Chapter 5: The Invitation
The rain arrived just before Chloe did. It was one of those sudden, furious summer downpours that turned the city into a smeared watercolor. Catriona watched it from the living room window, a fresh glass of whiskey in her hand. The amber liquid caught the firelight, a tiny contained sun. Outside, the world was being washed clean. Inside, she was about to make a mess.
“Nervous?” Aidan’s voice was a low rumble from the sofa. He was pretending to read a journal, but she’d seen the same page for twenty minutes.
“Excited,” she corrected, without turning. “It’s a different flavor. Like switching from a rich red to a peaty scotch. The burn is sharper. More intentional.”
The intercom buzzed. Right on time.
Chloe, when she stepped out of the elevator, looked like a drenched sparrow. She was smaller than Catriona had imagined from the grainy photo, sharp-featured and fine-boned, her dark hair plastered to her scalp. Her eyes, a pale, watery blue, darted around the penthouse entryway with a mixture of awe and panic. She clutched a damp leather portfolio to her chest like a shield.
“Catriona? Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. Your assistant said you had some potential event planning opportunities for university functions…” Her voice trailed off as Aidan unfolded himself from the sofa.
The recognition was instantaneous. Her face drained of what little color it had.
“You,” she breathed.
“Hi, Chloe,” Aidan said. His tone was neutral, polite. The professor addressing a student. It was somehow more devastating than anger.
Catriona glided forward, a hostess’s smile on her lips. “Let’s get you out of that wet coat. We have a fire going. And drinks.” She took Chloe’s coat, feeling the girl tremble. “You remember Aidan, of course. My partner.”
“I… I didn’t know,” Chloe stammered, her eyes fixed on Aidan. “You never said—”
“What? That I was in a committed, open relationship with a woman who would eviscerate you for sending unsolicited dick pics?” Aidan finished, his green eyes cool. “Must have slipped my mind.”
Chloe flinched. Catriona guided her, not unkindly, toward the living room. The fire popped. Rain lashed the windows.
“Sit,” Catriona said, gesturing to a low armchair directly facing the sofa. A spectator’s seat. She handed Chloe a whiskey. “Drink. You look like you need it.”
Chloe took the glass with both hands, sipping, her eyes wide over the rim. Catriona settled next to Aidan on the deep sofa, their thighs touching. The power in the room had crystallized, hard and clear.
“The portfolio is a nice touch,” Catriona began, crossing her legs. “Very professional. But let’s skip the pretext, Chloe. We all know why you’re really here.”
She picked up her own phone from the coffee table, tapped the screen, and turned it. The dim hotel photo glowed between them. “You sent this. With a caption. ‘I’ve had better.’” Catriona’s voice was conversational, as if discussing the weather. “That was bold. Stupid, but bold. It’s been bothering me all week.”
Chloe’s bravado, fueled by whiskey and shame, flickered. “He left in the middle of the night. Didn’t call. I was angry.”
“You were a mistake he tried to walk away from,” Catriona corrected smoothly. “And instead of letting it go, you decided to poke the bear. My bear.” She slid her hand onto Aidan’s thigh, possessive and casual. “So. Here we are.”
“What do you want?” Chloe whispered.
Catriona leaned forward, the firelight catching the mischief now fully alight in her amber eyes. It was a cruel, glittering thing. “I want to give you a choice. Option one: you finish your drink, you leave, and you delete that number. You vanish. We pretend this sad little chapter never happened.”
Chloe swallowed. “And option two?”
“You stay.” Catriona’s smile widened. “You put the portfolio down. And you get a front-row seat to what ‘better’ actually looks like. You get to see what happens when he’s not bored in a hotel room, but home. With me.”
The silence was broken only by the hiss of the logs and the drumming rain. Chloe’s gaze travelled from Catriona’s fierce, beautiful face to Aidan’s imposing, watchful stillness. A complex struggle played out on her features: humiliation, curiosity, a reckless, bitter hunger. The alcohol warmed her veins. The heat of the fire seeped into her bones. The photo had been an act of petty theft. This was an invitation to witness the crown jewels.
