Chapter 12: The Second Symphony
The taste still lingered in Siobhan’s mouth, metallic and strange, a fact confirmed by the way her tongue kept touching the inside of her cheek. She looked from Catriona’s satisfied face to Aidan’s slumped, breathless form on the sofa, and her wobbly smile held.
“I meant it,” she said, her voice clearer now. “Andrew.” She said the name like it was a bug she was spitting out.
Catriona laughed, a low, rich sound that vibrated in the warm air. “Good.” She reached for the whiskey bottle, poured a generous finger into a clean glass, and handed it to Siobhan. “Wash the ghost of him away.”
Siobhan took it, knocked it back, and hissed as the amber fire trailed down her throat. Her eyes watered, but she smiled wider. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay.”
Aidan watched, still catching his breath, the reality of what just happened settling over him like a second skin. It wasn’t guilt he felt, not exactly. It was a profound, bewildering dislocation. This was his living room. That was his wife. That was Siobhan from the book club, who made that lemon drizzle cake he liked. And he’d just come in her mouth while Cat watched. The concepts refused to align.
Catriona’s attention shifted to him. She slid from the sofa onto the thick rug, settling on her knees between his spread legs. She looked up at him, her freckles like constellations in the firelight. She placed a hand on his inner thigh, her touch proprietary and calming. “You’re still so hard for us,” she observed, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin. He was. The orgasm had taken the edge off, but the sight, the permission, the raw novelty of it all had him thickening again already.
“For her,” Catriona corrected softly, tilting her head toward Siobhan. “Aren’t you? You want to feel her properly.”
Aidan’s gaze met Siobhan’s. She was watching Cat’s hand on his thigh, her own knees pressed together tightly, that nervous energy back but layered now with a bold curiosity. He swallowed, nodded. A rough, unspoken yes.
“Then let’s get her ready for you,” Catriona said, all business. She turned on her knees to face Siobhan, who was still perched on the edge of the rug. “Stand up.”
Siobhan did, a little unsteady. Catriona rose with her, a mirror in red and brunette. They stood close, and Catriona’s hands went to the hem of Siobhan’s simple black sweater. “Arms up.”
With a soft rustle, the sweater was gone. Then the bra. Siobhan stood half-naked, her skin pebbling in the warm air, not from cold but from exposure. Catriona stepped back, her eyes drinking in the sight. “Aidan,” she said without looking away. “Come here. Undo her jeans.”
He pushed himself off the sofa, his body moving on an instinct that bypassed his reeling mind. He stood behind Siobhan, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. He fumbled with the button of her jeans, his big fingers clumsy. The zip slid down with a sound like a gasp.
“Now,” Catriona instructed, her voice a hypnotic guide. “Kiss her shoulder. Right there, where it slopes.”
Aidan bent his head. His bearded jaw brushed her skin as he pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder. Siobhan shuddered, her head lolling slightly to the side to give him better access.
“Push the jeans down,” Cat whispered. “Kiss every new piece of skin you find.”
Aidan hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and her plain cotton panties, pushing them down over her hips in one slow motion. He followed the fabric’s retreat with his mouth. A kiss on the knob of her spine. Another on the dimple at the base of her back. His own arousal, heavy between his legs, pressed against the denim as he crouched behind her. He felt her tremble as the clothing pooled at her ankles and she stepped out, completely bare.
Catriona guided Siobhan to lie back on the deep-pile rug before the fire. The flames painted her body in shifting gold and orange, catching the sheen of nervous sweat on her sternum. “Spread your legs for him,” Catriona said, kneeling beside her head, a priestess at an altar. “Let him see what he’s going to have.”
Siobhan’s knees fell apart, revealing herself. Aidan stared, kneeling between her thighs. She was different from Cat. Neatly trimmed, darker, her folds already glistening with an arousal that had little to do with him and everything to do with Catriona’s command, the whiskey, the illicit thrill.
Catriona leaned down, her red hair a curtain around their faces. “Taste her,” she whispered to Aidan, but loud enough for Siobhan to hear. “Make her come on your tongue. I want to watch her face when she does.”
