Chapter 4: The Aftermath and a New Plan
The silence after Catriona’s declaration was filled with the city’s distant heartbeat. The three of them stood in a loose triangle, the space between them charged and new.
Aidan ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “Right.” He looked at Suki, her robe still clutched closed. “No take-backsies, then?”
“Shut up,” Suki said, but she was smiling, a real, unguarded smile that reached her eyes. She took another sip of whiskey, the liquid courage seeming to solidify her resolve. She nudged him with her bare foot. “Sit. You’re looming.”
They moved to the edge of the vast bed, the emerald silk duvet cool and slippery under them. Aidan sat in the middle, Catriona to his left, Suki to his right. Their thighs touched. The residual adrenaline from the kiss was a live wire under their skin.
Catriona picked up her own glass, swirling the amber liquid. “The chemistry’s not just hot, it’s fucking molten. We’d be idiots to let it cool down.” She looked from Suki to Aidan, her gaze practical, excited. “What if we filmed a proper scene? Now. Just us. No overthinking.”
Suki’s fingers, resting on her own thigh, tensed. She looked down at them, then at Aidan’s profile. “A real scene.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. The kind your subscribers fantasize about. The kind that feels real because it is.” Catriona put her glass down with a decisive click. “We’ve got the light. We’ve got the mood. We’ve got… this.” She gestured between them.
Aidan felt Suki’s hand then, not tentative, but deliberate. She placed it palm-down on his thigh, high up, her fingers curling slightly into the soft grey cotton of his sweatpants. The heat of her touch seared through the fabric. He looked at her hand, then at her.
“You good with this?” he asked, his voice low. The question was for her, but it was also for his wife, for the whole bizarre, thrilling situation.
Suki held his gaze. “I’m good if you’re good.” She squeezed his thigh. “And you’re… more than good.”
Catriona grinned, a flash of mischief and pride. “That’s my line.” She hopped up, all business, and moved to the camera, checking the settings. “Okay. Positions. We’ll start where we left off. Suki, lose the robe. Aidan, help her.”
The transition from talking to doing was a cliff edge. Aidan turned fully toward Suki. Her green eyes were on his, waiting. He reached for the collar of the silk robe, his fingers finding the slippery material. He pushed it back, over the sharp points of her shoulders. It resisted for a moment, catching on her arms, then yielded, sliding down her back to pool behind her on the duvet.
She was revealed. The lace bralette was a delicate web against her skin, the briefs a dark contrast on her hips. The city’s neon light traced the elegant lines of her collarbones, the subtle muscles of her abdomen. She didn’t shrink. She arched her back, just a little, letting the light worship her.
“Jesus,” Aidan breathed, the word all air.
“Hands on her,” Catriona directed from behind the camera, her voice a steadying thread. “Slow. Learn her.”
His hands, which had felt so clumsy with the knot, now found a sure purpose. They settled on her waist, skin to skin this time. The warmth of her was a shock. He slid them up, over the ripple of her ribs, his thumbs stroking outward until they met the soft swell of her breasts at the lace’s edge. He could feel her heartbeat, a frantic bird against his palm.
He looked at her, a question in his eyes. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
His thumbs hooked under the lace, sweeping it up and over her nipples, then circling back to stroke them directly. They peaked instantly under his touch. A sharp gasp escaped Suki’s lips, her head tipping back. Her own hands came up, flattening against his chest, feeling the hard pound of his heart through his t-shirt.
“Yeah,” Catriona whispered, the camera’s soft whir the only other sound. “That’s it. Let me hear you, Suki.”
Suki moaned, a low, ragged sound that seemed to vibrate through Aidan’s hands. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and dark. Her gaze dropped from his face, down his body, to the obvious, straining bulge in his grey sweatpants. A new, hungry curiosity overtook her hesitation.
Her fingers left his chest and went to his waistband. She found the drawstring, pulled it loose. Her eyes locked on his as she hooked her thumbs into the elastic.
“My turn,” she murmured, and her voice was all smoke.
She pushed the sweats down over his hips in one smooth motion. They caught for a second, then fell, freeing him.
Suki went very still. Her breath caught. Cat had talked, of course. Boasted, even. But hearing about it and seeing it, here, thick and hard and curving up toward his stomach, were two entirely different things. A flicker of genuine apprehension crossed her face, followed quickly by a deep, thrilling fascination.
“Okay,” she said again, the word a soft exhale.
Aidan said nothing. He was laid bare, not just physically, but in his own rising, helpless reaction to her.
Catriona’s voice came, calm and clear, guiding them forward. “Suki, taste him. Let the camera see you want it.”
Suki slid off the bed, her knees sinking into the plush rug on the floor. The shift in height, in power, was immediate and electric. She was at eye level with him now. She leaned in, her face so close he could feel her breath. She didn’t rush. She pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh, just above the knee. His muscles jumped.
She looked up the length of his body, meeting his wild gaze, and held it as she stuck out her tongue. She dragged the flat of it slowly, torturously, up the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, from root to tip.
Aidan groaned, a deep, guttural sound that seemed ripped from his chest. His hands fisted in the silk duvet.
Suki’s lips parted. She took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the sensitive ridge. A shudder wracked his whole frame. Her eyes stayed open, watching his face contort, seeing the effect she had. It emboldened her. She took him deeper, her mouth a hot, wet, perfect pressure, her hand wrapping around the base to steady herself.
Above her, Aidan’s control splintered. One of his hands left the duvet and tangled gently in her hair, not forcing, just holding. His head fell back, a string of choked, ragged curses falling from his lips. The camera, he knew, was capturing it all—the awe on his face, the skilled, hungry movement of Suki’s head, the explicit, wet sounds filling the neon-drenched room.
Catriona watched through the viewfinder, her own body aching with a sympathetic thrill. This was working. It was more than working. It was alive. She zoomed in on the connection, on the sheer physical truth of it, knowing the frame was filling with something they couldn’t fake. This was the momentum. This was only the beginning.