She’s curious.” Catriona stood, crossing the room to him. She took his glass, sipped, let the burn slide down her throat. “Very, very curious. About you. Specifically, about the legend.”
Aidan’s hand settled on her hip, warm and heavy. “And you’ve stoked that curiosity.”
“I’ve curated it.” She traced the line of his jaw. “She’ll be here in twenty minutes. I told her to wear the emerald dress. The one that matches your eyes.”
He laughed, a genuine sound of delight, and pulled her close. “You’re terrifying.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
Elena arrived smelling of night rain and expensive jasmine, her nerves barely concealed beneath a veneer of cool composure. The emerald silk hugged every curve, just as Catriona knew it would. The small talk was brief, charged. Whiskey was poured. The storm pressed against the windows.
Catriona watched them, director and audience. She saw the moment Elena’s academic poise faltered, her gaze dropping helplessly to the growing bulge in Aidan’s trousers as he leaned forward to relight her cigarette. Click. Hiss. The flame reflected in her wide, dark eyes.
“So,” Elena breathed out a plume of smoke, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Catriona says you’re… a man of considerable stature.”
Aidan’s smile was kind, disarming. “She’s prone to exaggeration.”
“She’s not,” Catriona interjected from her perch on the arm of the chaise. “Stop being modest. It’s boring.”
She stood then, the signal. The mood shifted, the air compressing. Catriona walked to Elena, took her glass, and placed it on the table with a definitive click. She cupped Elena’s face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “You wanted to see. So see.”
With a look to Aidan, he understood. He stood, unbuckled his belt, the sound loud in the quiet. The zip was a slow descent. When he pushed his trousers and boxers down, Elena’s sharp intake of breath was the only applause they needed. She stared, her mouth slightly open, all intellectual curiosity burned away by pure, primal shock.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“Go on,” Catriona murmured, her lips close to Elena’s ear. “Touch it. Get acquainted. He doesn’t bite unless you ask nicely.”
Elena’s hand trembled as she reached out. Her fingers, cool from her glass, wrapped tentatively around the base, not even meeting. A shudder ran through her. Aidan remained still, letting her explore, his breathing steady.
“It’s impossible,” Elena said, her scholarly analysis returning in a hushed, awe-struck tone. “The vascular structure alone…”
Catriona laughed, low and rich. “Later. Biology lesson later.” She guided Elena’s head down gently. “Now, worship.”
Elena went, her earlier hesitation dissolving into a hungry, academic fervor. She took him into her mouth with a desperation that made Catriona’s own stomach clench with heat. She was messy, eager, gagging as she tried to take him deeper, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. The sounds were obscene and beautiful—wet, choked, glorious.
Catriona moved behind the kneeling woman. She gathered the emerald silk up around Elena’s waist, revealing her bare skin. She’d come without underwear. Good girl. Catriona’s fingers slipped through the slick folds, finding her already soaked and throbbing. Elena jerked against her mouthful, a muffled cry vibrating around Aidan.
“Look at her,” Catriona commanded Aidan, her fingers working slow, tight circles. “Look at how badly she wanted this. How she’s trying to fit all of you in her clever mouth.”
Aidan’s composure was a thin veneer now. His jaw was tight, his hands fistfuls of Elena’s dark hair, guiding her with a gentle pressure. His eyes met Catriona’s over Elena’s bent head, and the raw ownership in his gaze—for both of them—sent a lightning bolt straight to her core.
“She can’t take it all,” Catriona observed, clinical and hot all at once. “Not like that. She needs to feel you properly.” She leaned down, her voice a filament of heat against Elena’s ear. “Stand up. Turn around. I want you to ride him. I want to watch you try to fit him inside that tight, perfect cunt.”
They moved in a fluid, wordless ballet. Aidan sat back on the low sofa, his enormous erection jutting upward, glistening from Elena’s mouth. Elena, her dress hiked, her legs shaking, straddled him. Catriona positioned herself, her own need a frantic drumbeat. She guided the broad, slick head to Elena’s entrance.
“Slow,” Catriona instructed, her hand on Elena’s lower back. “It’s a lot. You have to breathe. Open for him.”
Elena nodded, breath coming in ragged pants. She lowered herself an inch, a stifled scream caught in her throat. Her body stretched, a visible, breathtaking strain. Aidan’s hands steadied her hips, his knuckles white, holding her still, letting her adjust.
“That’s it,” Catriona crooned, kissing Elena’s shoulder blade. “Just the tip. Feel how wide he is. How he’s already splitting you open.”
It was a slow, devastating conquest. Catriona watched, mesmerized, as millimeter by millimeter, Elena’s body was forced to accommodate him. The tears from earlier spilled over, tracking her mascara. Her back arched, a silent plea. Aidan’s head was thrown back against the couch, a tendon in his neck standing out, his own control held by a thread.
When he was finally, impossibly, fully sheathed inside her, they were all frozen for a moment—a painting of exquisite strain. Elena was so full she could only whimper, impaled, her inner walls fluttering around the invading girth.
Then Catriona moved. She knelt behind Elena again, her own dress pushed aside. She pressed her body against Elena’s back, reached around, and found the swollen, needy bud of Elena’s clit with her fingers. As Aidan began to move, lifting Elena’s hips and pulling her down with a deep, relentless rhythm, Catriona matched it with her hand.
“You see?” Catriona hissed into the shell of Elena’s ear, her own voice breaking as she felt the powerful, rolling thrusts through Elena’s body. “You see what I get to have? Isn’t it magnificent? Doesn’t it ruin you?”
Elena could only nod, sobs and moans ripped from her with each of Aidan’s drives. The room filled with the slap of skin, the creak of leather, the shattered rhythm of three people breathing. Catriona watched her own fingers, glistening, working in the slick mess between Elena’s legs. She watched Aidan’s powerful abdomen flex, driving upward. She watched the storm erase the city behind them.
It was a symphony she had composed, and the crescendo was building, undeniable. Elena was the first to shatter, her body clamping down on Aidan in a violent, pulsing seizure, a raw scream tearing from her throat. The intensity of her contraction forced Aidan over the edge. With a guttural groan that was all possession, he held her down, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied into her in long, hot pulses.
Catriona felt it all—the brutal clamping, the hot jump of his cock inside, the helpless, shuddering collapse of Elena’s body. She followed them, her own orgasm a sharp, silent bolt of white heat that left her fingers trembling against Elena’s spent flesh.
The silence afterward was profound, broken only by the rain and the ragged symphony of their breathing. Elena slumped forward against Aidan’s chest, a boneless, ruined thing. Aidan’s arms came around her, holding her up, his hand stroking her hair with a shocking tenderness.
Catriona sat back on her heels, watching them. The possessive glow in her chest was warm, complete. She reached out, traced the line of Aidan’s sweaty brow, then the curve of Elena’s bare shoulder.
Elena turned her head, her eyes hazy, wrecked. “The legend,” she slurred, a faint, dazed smile touching her bruised lips. “It’s… understated.”
Aidan chuckled, the vibration humming through both women.
Catriona just smiled, looking at the storm. The night was young. The city was theirs. And she was already, happily, planning the next movement.