She set her empty glass on the table with a definitive click. “I’ll stay.”
“Good girl,” Catriona purred. She stood up. “Aidan. Stand up.”
He did, his movements fluid and unhurried. He looked down at Catriona, a question in his eyes. This was her show. She was directing.
“Clothes off. Slowly.”
He held her gaze, then reached for the hem of his sweater. He pulled it over his head, revealing the carved expanse of his chest and stomach. His fingers went to the button of his jeans, popped it, slid the zipper down. He pushed them and his boxer briefs down in one motion, stepping out of the pooled fabric.
Chloe made a small, choked sound. The photo hadn’t done him justice. Not remotely. In the flickering firelight, he was a primal sculpture, fully erect, thick and heavy and undeniably real.
Catriona watched Chloe’s face, drinking in every flicker of awe and envy. This was the heart of it. The shared pleasure with friends was a celebration. This was a lesson.
“On your knees,” Chloe breathed, the words escaping her without thought, repeating the secret command from the photo.
Catriona’s laugh was a soft, dark melody. “My knees,” she said. She sank down gracefully onto the plush rug before Aidan. She didn’t look at Chloe again. Her entire world narrowed to the formidable reality before her. She nuzzled the inside of his thigh, breathing in his scent—soap, skin, pure Aidan. She kissed the base of his shaft, a tender contradiction to the scene’s cruel setup.
Then she took him into her mouth.
She did it with a theatrical, devastating slowness. Her lips stretched around his girth, her tongue flattening against the throbbing vein underneath. She kept her eyes open, raised, locked not on Aidan’s face but on Chloe’s across the room. She saw the girl’s hand fly to her own mouth. Saw her pupils blow wide. Saw the furious, fascinated jealousy twist her features.
Catriona worked him with a confident, deep rhythm, one hand cupping his balls, the other braced on his muscular hip. The wet, sucking sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room, a counterpoint to the rain. Aidan’s hand came down to cradle the back of her head, not forcing, just resting, his fingers tangling in her auburn cascade.
He let his head fall back, a low groan tearing from his throat. “Cat…”
She hummed in response, the vibration making him jerk. She pulled off with a slick pop, still staring at Chloe. “See?” Catriona said, her voice husky. “It’s all in the enthusiasm. You can’t fake this.” She dove back down, taking him deeper, her throat working.
Chloe was frozen, her knuckles white where she gripped the arms of the chair. She was breathing too fast, a flush spreading down her neck. The intended humiliation was curdling, transforming into something else entirely—a voyeuristic arousal she couldn’t stifle. This was no lonely, transactional hotel hookup. This was a display of ownership, of intimacy, of sheer sexual mastery. It was, indisputably, better.
Catriona felt Aidan’s thighs begin to tremble. She slowed, gentled, bringing him back from the edge. This was only the first act. She released him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a look of profound satisfaction on her face.
“Now,” she said, her gaze finally swinging back to Chloe, who looked utterly dismantled. “Now you understand the difference between taking a sneaky picture and earning the real thing.”
She rose, her legs steady, and kissed Aidan’s shoulder. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her close against his side, a united front.
“The lesson’s over,” Catriona said, her voice regaining its light, conversational tone. “You can see yourself out. The elevator code is the same.”
Chloe stood on shaky legs. She didn’t look at the photo on the phone. She didn’t look at Aidan’s naked body. She looked only at Catriona, with a mix of terror and a strange, grudging respect. She fled without a word, the whisper of the closing elevator door swallowed by the storm.
Aidan let out a long, slow breath. “That was…”
“Effective?” Catriona finished, turning in his arms, her eyes sparkling now with post-performance glee.
“Terrifying. And incredibly hot.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re sure she won’t cause more trouble?”
Catriona listened to the rain, a clean, violent sound. “No. Some people just need to be shown their place. She’s seen it.” She ran a hand down his chest. “Now. Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”
He smiled, that easy, crinkle-eyed smile. “I believe you were on your knees.”
“So I was,” she said, pulling him down toward the rug, the fire warming their skin. The spectacle was over. The private celebration was just beginning.