Chapter 29: The Next Recruit
The sound of the front door closing behind Clara was softer than Aidan expected. A gentle click, not a slam. It felt like the period at the end of a sentence he hadn’t meant to speak. The house settled into a deeper quiet, charged now with aftermath.
He stood in the living room, barefoot on the rug where Clara had knelt. The scent of her perfume and his own release hung in the air, mixing with the lemon polish Catriona had used on the coffee table earlier. A strange domestic cocktail.
Catriona moved first, a rustle of silk. She went to the window, peering through the slit in the blinds to watch Clara’s car pull away. “She’s shaking,” she said, a note of clinical observation in her voice. “Good.”
“Good?” Aidan ran a hand over his face. His skin felt tight.
“It means it mattered.” She turned from the window, her robe swirling around her ankles. She came to him, pressed her body against his back, wrapped her arms around his waist. He could feel her heat through his clothes. “You’re shaking a little, too.”
He was. A fine tremor in his hands. Adrenaline drain. Or something else.
“Talk to me,” she murmured into his shoulder blade.
“I don’t know what to say.” It was the truth. His mind was a jumble of images: Clara’s wide eyes, the feel of her throat working around him, the stark white contrast on her freckled skin. And over it all, Catriona’s slow clap. Her satisfied, possessive gaze. “It’s a lot.”
“It is.” She didn’t apologize. She just held him, her chin hooked over his shoulder. “You were magnificent. You gave her a gift she’ll never forget. And you gave me exactly what I wanted.” Her hand slid down, palming him through his sweats. He was soft, spent, but her touch was insistent. “This is ours. This whole thing. We’re building it together.”
Her phone, left on the arm of the sofa, chimed.
She let go of him to get it. A smile touched her lips as she read, then deepened into that predatory grin he was starting to know too well. It was the look she got when a plan snapped into place.
“Fiona,” she said, holding the phone out.
Aidan took it. The text was a block of words, eager and unspooling.
Clara just left here. She’s a mess. A beautiful, happy mess. I’m so jealous I could scream. Mark’s away next weekend. Plumbing conference in Glasgow. I want a repeat, but bigger. I want to watch Siobhan take you first. I want to see her fall apart on that thing. Then I want my turn. And Cat… I want us both full of him when we leave. A double. You know?
He read it twice. The casual phrasing, the blatant hunger. It was so different from Fiona’s usual polished mom-voice. This was someone else. Someone they’d made.
“A double creampie,” Catriona whispered, taking the phone back. Her voice was husky. She stepped in close again, her free hand sliding beneath the waistband of his sweats, her fingers curling around him. He was beginning to respond, a dull ache of reawakening. “She wants to watch Siobhan break, then break herself. And she wants you to claim them both. Proof. Inside them.”
Her hand began to move, a slow, knowing stroke. “Imagine it. Siobhan’s so nervous, so proper. Fiona will be coaching her, touching her, getting her ready. You’ll take Siobhan on the couch. Fiona will watch every inch. And when you’re done filling her wife, Fiona will climb on top of you, desperate, and ride you until you fill her, too.” Her breath hitched. “They’ll drive home to their empty house together, dripping with you. They’ll feel it for days.”
Aidan’s head swam. The imagery was devastatingly specific. It wasn’t just sex; it was a ceremony. A violation of one marriage to bind another. His cock thickened in her grip, a traitorous bolt of raw excitement shooting through his fatigue.
“You want that,” he said, not a question.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.” She looked up at him, her green eyes utterly clear, utterly honest in their hunger. “It’s the intimacy, Aidan. It’s not about sharing you. It’s about… extending us. Our energy. Our bond. It flows from me, through you, into them. And it ties them to us. Forever.” She squeezed him, making him gasp. “They’ll never look at their own husbands the same way again. They’ll always know what’s possible. What we gave them.”
The moral ledge he’d been clinging to felt loose, crumbling. This was the heart of it, laid bare. It wasn’t anonymous swinging. It was targeted. Transformative. It was power.
“And after them?” he heard himself ask, his voice rough.
Catriona’s smile was lightning-quick. “One story at a time.” She rose on her toes and kissed him, deep and searching. When she pulled back, her lips were slick. “But yes. There are others. This is just the beginning.”
She dropped to her knees before him, mirroring Clara’s position but with none of the submission. Her gaze was ownership. She took him into her mouth, not to service him, but to taste the aftermath of Clara, to reclaim what was hers. To stoke the embers for next weekend.
He tangled his hands in her fiery hair, watching her. The predator on her knees. The architect of their unraveling.
As her mouth worked, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. A notification from the group chat with his army buddies, wondering about pints next Friday. A sliver of his old world, trying to wedge itself in.
He ignored it. The only world that mattered was here, in this room, in the heat of his wife’s mouth and the dark promise of her plans. The tremor in his hands was gone, replaced by a steady, terrifying certainty.
He was all in. Compass and weapon. And the needle was spinning, pointing straight into the dark, gorgeous heart of whatever came next.