Chapter 30: The Unexpected Call
The buzz of the phone was a raw, electric sound in the thick silence of the room. It vibrated against the wood of the coffee table, skittering toward the edge.
Siobhan froze beneath him, her body clamping down in a sudden, viselike spasm. Her breath, which had been coming in ragged, open-mouthed gasps, hitched and stopped. Aidan went still, buried deep inside her, feeling the frantic pulse of her around him. His own heart hammered against his ribs.
The screen glowed, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the slanted light. The word HUSBAND flashed, a stark, black-and-white accusation.
Catriona didn’t hesitate. She uncurled from the armchair where she’d been watching, a panther in silk. She scooped up the phone, her thumb swiping across the screen with a practiced, silent grace. She brought it to her ear, her eyes locked on Siobhan’s panic-widened ones.
“Hello, Liam!” Catriona’s voice was bright, effortless, a sunbeam cutting through the humid dark. “Yeah, she’s right here. Just… a bit tied up with a fitting.” A wicked, glittering smile. “Hold on.”
She knelt on the rug beside Siobhan’s head. She didn’t ask. She simply pressed the phone to Siobhan’s ear, her other hand resting possessively on the small of Aidan’s back, a silent command to remain.
Siobhan’s whole body trembled. A fine sheen of sweat coated her spine. Aidan could feel the vibration of her muted whimper through his groin.
“Hello?” Siobhan’s voice was a strained, breathy thread. Her eyes screwed shut. Aidan watched the muscles in her jaw work.
A pause. Liam’s voice, a tinny, muffled buzz from the receiver. Asking about her day.
“Just… shopping,” Siobhan managed, the words strangled. “With Cat. And Fiona.” A tear escaped, tracing a path through her temple and into the carpet. “Found a lovely… a lovely dress.”
Catriona’s smile deepened. Her hand on Aidan’s back pressed down, just slightly. He understood. He began to move again, with a slow, inexorable roll of his hips. A deep, withdrawing slide, then a firm, full forward press. The wet sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Siobhan’s free hand flew out, fingers scrabbling at the rug. She bit down on her own wrist to stifle a moan.
“Mmm-hmm,” she breathed into the phone, her nostrils flaring. “Yes. Tiring. A long… a long day.”
Liam’s voice buzzed again. A question. Plans for dinner?
“I’ll… I’ll pick something up,” she gasped, the sentence breaking as Aidan shifted his angle, finding a deeper place. Her back arched involuntarily. “Don’t… don’t wait for me.”
Another pause. Then, the three words, clear even from Aidan’s distance: “I love you.”
Siobhan’s eyes flew open. They were filled with a profound, shattering conflict—a bottomless guilt and a shocking, undeniable peak of arousal. The two warred in her green irises for a single, suspended second.
“I love you too,” she whispered, the vow raw and true.
As the last word left her lips, Catriona nodded at Aidan, a sharp, decisive dip of her chin.
He drove into her, a final, claiming thrust, hilting himself with a force that knocked the air from Siobhan’s lungs in a silent cry. He let go, the release tearing through him in hot, pulsating waves, filling her as she clenched and shook beneath him.
Catriona pulled the phone away, her voice returning, cheerful and normal. “She’s just popped to the loo, Liam! Chat soon!” She ended the call and dropped the phone onto the sofa as if discarding a candy wrapper.
The silence that followed was absolute, swollen. It was broken only by the sound of Siobhan’s shaky, weeping breaths and the slow, dripping tap of Aidan’s spend beginning to leak from her onto the wool rug.
Catriona exhaled, a long, satisfied sigh. She looked from the ruined, trembling woman on the floor to her husband, still connected to her. Her gaze was one of pure, undiluted triumph. “Perfect,” she murmured, almost to herself.
The click of the front door unlocking made them all jump.
Footsteps in the hall. Fiona’s voice, light and melodic, called out, “Hellooo? The coast is clear, my darlings. Mark is officially on a train to—whoa.”
She appeared in the doorway, her designer handbag sliding from her shoulder to the floor with a soft thump. She took in the scene: her best friend on all fours, visibly full and dripping, Catriona kneeling like a priestess, Aidan pulling out slowly, spent.
Fiona’s hand went to her mouth. Not in horror. In awe. Her eyes, wide and hungry, traveled from Siobhan’s glazed-over expression to the evidence on the rug. “Jesus,” she breathed. A laugh, shaky and excited, escaped her. “You actually did it. You answered the phone.”
Siobhan finally collapsed, rolling onto her side, curling into herself. Sobs wracked her frame, but she made no move to cover herself, to clean herself up. She was utterly broken open.
Catriona stood, smoothing her robe. She walked to Fiona, cupping her friend’s cheek. “Your turn,” she said, her voice low and inviting. “But first, help her to the bathroom. Clean her up. Be sweet to her.” She leaned in, her lips brushing Fiona’s ear. “Get her ready for round two. I want her to watch you.”
Fiona swallowed, nodding, her eyes darting back to Aidan, who was pulling on his sweats, feeling oddly detached, a tool cooling after use. But as his eyes met Catriona’s, he saw the fervent praise there, the ownership, and the embers in his gut glowed anew.
This was the machine they had built. And it was just starting to warm up.
Fiona moved to Siobhan, murmuring soft, incomprehensible words, helping her to stand. She led her, stumbling, down the hall toward the bathroom. Aidan heard the faucet turn on.
Catriona came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat. “You see?” she whispered. “It’s not just the act. It’s the aftermath. The care. The bond it forges between them, now, because of us.” She looked up at him. “Do you feel powerful?”
He thought of Liam’s unsuspecting voice. Of Siobhan’s tear-stained face whispering ‘I love you’ while he emptied himself inside her. He felt sick. He felt like a king. He felt hers.
“I feel yours,” he said, which was the only true answer.
She kissed him, hard. “Good. Now get some water. You’ll need your strength.” She glanced toward the bathroom, from which soft sounds of water and hushed voices drifted. “Fiona’s been waiting a week. She won’t be as gentle as Siobhan.” A playful glint returned to her eye. “She wants a repeat of Clara. But worse. Or better, depending on your perspective.”
She left him then, walking toward the bedroom, presumably to change the scene, to set the next stage. Aidan stood alone in the living room, the late sun now painting the cum-stained rug a forgiving gold. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. He could see Fiona’s silhouette, tenderly washing Siobhan’s thighs, her words too low to hear. A strange, intimate healing after a calculated violation.
He took a deep, steadying breath. The moral landscape was gone, erased. There was only this house, this momentum, and the deep, terrifying pull of the current his wife had charted. He turned and followed her into the bedroom, readying himself for the next plunge.