Chapter 16: Siobhan's Return
The silence after Catriona’s laugh was a living thing. It stretched, filled only by Aidan’s slowing breath and the hum of the refrigerator in the next room. He stood, exposed and cooling, the sweat drying on his skin. Siobhan remained on her knees, her forehead resting lightly against his thigh, her breathing still uneven.
Catriona was the first to move. She walked to the sideboard, the rust-colored cashmere hugging her curves, and poured three fingers of whiskey into a fresh glass. She didn’t sip it. She brought it to Siobhan, placing it gently on the rug beside her.
“Here,” Catriona said, her voice practical, almost nurse-like. “You’ll want that.”
Siobhan blinked, as if waking. She took the glass with a trembling hand and knocked back a swallow, wincing as it went down. She used Aidan’s leg to push herself up, avoiding his eyes. The emerald kimono gaped, revealing the flushed skin of her chest.
“I…” Siobhan started, then cleared her throat. “The risotto. It’s resting.”
It was such a absurd, domestic non-sequitur that Aidan almost laughed. The world hadn’t ended. There was still risotto.
“Yeah,” he said, his own voice rough. “It is.”
He bent, a little stiffly, and retrieved his boxers and jeans, pulling them on. The familiar denim felt like a return to some semblance of a self he recognized. He left the t-shirt on the floor.
Catriona watched him dress, her head tilted. “Hungry?” she asked, as if they’d just finished watching a movie.
“Starving,” Siobhan breathed, and this time she did meet Aidan’s gaze. Hers was wide, a little shell-shocked, but glowing with an inner heat. “Actually starving.”
They ate at the kitchen island, under the bright pendant lights, a deliberate shift in atmosphere. The risotto was perfect, creamy and rich with mushrooms and parmesan. They ate from thick ivory bowls, a stark contrast to the shadowed velvet of the living room. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of forks on china.
Siobhan was the one to break the quiet. She twirled a strand of rice around her fork. “Andrew once tried to make risotto,” she said. “Used long-grain rice. It was a soup. A salty, disappointing soup.”
They laughed, a real one this time, tinged with relief. The normalcy of it was a bridge back.
“So,” Aidan said, setting his fork down. He looked from his wife to her friend. “That was…”
“Incredible,” Siobhan finished, her cheeks pink. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Catriona. “Thank you.”
Catriona reached out and covered Siobhan’s hand with her own. “Thank you,” she said, and it was weighted with meaning. It wasn’t just politeness. It was recognition, a transaction completed.
Aidan watched the exchange. This was Catriona’s space, her creation. He had been the necessary component, the tool, but the architecture was all hers. The realization should have chafed. Instead, it stoked a deep, simmering fire in his gut. He had never seen her so powerfully in her element.
“What now?” he asked.
Catriona’s green eyes swung to him, the mischievous glint returning. “Now, we finish our dinner. And we talk.” She took a sip of wine. “Siobhan has some thoughts.”
Siobhan pushed her bowl away, folding her hands in her lap. The nervous wife was gone, replaced by a woman who had tasted a secret and found it to her liking. “The blindfold was… a good starter,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “But it’s a prop. It creates distance.” She looked directly at Aidan. “I want to see you. All of you. When it happens.”
Aidan felt a fresh jolt, a tightening in his core. He said nothing.
“And,” Siobhan continued, her gaze dropping for a second before lifting again, bold. “Last time… what I asked for… what we did on the rug. It was amazing. But it was… contained.” She swallowed. “Cat told me. About the full fantasy. The… culmination.”
The word hung in the air. Culmination. Aidan knew what it meant. The creampie. The final, irrevocable act Catriona wanted to witness.
“It’s different,” Aidan said, his voice low. “What you’re asking for. It’s not just… fun. It’s a line.”
“I know,” Siobhan whispered. “That’s why I want it.”
Catriona was perfectly still, watching him, waiting for his reaction. He could see the hunger in her, barely restrained. This was the heart of it for her. The risk. The intimate violation. The proof of his total compliance, not just with his body, but with the potential consequences.
“You’re on the pill,” he stated, looking at Siobhan.
“Since college,” she nodded.
“And Andrew…”
“Has a vasectomy. Two kids was his limit.” She said it flatly, a simple fact of her marriage. “The risk isn’t… biological. It’s the act itself. The meaning.”
The kitchen clock ticked. Aidan looked at his wife. “And this is what you want to see?”
“More than anything,” Catriona breathed, her composure cracking for just a second to reveal the raw, desperate need beneath. “To watch you lose yourself in her. To give her that. To have her take it from you. For me.”
Aidan stood up and carried his bowl to the sink. He ran the water, watching it steam. His reflection in the dark window was blurred, a big, indistinct shape. The traditional part of him, the part that had been shouted down by sensation, roared back to life. This was wrong. It was dangerous. It was a betrayal of vows he couldn’t even articulate.
But turning around, seeing the two women silhouetted by the pendant lights—Catriona, his wild, complicated heart, and Siobhan, her friend who had just knelt so willingly in the dark—the roar faded into a hum.
He turned off the tap.
“Okay,” he said.
The word was simple. Final.
Catriona’s exhale was a shudder of pure triumph. Siobhan’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes sparkling.
“But not tonight,” Aidan added, walking back to the island. He leaned on it, his palms flat on the cool stone. “You’re both… full of risotto and whiskey. I’m… processing.” He managed a faint, tired smile. “And you have a fake spa retreat to get back to, Siobhan. Wouldn’t want to be late.”
The spell broke, shifting again. Siobhan laughed, a bright, genuine sound. “God, you’re right. I should go.” She stood, smoothing down the kimono. She walked around the island and, without hesitation, pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Aidan’s cheek. Her skin was warm. “Thank you, Aidan. For dinner. For everything.”
She hugged Catriona tightly, whispering something in her ear that made Catriona nod and squeeze her back. Then she gathered her proper clothes and disappeared into the guest bathroom to change.
When they were alone, Catriona came to him. She slid her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart.
“You,” she murmured into his shirt. “You magnificent man. ‘Okay.’” She repeated it like a prayer.
He turned in her arms. “It’s a big ‘okay,’ Cat.”
“I know.” She searched his face. “Are you with me? Truly?”
He thought of the blindfold, the loss of self, the sound of her laugh in the dark. He thought of the dangerous line they were now poised to cross. He saw the flicker of vulnerability behind the green fire in her eyes—the fear that he might still think her a monster for wanting this.
He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the arc of her cheekbone. “I’m with you,” he said. It was the truth. “But we go slow. We set rules. My rules, too.”
She nodded, eager. “Yes. Of course.”
The front door opened and closed. Siobhan was gone, back to her life. The house felt suddenly, immensely quiet.
Catriona took his hand and led him back to the living room. The black silk blindfold still lay, a dark snake, on the rug. She ignored it, pulling him down onto the velvet sofa. She curled into his side, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sternum.
“She’ll text me when she’s home,” Catriona said, her voice sleepy, satiated. “And then she’ll start planning. She’s already thinking about where. Her house, when Andrew is at his conference next week. The guest room. Or maybe their bed.” She tilted her head up, her smile wicked. “She said she’d wash the sheets after, of course.”
Aidan stared at the ceiling, feeling the tectonic plates of his marriage settling into a new, unmapable configuration. The promise hung in the air, thick as the scent of their interrupted dinner.
“Next week,” he echoed.
“Mmm,” Catriona hummed, snuggling closer. “Just enough time for you to recover.” Her hand slid lower, her touch promising. “And for me to think of all the things I want to see.”
Outside, a car passed, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling and then vanishing, leaving them in the golden dark once more.