Chapter 7: The Hour of Proof
The applause faded into a thick, waiting quiet. The only sounds were Briar’s ragged breaths and the soft, wet noise of her body adjusting around him. Aidan felt the minute tremors still coursing through her thighs. Her hands, braced on his knees, were white-knuckled.
He moved his hands from her hips, sliding them up the sweat-slick ladder of her spine. A reassuring touch. She flinched, then sighed, melting slightly under his palms. “Okay?” he murmured, the word barely audible.
She nodded, her cropped hair brushing his stomach. “Don’t stop.” Her voice was raw. “Don’t be… careful.”
He obeyed. His hips lifted, a slow, deliberate push upwards. She gasped, her head jerking back. He pulled back, almost out, then sank in again, deeper this time. A rhythm established itself—not frantic, but relentless. Each thrust was a full, measured possession, a deep glide into that stunning tightness. The platform beneath them creaked in a steady, wood-on-wood protest.
Briar began to move with him, finding a counter-rhythm. Her earlier triumph dissolved into pure sensation. Her face, visible in profile to the circle, was a mask of unraveling control. Her mouth hung open, her eyes screwed shut, then flying wide as if surprised by each new wave of feeling. She wasn’t silent. Whimpers, low moans, sharp intakes of breath punctuated the air. It was the sound of someone being thoroughly, irrevocably known.
Aidan watched the audience over the arch of her back. They were mesmerized. Some leaned forward, elbows on knees. Others sat perfectly still, as if frozen. A few had hands clasped tightly in their laps. Juniper watched with a scholar’s intensity, her amber eyes missing nothing. Catriona had uncrossed her arms. She simply stared, one hand absently tracing the edge of her wolf tattoo.
Briar’s breathing hitched, turned into short, panicked bursts. “I’m… I’m gonna…” she managed, before her words shattered. Her orgasm took her violently, a convulsion that locked her body rigid. A high, choked cry ripped from her throat. She clenched around him, a rhythmic, milking pressure that drew a ragged groan from his own chest.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The pace remained, a deep, patient metronome. Her climax seemed to last forever, ebbing into shuddering aftershocks, then building again as he continued to move within her. She sobbed, a sound of overwhelmed pleasure. “Again,” she pleaded, her voice broken. “It’s… too much.”
“It’s not,” he breathed, and drove up harder.
Time lost meaning. The candles guttered, wax pooling on surfaces. The sweet, musky scent in the room intensified, mingling with the smell of their sweat. Briar came twice more, each one seemingly deeper, more wrenching than the last. She was slick and open now, her body accepting him with a drowning hunger. Her dark bush was a damp mat against his skin. She chanted nonsense, his name, curses, fragments of poetry.
Aidan felt his own control fraying. The sight of her—utterly ravished, displayed for these women, trusting him so completely—was a potent, dangerous fuel. The base of his spine tightened. Heat gathered, coiled.
He gripped her hips again, his fingers pressing into bone. His rhythm faltered, grew urgent, possessive. “Briar,” he warned, his voice thick.
Her answer was a guttural, “Yes.”
He slammed up once, twice, buried himself to the root, and held there. A raw, open-mouthed groan was torn from him as he pulsed inside her, release flooding her in hot, endless waves. He felt her inner muscles flutter weakly in response, a final, exhausted echo of her own pleasure.
For a long moment, they were locked together, panting. The air was heavy, spent.
Slowly, carefully, he softened and withdrew. The visual effect was immediate. A soft, collective sigh moved through the circle.
Briar swayed, barely able to hold her position. Aidan sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. With his other hand, he gently guided her leg, then the other, spreading her knees wider on the cushion. He turned her body slightly, just enough.
The candlelight caught the glistening evidence. The dark, damp curls, the swollen, parted flesh, the thick, pearlescent trail of his release beginning to seep from her.
He wasn’t hiding it. He was presenting it. The final, undeniable proof of the transaction.
The room was dead silent. No applause now. This was beyond celebration. This was witness.
Briar’s chest heaved. She turned her head, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her face was pale, tear-streaked, utterly drained. But in her green eyes was no regret, no hesitation. A dazed, victorious smile touched her lips. It was faint, but it was there. She had crossed her own frontier and planted a flag.
Juniper nodded once, a slow, deep dip of her chin. Approval wasn’t the right word. It was acknowledgment. A theory proven under laboratory conditions.
Catriona finally moved. She pushed off the column and walked toward the small kitchen area at the back, her movements stiff. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the tap, and drank it down without looking at anyone. When she set the glass down, the clink was abnormally loud. Her expression was complex, a war between intellectual fascination and a raw, personal hunger she hadn’t anticipated feeling.
Briar slowly collapsed forward, resting on her forearms, her face hidden. Aidan ran a hand gently over her back. “You’re incredible,” he said softly.
From the circle, a woman with greying hair cleared her throat. “The blood,” she said, her tone practical. “On the platform. It should be documented.”
Juniper’s voice cut through, calm and clear. “It will be. Later.” She stood, smoothing her wrap dress. Her gaze swept the room, then landed on Aidan. “Help her clean up. The bathroom is through there.” She gestured to a draped doorway. “Then we’ll talk.”
The spell was broken. The women began to stir, murmuring to each other in low, intense voices. Some looked at Aidan with new curiosity. Others watched Briar with something like reverence.
Aidan found a discarded blanket and wrapped it around Briar’s shoulders. She leaned into him, her legs unsteady as he helped her up. As they moved toward the draped doorway, the circle parted for them. No one spoke to them. They just watched them pass, the aftermath of the storm walking by.