Chapter 22: The Urgent Craving
The echo of Mark’s engine faded into the Sunday evening quiet, leaving behind a vacuum filled by the scent of cut grass and wisteria. Jenny stood on the porch, a small duffel bag at her feet, looking suddenly, terribly alone. She watched the empty street as if waiting for a rescue that wouldn’t come.
Then she turned. Her hazel eyes, usually so soft, held a stark, unwavering need. She took one step toward Aidan, then another, closing the distance Catriona had carefully measured for propriety.
She didn’t speak. Her hands came up, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, and she pulled herself against him, rising on her toes to press her mouth to his. It wasn’t a question. It was a claim, fierce and deep, all the quiet hunger of the past weeks poured into a single, consuming point of contact.
Aidan’s body went rigid with surprise, his hands hovering at his sides before they settled, heavy and final, on the small of her back. He kissed her back, a low groan vibrating in his chest.
When Jenny finally broke away, her breath was ragged. She kept her forehead pressed to his jaw, her words a hot whisper against his skin. “It’s all I can think about.” Her voice was raw, stripped of all its usual gentility. “The cravings. They’re not for food. They’re for you. For it. Every hour. It’s like a constant ache, Aidan. A hollow space only you can fill.”
Her hand slid down from his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, to palm the thick, insistent bulge straining against his jeans. She cupped him, her touch both reverent and demanding. “I need it. Right now. I can’t… I can’t wait another minute in this quiet house pretending.”
From the shadowed doorway, Catriona watched. She felt no sharp sting of jealousy, only a warm, pooling thrill that was almost possessive. This was her design. Her beautiful, desperate friend, blossoming under her husband’s touch. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smile touching her lips.
“Jenny,” Aidan said, his voice rough. He caught her wrist, not to pull her away, but to hold her hand in place against him. “Mark just left.”
“I know.” Jenny looked past him, her gaze locking with Catriona’s in the dim light. There was no shame there, only a pleading acknowledgment. “And Cat knows. Don’t you, Cat?”
“I know the hollow feeling,” Catriona said softly, pushing off from the frame. She walked onto the porch, the wood warm beneath her bare feet. She came to stand beside them, reaching out to tuck a strand of honey-blonde hair behind Jenny’s ear. The gesture was intimate, maternal. “I remember it from my first trimester, too. A deep, physical wanting that’s almost frightening.” Her fingertips lingered on Jenny’s cheek. “You don’t have to pretend here. This is what we’re for.”
Aidan looked between them, the two women he was bound to in such impossibly different ways. The logical part of him, the astronomer who mapped cold, distant stars, warred with the primal urge thrumming through his blood. The latter won. It was a surrender.
“Inside,” he said, the word a soft command.
He bent, grabbing Jenny’s duffel bag with one hand while keeping the other firmly around her. He guided her through the front door, Catriona following, closing the world out with a quiet click of the latch.
The hallway was cool and dim. Jenny shivered, the bravado of the porch melting into a nervous tremor. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was… I’m just so…”
“Hush,” Catriona murmured, taking her hand. “No sorries. Come on.”
She led them not to the pristine spare room upstairs, but to the heart of the house—their own bedroom. The air here smelled of their shared life: of Aidan’s soap, of Catriona’s lavender linen spray, of sex and sleep. The late sun slanted through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled duvet.
Catriona sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Jenny down beside her. Aidan stood before them, watching, his green eyes dark.
“Show me,” Catriona said to Jenny, her voice a low, encouraging thread. “Show me what you need.”
With trembling fingers, Jenny reached for the button of Aidan’s jeans. He didn’t move, just watched her struggle with the denim, his breath deepening. When she finally freed him, her breath caught in a audible hitch. Even soft, he was immense. The reality of him, the sheer scale, always seemed to startle her anew.
She leaned forward, her lips parting, but Catriona placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not yet.” She looked up at Aidan. “Let her feel you. Properly. Let her know she can have what she’s been craving.”
Understanding passed between husband and wife. Aidan shed his jeans, kneeling on the rug before them. Jenny’s eyes were wide, fixed on him. Catriona helped her out of her cotton sundress, the fabric pooling around her waist. The soft curve of her belly was just beginning to harden, a subtle proof of the life growing inside her—a life he had given her.
“Touch him,” Catriona whispered into her ear, her own arousal a thick, sweet heat in her veins. “Take what you want, Jenny.”
Jenny’s hand reached out, her fingers wrapping slowly, impossibly, around his girth. A small sound escaped her, part wonder, part ache. She began to stroke him, her movements growing more confident as he hardened fully under her touch, until he was a rigid, daunting weight in her hand.
“Please,” she breathed, the word aimed at both of them, at the room, at the universe that had finally granted her this. “I need you inside. I feel so empty.”
Aidan moved then. He lifted her easily, laying her back against the pillows where Catriona usually slept. He settled between her thighs, bracing himself on his elbows, his face hovering above hers. He was meticulous, careful, using his fingers to open her slowly, to feel the hot, slick evidence of her want. Jenny arched against his hand, a soft cry breaking from her lips.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice a graveled warmth.
She opened her eyes, swimming with unshed tears of frustration and longing.
“This is yours,” he said, the declaration simple and absolute. “Whenever you need it. For as long as you need it.”
Then he pushed into her.
It was a slow, inexorable claiming. Jenny’s back bowed off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he filled the hollow ache she’d described. Catriona watched, mesmerized, from the side of the bed. She saw the stretch, the breathtaking accommodation, the tears that finally spilled over Jenny’s temples and into her hair. She saw the raw, focused intensity on her husband’s face as he began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm designed not for frenzy, but for saturation.
The room filled with the sound of their union: skin on skin, the rustle of sheets, Jenny’s broken, grateful sobs transforming into low moans. Catriona’s own hand slipped between her legs, matching the rhythm, her eyes never leaving the point where their bodies joined. She was the creator and the witness, suspended in a perfect, charged triangle of giving and receiving.
Aidan’s pace built, a storm gathering force. His tenderness was still there, in the way his thumb brushed Jenny’s cheek, but it was underscored by a pure, animal drive. Jenny wrapped her legs high around his back, her heels digging into him, pulling him deeper with each powerful thrust, taking all of him, her craving a tangible force in the room.
“Cat,” Aidan gritted out, his control fraying. His gaze found his wife’s.
“Yes,” she breathed, her own climax coiling tight. “Give it to her. Fill her up.”
It was the permission he needed. With a final, deep surge, he buried himself to the hilt, his body rigid as he spilled into her. Jenny cried out, a sharp, surprised sound that melted into a long, trembling sigh of relief, her own release washing through her in relentless waves.
In the heavy, breathing silence that followed, Aidan collapsed beside her, pulling her gently into the curve of his body. Catriona moved closer, stretching out on Jenny’s other side. She stroked her friend’s damp hair, her own heart pounding a frantic, joyful rhythm.
Jenny’s eyes were closed, a profound peace smoothing her features. One of her hands rested on her stomach. The other reached out blindly until her fingers found Catriona’s and intertwined with them.
“Thank you,” Jenny whispered, the words barely audible. “The ache is gone.”
Catriona kissed her temple, tasting salt and satisfaction. “I know,” she said. Outside, the lawnmower hum had ceased. The first stars would soon appear in the darkening sky, but in this room, for now, their own galaxy was complete, bound by gravity, desire, and a secret, thriving life.