Chapter 26: The Next Act Begins
The taste of Clara was still on his lips, sharp and metallic, a ghost of salt and skin. Aidan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic echo of the throbbing in his cock. The room seemed to pulse with the heat of what had just happened, the air thick and charged.
Catriona’s hand left his hip. She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over them with clinical appreciation. Clara remained on her knees, catching her breath, her lips swollen and shiny. She looked dazed, triumphant, a little lost.
“Stand up, Clara,” Catriona said, her voice not loud, but utterly clear. It cut through the humid air.
Clara blinked, slowly rising on unsteady legs. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair mussed from Catriona’s guiding hands. She stood there, waiting, her eyes fixed on Catriona with a devotion that unnerved Aidan. This wasn’t just about him. It had never been.
“Now undress. All the way. I want to see you.”
There was no hesitation this time. Clara’s fingers went to the buttons of her linen dress. She slipped it off her shoulders, let it pool at her feet. Her bra was simple, lace, her panties matching. She hooked her thumbs into the sides and slid them down, stepping out of the small pile of clothing. She stood naked in the jagged afternoon light, freckles visible across her chest and shoulders, her body lean and elegant. She didn’t cover herself. She just watched Catriona, a faint, willing smile on her face.
“Beautiful,” Catriona breathed, circling her. She reached out and traced a line from Clara’s collarbone down to her breast, thumb brushing a nipple. Clara shivered. “Now lay down. On the rug.”
Clara complied, lowering herself onto the deep pile of the rug, the fibers soft against her back. She rested her head on a velvet cushion that had fallen from the sofa, her dark hair fanning out. The light caught the gentle curve of her stomach, the shadow between her legs.
Catriona turned to Aidan. His cock was still painfully hard, jutting out. “You,” she said, pointing to the space between Clara’s splayed thighs. “Kneel. I want you to eat her pussy until she comes. I want to watch every second of it. I want to see her fall apart on your tongue.”
Aidan moved as if pulled by a wire. The rug was soft under his knees. Clara’s scent, different from Catriona’s—less vanilla, more like clean sweat and bergamot—rose to meet him. He could see her muscles trembling with anticipation. He looked up, past the smooth plane of her stomach, to her face. Her eyes were locked on Catriona, who had settled on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
“Do it,” Catriona whispered.
Aidan lowered his head. His first touch was a slow, flat stroke of his tongue from bottom to top. Clara jerked, a gasp punching out of her. Her hands fisted in the rug. He did it again, slower, learning her. Then he focused, his mouth finding her clit, circling it with a pressure he knew from experience.
“Oh, God,” Clara choked out. Her hips lifted off the rug, seeking more.
“Look at me, Clara,” Catriona commanded. “Look at me while he does it.”
Clara’s head tilted, her hazel eyes blurry with pleasure, fixing on Catriona. Aidan worked his tongue, flicking and sucking, listening to the sounds Clara made—sharp, ragged breaths that turned into low, continuous moans. One of his hands came up to hold her hip, pinning her gently to the rug as her movements became more frantic.
“Is he good?” Catriona asked, her own voice husky. Her hand was down the front of her own jeans, Aidan could see the movement from the corner of his eye.
“Yes,” Clara whimpered. “So good. Fuck, Aidan…”
“Use your fingers,” Catriona directed him. “Open her up. Let me see.”
Aidan slid two fingers inside Clara. She was slick and tight, clamping around him. He crooked them, stroking in rhythm with his tongue. Clara’s moan broke into a higher pitch. Her back arched, a beautiful, strained curve. Her gaze never left Catriona’s face.
“She’s close,” Catriona murmured, more to herself than anyone. “I can see it. Don’t stop. Right there. Make her come.”
Aidan pressed harder, his tongue working fast and precise. Clara’s whole body tightened. A sound tore from her throat, raw and unfiltered, as the orgasm crashed through her. Her thighs clamped around Aidan’s head, her heels digging into his back as she shook through it.
He gentled his mouth, slowing to soft licks as she shuddered and came down, her body going pliant and loose on the rug. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Catriona stood up. She looked flushed, powerful, her green eyes blazing. “Now,” she said, pointing at Aidan. “Mount her. Fuck her. I want to watch you fill her up. I want to see my husband’s cum dripping out of my best friend.”
The words were a lightning strike. Aidan moved over Clara, bracing himself on his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her eyes hazy but present, watching him guide himself to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her, slick from her arousal and his mouth. He pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion.
Clara’s mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’. Her eyes rolled back for a second before focusing on him, wide with the sheer, overwhelming reality of his size. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed, her nails biting into his shoulders.
He sank deeper, the fit impossibly tight, a hot, velvet clutch that threatened to undo him immediately. He had to stop, buried to the hilt, his forehead against her shoulder, just breathing.
“Look at me.” Catriona’s voice was right beside them. She had knelt on the rug next to Clara’s head. She stroked Clara’s hair, her other hand resting on Aidan’s sweat-slick back. “Look at how he stretches you. Look at how he owns you right now.”
Clara turned her head, her cheek against the rug. She met Catriona’s gaze, and something passed between them—a recognition, a transaction completed.
“Now fuck her,” Catriona said, her lips close to Clara’s ear. “Hard. Make me proud.”
Aidan withdrew almost all the way, then drove back in. Clara cried out, a sound of pure sensation. He set a pace, deep and relentless, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent murmur of the TV. Clara’s legs locked around him, her heels urging him on. Each thrust was a surrender to the madness, to his wife’s will, to the dark, hungry thing they were building together.
He felt his climax coiling, a hot pressure building at the base of his spine. His rhythm faltered.
Catriona saw it. Her hand pressed down on the small of his back. “Don’t,” she hissed, her voice a blade of pure command. “Don’t you dare come until I say so. You will wait. You will wait for my word.”
Aidan groaned, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to slow, to hold back the tidal wave. He hovered on the edge, every nerve screaming, while beneath him Clara tightened around him, her own second peak gathering, fueled by the agony of his delay and the fierce, approving light in Catriona’s eyes.