Chapter 20: The Next Morning's Reckoning
The applause still echoed in his skull when Aidan woke. It was a slow, granular return, consciousness filtering in like the dusty sunlight through the gaps in the curtains. The scent hit him first: vanilla from Catriona’s sleep-lotion, the stale sweetness of spent whiskey, and underneath it all, the musk of sex and sweat dried into linen. He was on his back, one arm flung out across the cool, empty expanse of her side of the bed.
She wasn’t there.Then he sensed her.A stillness beside him. He turned his head on the pillow.Catriona was already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching him. Her red hair was a wild corona against the white cotton, her freckles dark in the morning light. That same satisfied smile from last night played on her lips, but it was softer now, more personal. Her green eyes held a depth of knowing that made his bare skin prickle.
“Morning,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.“Morning.” His own voice was a rough scrape. He cleared his throat. The memories assembled themselves—Siobhan’s weight on his lap, Chloe’s hungry eyes, the slow seep onto the rug. Catriona’s clapping hands.A complicated knot of pride, shame, and raw exhilaration tightened in his chest.
She traced a single finger down the center of his torso, over the plains of muscle and the trail of dark hair.The touch was proprietary, delighted.“You were magnificent,” she said, simply.
He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “It was… a lot.”
“I know.” She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek. “And it was just the beginning.”
He studied her face, the flicker of mischief eclipsing the satisfaction. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, rolling onto her back and stretching like a cat, the sheet falling to her waist, “that Siobhan texted me at six a.m. A row of heart-eyes emojis. And Fiona”—she glanced at him sideways—“she’s been asking subtle questions all morning. ‘How was the rest of your night?’ ‘You guys looked like you were having fun.’” Catriona mimicked Fiona’s breezy tone perfectly. “She’s intrigued. She wants in.”
Aidan’s body reacted before his mind could formulate a protest.A low thrum of energy, a stirring in his groin. The sheer audacity of it, the swift, secret network of desire humming between these women—his wife at the center—was intoxicating.
“So a repeat?” he asked, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist.“Mmm. But different.” She turned her head fully towards him, her eyes gleaming.“I don’t want to just watch them take turns. I want to see you… manage them.I want to see you give them both what they need at the same time. One riding this,” she said, her hand slipping down to wrap gently around his softening length, which began to firm immediately under her touch, “while the other sits right here.” She tapped his lips with her other forefinger.
The image bloomed in his mind, vivid and utterly depraved: Fiona’s full hips moving above him, Siobhan’s taste on his tongue, both of them gasping while Catriona directed the symphony from the armchair. His cock swelled completely in her hand, a thick, heavy weight.“See?” she whispered, her smile turning wicked. “Your body knows it’s a good idea.” She shifted downward, the sheets whispering in protest. “Let’s get you properly awake.”
Her mouth was hot and knowing. She took him in slowly, deeply, a languid reacquaintance that had none of the frantic energy of the night before.This was a claiming, a celebration. She used her tongue in a specific, twisting way that made his hips jerk off the mattress. One of her hands cupped and gently squeezed his balls while the other braced herself on his thigh.
He watched her, the red hair cascading around his hips, her focused expression.This was hers.He was hers. Last night hadn’t changed that; it had somehow magnified it. Every groan she pulled from him was a thread tying him tighter to her.
When she finally pulled off with a soft, wet pop, he was achingly hard, breathless, and utterly awake. She crawled back up his body and kissed him, letting him taste himself on her.
“They’ll be here at four,” she said against his mouth, her words a promise and a command.“The house will be clean. The rug…” She giggled, a light, girlish sound that clashed beautifully with the explicit conversation. “Well, we might need a new rug.But you.” She pulled back, her gaze sweeping over him. “You just be ready.”
She slid out of bed, the morning light painting her nude body in gold and shadow.“Coffee?” she asked, as if discussing the weather.
“Yeah,” he managed, his voice thick.
She paused at the door, looking back at him lying there, exposed and ready.Her satisfied smile returned, deeper now, infused with a thrilling, secret power. “Good.”
Then she was gone, leaving him in the sunlit silence, his heart pounding a relentless rhythm against his ribs, already counting the hours until four.