Chapter 2: The Practical Exam
The record’s crackle was a grounding wire in the charged stillness. Juniper’s pronouncement hung there, a dare wrapped in an observation. Aidan remained on his knees, the pressure in his jeans a dull, insistent throb. He looked at Catriona, his oldest friend in this strange equation. Her head was tilted, a speculative smile playing on her lips.
“It’s my apartment,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl. “Think of me as… the moderator.” She stood and walked over to him, the floorboards creaking softly under her weight. “You’ve performed admirably on the viva voce, Walters. But a complete thesis requires a practical demonstration.” She reached down, her fingers cool against the flushed skin of his neck. “Stand up.”
He did, his joints protesting, the room seeming to tilt for a second. Catriona led him by the hand to the center of the room, the worn patch of carpet between the couch and the coffee table littered with empty mugs. She pushed him gently to sit on the floor, his back against the threadbare arm of the sofa. Briar, still curled nearby, watched, her dark eyes like chips of flint. Juniper settled onto the cushions above him, a queen on a frayed throne, her bare legs dangling near his shoulder.
Catriona knelt before him, her auburn curls a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world for a moment. “No grandstanding,” she murmured, just for him. Her fingers found the button of his jeans, popped it, eased the zipper down with a deliberate, rasping sound. The release was immediate, a relief so profound he almost sighed. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and briefs and tugged them down just enough.
Her own sharp intake of breath was the first verdict. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, curving up towards his stomach. In the low light, it looked almost unreal, a fact of anatomy pushed to a mythological extreme. Briar made a small, choked sound. Juniper hummed, a note of deep approval.
Catriona didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, her green eyes holding his, and took him into her mouth. Not all at once—she wasn’t trying to prove a point to anyone but him. She took the head, her tongue swirling around the sensitive crown, her lips a firm, knowing seal. Aidan’s head thudded back against the couch. A groan tore loose from his chest, raw and unfiltered.
“Jesus, Cat.”
She pulled off with a soft pop, glancing over her shoulder at the others. “See?” she said, her voice husky. “No theatrics. Just… appreciation.” Her hand wrapped around his base, her thumb stroking the skin there. “He worships the untamed garden, we get to enjoy the native wildlife. It’s a fair trade.” Then she took him deeper, her other hand coming up to cradle his balls.
Aidan’s vision swam. The sensation was blinding—the wet heat of her mouth, the proprietary confidence of her touch. He watched the muscles work in her jaw, saw the little wolf tattoo on her shoulder blade flex with her movement. She’d always been the most fiercely private person he knew, and this public, performative act was its own kind of vulnerability.
He let his hand fall to her hair, not to guide, but to feel the silken weight of it. She liked that, a little vibration of pleasure in her throat transmitting up through him.
From above, Juniper spoke, her voice a low murmur near his ear. “Look at her.Completely unashamed. Taking her pleasure as she gives it. That’s the core of it, Aidan. Autonomy. In this moment, she’s doing exactly what she wants.”
She was. Catriona was lost in it, her rhythm becoming more urgent, her free hand slipping under her own shirt to palm her breast. Aidan’s hips began to move in tiny, helpless increments, meeting the soft pressure of her throat. He was hurtling towards an edge that felt precipitous.
Briar’s voice cut through the haze, quiet but clear. “Wait.”
Catriona slowed, then stilled, pulling off with a gasp. A slick strand of saliva connected her lips to him for a second before breaking. They all looked at Briar.
The younger woman had uncurled herself. Her face was still pale, but her jaw was set, that old skepticism warring with a newfound, hungry resolve. She pointed a finger, not at Aidan, but at Juniper. “You brought us here.You tested him. You… got yours.” She swallowed, her throat working. “Your turn isn’t over. Not yet.”
Juniper’s amber eyes gleamed. She understood the challenge beneath the words. Briar was testing her now, questioning whether the leader would stand apart or fully participate.
“A fair point, poet,” Juniper said, her smile widening. She shifted on the couch, swinging her legs down so she was sitting on the edge, facing Aidan. Her blonde bush was a glorious tangle in the lamplight. “You’ve proven you can admire the landscape,” she said to Aidan, her gaze dropping to where his cock stood, wet and eager. “Now show me you can honor it.”
She didn’t lie back. She remained seated, regal and demanding, and opened her thighs. “Here,” she commanded.
Aidan moved on pure instinct. He shifted forward, on his knees again, positioning himself between her legs. Catriona slid aside, watching with an academic’s intensity, her own lips still shiny. He guided himself, the broad head of his cock nudging through her soft, blonde curls, finding the slick, heated entrance her climax had left behind.
He looked up at her, a question in his eyes.
Her answer was a roll of her hips, taking the first inch inside. “Yes,” she hissed. “And don’t be gentle. I’m not a flower. I’m the whole damn field.”
He pushed forward, a slow, steady invasion that made her gasp and dig her nails into the worn velvet of the couch. She was tight, impossibly so, a hot, velvet fist clenching around him. He sank deeper, his own breath leaving him in a ragged punch, until he was fully sheathed, their bodies locked together. The feeling was monumental, an overwhelming fullness that was as much about power as it was about pleasure.
He began to move, setting a deep, rhythmic pace, each thrust a deliberate claiming of the space she’d offered. He kept his eyes open, watching her face. Her regal composure shattered with every stroke, reforming, then shattering again.
“Talk,” she demanded, her voice breaking on the word. “Talk about it.”
“It’s perfect,” he groaned, his hands gripping her hips. “Like fucking summer. Like… god, Juniper.” He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear. “I can feel every part of you.It’s wild. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt.”
That did it. Her climax took her suddenly, violently. She threw her head back and shouted, a raw, triumphant sound that echoed off the bookshelves. Her inner muscles clenched around him in