Chapter 5: The Deeper Dive
The world had narrowed to a single, impossible point of feeling. Suki’s mouth had been a revelation, but this—the hot, wet clutch of her around him—was an earthquake. Aidan froze, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against hers. A fractured groan tore from his throat. Hers was a sharp, stunned gasp that melted into a low, continuous whimper.
“Fuck,” he whispered, the word shuddering out of him. “Suki.”
Her name, in that context, from his lips, made her eyes fly open. They were wide, glazed, achingly close. Her nails dug into the bunched muscles of his shoulders. “Move,” she breathed, the command raw. “Please. Just… move.”
Behind the camera, Catriona let out a shaky, triumphant laugh. “Yes. God, look at you two.” She adjusted her stance, the lens drinking in the joining of their bodies, the way Suki’s thighs trembled around his hips. “Slow, Aidan. Make her feel every inch.”
He obeyed, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in with a deliberate, measured stroke that made Suki’s head roll back into the duvet. The silk was cool against her scorching skin. He set a rhythm, deep and relentless, each thrust punching a soft, airy sound from her lungs. The polite, easy-going friend was gone, replaced by a man of single-minded intensity, his hazel eyes dark, fixed on the place where their bodies met.
The professional in Suki, the one that usually framed every moan and arch for the best angle, dissolved. This wasn’t performance. It was sensory overload. The stretch and fill of him, the rough scrape of his beard against her neck when he buried his face there, the solid, sweating weight of him pinning her down—it was all too real, too good. Her earlier orgasm, wrung from her by his clever tongue, had left her sensitive, every nerve ending exposed and screaming.
“Harder,” she pleaded, her voice breaking on the word. She hooked a leg over his hip, opening herself further, pulling him deeper. The shift in angle made him groan, a ragged, lost sound.
Aidan’s control was a fraying rope. He drove into her, his hips snapping forward, the slapping sound of skin on skin joining their ragged breaths. The bedframe gave a soft, rhythmic protest against the wall. He found her mouth again, the kiss messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth and shared air.
Catriona circled them, a silent, fervent archivist. She zoomed in on the tight grip of Suki’s hand on Aidan’s back, the corded tension in his forearms as he braced himself above her, the perfect, obscene shine of sweat and arousal where they were joined. She felt her own desire like a live current in her veins, a sharp, vicarious thrill that was also a profound, weird pride. She’d made this happen. This was hers, too.
“Touch yourself,” Catriona instructed Suki, her own voice thick. “Show him. Show me.”
Suki’s hand slid between their sweat-slicked bodies, her fingers finding her clit, already swollen and aching. The added pressure, the frantic circles she drew, tipped her over an edge she hadn’t seen coming. Her body locked, her back bowing off the bed as a silent, seizing cry ripped through her. The internal clench around him was brutal, exquisite.
It shattered Aidan completely.
His rhythm broke into frantic, shallow bucks. A guttural string of curses muffled against her shoulder as he came, his whole body rigid, pumping his release deep inside her with a force that seemed to go on forever. The collapse was gradual, a slow-motion melting of bone and muscle until he lay heavily upon her, his breath hot and ragged in her ear.
The only sounds were their gradually slowing breaths and the faint, eternal hum of the city.
Aidan’s weight was immense, real. Suki’s arms came up, almost of their own volition, and wrapped around his back, holding him there. Her mind was blank, wiped clean by pure sensation. She stared past his shoulder at a shifting neon reflection on the ceiling.
After a long moment, the camera’s recording light blinked off. The soft mechanical click was deafening.
Catriona set the camera carefully on the vanity. She walked to the side of the bed, looking down at them. Aidan finally stirred, pushing himself up on his elbows, his body slipping from Suki’s with a wet, intimate sound that made them both flinch. He rolled onto his back beside her, one arm flung over his eyes.
“Well,” Catriona said, her voice strangely normal in the aftermath. She picked up the whiskey bottle and took a long, direct swig. “That’s a wrap.”
Suki began to laugh, a weak, shaky exhale of sound. She turned her head on the duvet to look at Aidan. His chest was still heaving. He moved his arm, met her gaze. There was no easy smile now, just a dazed, sated honesty that was more vulnerable than anything that had come before.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice raspy.
She nodded, unable to form words. She was more than okay. She felt liquefied, owned, and strangely powerful.
Catriona sat on the edge of the bed, her hip against Aidan’s leg. She reached out and brushed a damp curl from Suki’s forehead. “You were phenomenal. Both of you.” She looked at the camera. “The raw footage is… it’s going to break the internet.”
The reality of it, the purpose, came seeping back in. Suki blinked. She was a mess, thoroughly used, filled with another woman’s husband. And it was all on film. A slow, deep blush warmed her skin.
Aidan sat up, running both hands over his face. He looked from his wife to his best friend, the two most beautiful women he knew, both flushed and rumpled and sharing this secret. The enormity of it hit him, a dizzying wave. He shook his head, a faint, bewildered smile finally touching his lips.
“What happens now?” he asked, his question hanging in the neon-stained air.
Nobody had an answer.