Aidan lowered himself. The scent of her, musky and clean, filled his head. He bypassed any finesse, driven by a blunt need to obey, to perform, to see. He put his mouth on her, licking a broad, flat stripe from her entrance to her clit.
Siobhan gasped, her hips jerking off the rug. “Oh, god.”
“Yes,” Catriona sighed, stroking Siobhan’s hair back from her forehead. “That’s it. Show him how you like it. Tell him.”
“A little… a little softer,” Siobhan panted. “On the… yes, right there. Circles.”
Aidan focused, his world narrowing to the feel of her under his tongue, the salt-sweet taste, the tiny, choked sounds she made. He followed her directives, building a rhythm. Catriona’s whispered commentary was a constant soundtrack. “Look how wet she is for you… She’s never this loud with Andrew, I’d bet my life on it… Feel her thighs shaking? She’s close.”
Siobhan’s fingers scrabbled, finding Aidan’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just gripping. Her breaths came in short, sharp pants. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t…”
Her climax hit suddenly, a tight, pulsing wave against his mouth. She cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed off the walls. Her back arched, holding the pose for a suspended moment before collapsing back onto the rug, boneless and panting.
Aidan lifted his head, his chin slick. He looked at Catriona, seeking direction, approval.
Her green eyes were black with hunger. “Now,” she said, the word final. “Fuck her. I want to watch you move inside her. I want to see it when you fill her up.”
The transition was clumsy, desperate. Aidan shifted over Siobhan, who wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He notched himself at her entrance, feeling the incredible, silken heat. He looked down at her face, flushed and open, then over at his wife, who was watching with rapt, feverish attention.
He pushed in.
Siobhan’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ as he stretched her, a low, continuous moan escaping as he sank to the hilt. He was bigger than she was used to; he could see the adjustment in her eyes, the brief pinch before it melted into a dazed pleasure.
“Move,” Catriona breathed. She had one hand on her own breast, kneading it through her dress, the other trailing down her stomach. “Show me.”
Aidan began to thrust. It was different than with Cat. Tighter. A novelty that electrified every nerve. The sounds were obscene: the wet slap of skin, Siobhan’s gasping cries, the creak of the floorboards beneath the rug. He kept his eyes locked on Catriona. She was touching herself now, her hand working in frantic circles under the fabric of her dress, her lips parted, her every breath a mirror of Siobhan’s.
“Harder,” Siobhan begged, her nails scoring his back. “Please.”
He obliged, driving into her with a force that made her cry out each time. The room dissolved into a haze of sensation and firelight. Catriona’s moans joined the chorus, a synchronised soundtrack to their pounding rhythm. Aidan felt his own end approaching, a building pressure that had his balls drawing up tight.
“I’m gonna…” he grunted, a warning.
“Inside,” Catriona commanded, her voice strained, her own movements becoming erratic. “Do it. Let me see.”
With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself as far as he could go and let go. The release was seismic, pumping into her in hot, relentless waves. He felt her flutter around him, a second, smaller climax triggered by his own. He groaned, collapsing his weight onto his forearms, his forehead against her shoulder.
Silence, save for the ragged symphony of their breathing and the crackling fire.
Aidan slowly, carefully, pulled out. He rolled onto his back beside Siobhan, staring at the shadowed ceiling.
Catriona was there instantly. She didn’t go to him. She knelt between Siobhan’s splayed legs, looking down at the evidence of her fantasy made real, glistening in the firelight. She reached out a single finger and touched it, gathering the mix of their release. She brought her finger to her lips, her eyes closing as she tasted it.
When she opened them, she was looking at Aidan. A slow, triumphant, utterly sated smile spread across her face.
Siobhan began to laugh, a breathless, giddy sound. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered to the room. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Catriona finally crawled over to Aidan. She stretched out alongside his sweat-slicked body, draping an arm across his chest, her head on his shoulder. She smelled of perfume and sex and pure satisfaction. She didn’t say a word. She just held him, her possessiveness a quiet, solid weight in the aftermath, watching the firelight dance over the friend she had just shared him with.