Chapter 2: The Private Reveal
The master bedroom hummed with a quiet, post-coital warmth. Half-lit by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, the air was thick with the scent of lavender shampoo and the faint, clean trace of Aidan’s aftershave, mingling in the rumpled sheets. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat on the nightstand, a silent witness to the easy comfort between them. Catriona lay with her head on his chest, tracing idle patterns through the dark hair there, feeling the steady, slowing drum of his heart.
“Suki’s in a bind,” she said, her voice a contented murmur against his skin.
Aidan’s hand, which had been stroking her auburn hair, stilled. “Yeah? What kind of bind?”
“The financial kind. Her numbers are dropping. The solo act isn’t paying the rent anymore.” She propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. His kind hazel eyes were relaxed, trusting. “She needs to collaborate. But the idea of some random guy… it makes her sick.”
“That’s rough,” he said, his brow furrowing with genuine sympathy. “I can’t imagine. That whole world seems so… transactional.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Catriona’s playful smile returned, a ghost in the lamplight. Her hand drifted down from his chest, over the flat plane of his stomach. “What if it was someone she trusted? Someone she already felt safe with? Someone she already thought was attractive.”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. A slow, dawning comprehension moved across his face, followed by a flush that crept up his neck. “Cat,” he said, his voice low. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
Her fingers found him, already half-hard, warm and heavy against her palm. She circled him, feeling him jump at her touch. “I showed her that picture of you from the balcony. The shirtless one.”
He groaned, a sound of pure, overwhelmed embarrassment. “You didn’t.”
“I did. And she looked. For a long time.” Catriona’s grip tightened, began a slow, deliberate stroke. She watched his eyelids flutter, felt the hardening, thickening length of him under her hand. “I told her you already adore her. That you’d be terrified. Which is perfect.”
“Jesus, Cat.” His hands came up to grip her hips, anchoring himself. His breath hitched. “This is a real thing you’re proposing. Not just a… a bedroom thing.”
“It’s both.” She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. Her voice dropped to a velvet whisper, painting pictures in the dark. “I want you to do it. I want you to film with her. I want to see it. I want to watch you with her.”
She felt a full-body shudder roll through him.
“Tell me,” he breathed, his own hands tightening on her.
So she did. Her words were deliberate, vivid, and utterly casual, as if describing a plan for grocery shopping. “I want you to kiss her first. Really kiss her. Not like a friend. You’ll be nervous, so lean into that. Let her feel your hands shaking a little on her waist. She’ll like that, the realness of it.”
Aidan’s hips lifted slightly off the mattress, pushing into her fist. A strangled sound caught in his throat.
“Then,” Catriona continued, her own pulse quickening, “I want you to undress her. Slow. That green silk robe she has. Untie the belt. Let it fall open. Her skin is insane, Aidan. You’ll see. I want you to look at her, really look, and tell her how beautiful she is. Because she is. And you’ll mean it.”
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“And then,” she said, her pace on him matching the rhythm of her speech, “when she’s naked, when she’s waiting, I want you to put her on the edge of the bed. On her knees. And I want you to stand in front of her. Let her see you. All of you. Let her get used to the size of you. Watch her face. I want to see that moment in the edit. The realization. The little flash of nerves in her eyes before she decides to be brave.”
Aidan was fully hard now, straining against her hand, his knuckles white where he gripped her. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back into the pillow, utterly captive to the vision she was weaving.
“She’ll be shy at first,” Catriona whispered, her own breath growing short. “So you guide her. Your hands in her hair. Not forcing. Just… showing. Let her take her time. Let her figure out how to fit you in her mouth. I want to hear the sound she makes when she finally does. That first choked-off gasp.”
His thrusts into her hand became urgent, ragged. She slowed her strokes, making him ache.
“And when she’s ready, when she’s wet and shaking for it, I want you to lay her back. I want you to push into her, Aidan. Slow. So slow it kills the both of you. I want the camera to see her eyes roll back. I want to hear her say your name. Not some stage name. Yours.”
That was his breaking point. With a groan that was half-anguish, half-fervor, he rolled, pinning her beneath him. The lamp light carved the intense, desperate lines of his face. “You’re serious. This is really happening.”
“Yes.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting his gaze without a flicker of doubt. “We’re going to make it happen. For her. For us. For the art of it.”
He kissed her then, deep and consuming, a seal on the pact. When he pulled away, his expression had shifted from stunned to resolved, a thrilling new intensity burning in his eyes. “Okay,” he said, the word rough but solid. “Okay. We’ll talk to her. We’ll figure it out.”
But the fantasy was already a living thing in the room, a third presence writhing between them in the warm sheets. He didn’t need to say anything else. The hard, eager heat of him pressing against her thigh said it all. The plan was no longer just a suggestion tossed over whiskey. It was a promise, thick in the air, and they spent the rest of the night exploring its shadow, every touch and whisper a rehearsal for what was to come.