Chapter 21: The Double Symphony
The clock on the mantel struck four with a soft, metallic chime. Aidan, sitting stiffly on the edge of the velvet sofa, felt each tone vibrate in his teeth. He’d been trying to read the same paragraph of a news article for twenty minutes. The words were just black marks on a screen.A key turned in the lock.Catriona had given them keys? The thought was a small, sharp surprise.The front door opened and closed. There was a rustle of coats, a burst of stifled giggles, then the deliberate click of heels on the hardwood floor. They moved into the living room, and the air changed. It thickened with the scent of Fiona’s jasmine perfume and Siobhan’s clean, linen smell, undercut by a trace of afternoon winter air.Catriona stood from where she’d been arranging a vase of tulips. Her smile was wide, welcoming, utterly normal. “You’re right on time.”
Fiona grinned back, her eyes already skipping past Catriona to find Aidan on the couch. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She unbuttoned her long wool coat and let it slide from her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a black lace teddy, the sheer cups barely containing her, the bottom a precarious swath of lace against the dark delta of her pubic hair. She’d clearly dressed for the occasion.Siobhan was more hesitant. She folded her coat neatly over the back of an armchair before turning. Her lingerie was a pale peach, silken and modest, but it did nothing to hide the tension in her nipples or the slight flush on her chest. She offered Aidan a quick, nervous smile, then looked at Catriona, awaiting instruction.
“You both remember the rules?” Catriona asked, her tone light, conversational.
“No kissing on the mouth, your word is final, the safe word is ‘mercy,’” Fiona recited, rolling her eyes playfully. “We’re not amateurs, Cat.”
“Siobhan?”
“I remember,” Siobhan whispered, her voice firmer than expected.Catriona nodded, satisfied. She walked to the center of the room, to the new, deep-pile rug that replaced the stained one.She knelt, running her hand over the fibers.“Aidan. Come here.”
He stood.The denim of his jeans was already uncomfortably tight. He felt gigantic, clumsy, moving in a world that had become suddenly, intensely focused. He joined her on the rug, the fibers soft under his knees.“Lie back,” she said.He did, the ceiling swimming into view. The plaster had a tiny crack he’d never noticed before.He focused on it.
“Fiona, you’re here,” Catriona directed, patting Aidan’s thighs. “Siobhan, up here.Straddle his face. I want you to look at me while you do it.”
The weight shifted on the rug. Fiona’s knees bracketed his hips, her warm, jasmine-scented skin brushing his abdomen. He felt her fingers at his waistband, heard the zip grind down. Then her hands were on him, guiding him out into the cool air, her touch knowing and firm.She made a low, approving sound in her throat. “Christ, Aidan.”
At the same moment, a different warmth descended over his face. The soft, giving silk of Siobhan’s thighs, the sharper scent of her arousal. She lowered herself slowly, until he felt the soft, neatly trimmed curls, then the hot, damp seam of her against his mouth. He opened for her, his tongue finding her without thought, and she gasped, her legs trembling.“Good,” Catriona murmured, somewhere above and to the side. “Just like that.Fiona, take your time. I want to watch him work.”
Fiona rose up, positioned him, and sank down with a controlled, exquisite slowness. The sensation was a breathtaking duality: the tight, wet heat enveloping his cock, and the taste of Siobhan on his tongue, her hips beginning a tentative, rocking rhythm against his mouth. His hands came up, automatically, to grip Fiona’s hips, his other hand finding the back of Siobhan’s thigh, anchoring them both.He was the instrument.Catriona was the musician.
He heard her move, circling them.He could see her feet, then the hem of her robe. “Look at him, Siobhan. Look at me.” Aidan’s eyes, half-lidded, saw Siobhan’s face above him, flushed, her teeth biting her lower lip, her gaze locked on Catriona.“He’s good with his tongue, isn’t he? You can be louder. He can take it.”
A small, choked moan escaped Siobhan, and her movements became more deliberate, her hands braced on the rug beside his head.
“And Fiona,” Catriona crooned, her voice dropping to a throaty whisper. “Look at how he fills you up.I can see it. Your face is beautiful like this.”
“Fuck, Cat,” Fiona breathed, her pace increasing, her body slapping gently against his. “It’s so deep.”
The room dissolved into a mosaic of sensation: the slick sounds of Fiona moving, Siobhan’s quickening pants, the taste of salt and musk, the overwhelming fullness and the desperate need to breathe through his nose. His own pleasure was a gathering storm, a taut wire thrumming from his balls to the base of his spine. He was losing himself in the service, in the obedience, in the sheer, blinding physics of it.
Catriona’s hand touched his cheek, her thumb stroking his temple. “You’re doing so well, my love,” she whispered, just for him.Then, louder, to Fiona: “Now. I want to watch him finish in you.Take what’s yours.”
That was the trigger. Fiona’s rhythm broke, became frantic, and Siobhan shuddered above him, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she ground herself against his mouth. The clenching of Fiona around him and the sudden flood against his tongue were the final, twin detonations. Aidan’s vision whited out. He arched off the rug, a raw, muffled groan trapped against Siobhan’s skin as he emptied himself into Fiona in deep, pulsing waves.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the wet, humid heat of their entangled bodies.
The weights lifted gradually.Siobhan collapsed onto the rug beside his head, breathing heavily. Fiona rolled off him, lying on her back, a sheen of sweat on her chest.
Aidan lay spent, staring at the crack in the ceiling again.His mind was quiet, hazy.
Catriona knelt beside him, her expression one of profound, almost reverent satisfaction. She leaned down and kissed him, a soft, possessive kiss.“Perfect,” she breathed into his mouth.
She then stood and fetched a pack of cigarettes from a drawer, lighting one with a casual elegance. She took a long drag and handed it to Fiona, who sat up to accept it. Fiona took a drag and passed it to Siobhan, who did the same, the ritual simple and strangely domestic.
“So,” Fiona said after a silence, her voice smoke-rough and satiated.“Thursday?My place? My David has poker.”
Catriona’s green eyes flicked to Aidan, gleaming with a new, uncharted ambition.“We’ll see,” she said, smiling. “Let the poor man recover first.”