Chapter 6: The Confession
The silence in the room had texture now. It wasn’t the tense, breathless quiet of before Aidan had arrived. It was a thick, velvety blanket, soaked in sweat and salt and the faint, iron-rich scent of sex. Catriona lay on her back, staring up at the moth-eaten lace canopy. Her body felt like a strange, liquid thing. Spent. Singed at the edges.
Beside her, Jenny stirred. A subtle shift of weight on the mattress. Catriona turned her head. In the guttering candlelight, Jenny’s profile was serene, her eyes open and fixed on the same patch of ceiling. A single tear had tracked through her temple and into her hairline, but her mouth was soft. Not smiling, but untense for the first time in years.
“He’s going to come back,” Catriona said. Her voice was raspy, used.
Jenny nodded slowly. “He said he would. Later. While it’s… still viable.” She placed a hand low on her abdomen, a gesture so instinctual it made Catriona’s heart clench.
“Does it feel different?” Catriona asked. “After?”
Jenny considered. “It feels… full.” She let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “It feels claimed. In a way that doesn’t feel like being used. It feels like a purpose.” She turned her head, her hazel eyes finding Catriona’s in the dimness. “That’s horrible to say, isn’t it?”
“No.” Catriona reached over. Their fingers linked again, easier this time. “It’s true. I felt it too. When he… with me, after.”
The admission hung between them. Catriona watched Jenny process it, saw the flicker of curiosity in her gaze, replacing the lingering shock.
“I want it,” Catriona whispered, the words leaving her before she could censor them. “Not just to watch. I thought that’s all it was, this… clinical curiosity. But it’s not. I lay here and I felt you… feel it. And I’m jealous, Jenny. Not of you. Of the taking. I want him to do it to me. Like that. For that.”
Jenny was quiet for a long moment. The old house creaked around them. “I want to see that,” she finally said, her voice small but clear. “I think I need to. To make it… balanced. Or something. Is that insane?”
“Yeah,” Catriona breathed. “Probably.”
They didn’t speak again for a while. They just held hands in the dark, listening to the candles burn down. The pact was sealed in the quiet.
The key in the lock came hours later, just as the first grey hint of predawn touched the windows. Catriona heard it, but she didn’t move. She and Jenny had shifted, curling towards each other on the rumpled silk for warmth. They were still naked, the sheets tacky in places.
Aidan’s footsteps on the stairs were heavy, tired. He pushed the bedroom door open. He’d changed into a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, but his hair was damp, as if he’d showered. He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at them. His expression was unreadable in the weak light.
“You’re both still here,” he said.
“We’re both waiting,” Catriona corrected, her voice sleep-thickened.
His green eyes sharpened. He understood. She saw the knowledge move through him, a slight tightening in his jaw, a darkening of his gaze. He didn’t ask questions. He just began to undress, the movements slower than before, more deliberate. The sweatpants pooled at his feet. He was already half-hard, thickening rapidly as he looked at them, a tangle of limbs and desire on the bed.
He didn’t speak as he climbed onto the mattress. The ancient frame groaned a protest. He went to Jenny first, his hand sliding up her thigh. She was already wet, sensitive and swollen from before, but she opened for him with a soft sigh. He entered her in one smooth, deep push, and her back arched off the bed, a gasp caught in her throat.
Catriona propped herself up on an elbow, watching. This was different from the chair. This was close, intimate, a shared bed. She could see the detailed flutter of Jenny’s eyelids, the way her mouth went slack. She could see the perfect, brutal efficiency of Aidan’s hips. He was focused, his entire being channeled into that single, repeated motion. Jenny’s hand scrabbled across the sheet and found Catriona’s wrist, gripping it hard.
It was over quicker this time. A few punishingly deep thrusts and Aidan stiffened, a low, guttural sound emanating from his chest as he planted himself deep and still. Jenny’s whimper was one of overwhelmed completion. He held there, pulsing, for a long moment before withdrawing. The evidence of his work was immediate, a fresh, pearl-white trickle joining the previous mess between her thighs.
He turned to Catriona. His eyes were black with intent. Without a word, he hooked a hand behind her knee, dragging her onto her back, spreading her wide. He loomed over her, his body blocking out the dim light. She felt exposed, wanton, her own need a slick, aching pulse.
“You want it?” he growled, the head of him pressing insistently at her entrance.
“Yes.” It was a plea.
“Then take it.”
He sank into her, and the feeling was transcendent. It was the same staggering fullness, but colored now by the raw image of him inside Jenny just seconds before, by the knowledge that Jenny was watching, that she was next. It was dirtier. More profound. Catriona cried out, her head tossing back. He set a ruthless, driving pace, his hands pinning her hips to the bed. She could see nothing but him, feel nothing but the seismic friction of each stroke. It wasn’t love-making. It was a claiming. A seeding.
Her orgasm ripped through her without warning, a silent, convulsive wave that locked her muscles around him. He rode it out, his rhythm faltering only for a second before chasing his own. His release was hotter, deeper, a flood that seemed to have no end, and he ground himself into her as if to imprint the shape of himself onto her womb.
When he finally collapsed, his weight was an anchor. He rolled off, lying on his back between them, his chest heaving. The three of them lay in a line, spent, breathing the same air.
After a few minutes, Aidan sat up. He looked at both of them, his gaze sweeping over their flushed skin, their glistening sex. He leaned over, kissed Catriona’s forehead, then Jenny’s. A benediction. He stood, dressed again in silence, and left.
This time, they both felt the warm, slow seepage. A shared condition.
Catriona turned onto her side. Jenny did the same. They faced each other, inches apart. Their bodies were mapped in identical ways—smeared, tender, filled. Jenny’s gaze dipped to Catriona’s stomach, then back to her eyes. A slow, understanding smile touched her lips, fragile but real. It wasn’t happiness, exactly. It was something quieter, more formidable. A complicity.
Catriona mirrored it. Their hands met in the middle of the ruined sheets, not gripping, just resting, palm to palm, as the room lightened from grey to gold.