Chapter 33: Siobhan's Request
The morning light cut through the half-drawn curtains in sharp, dusty blades. It illuminated the floating motes and the aftermath on the carpet—a forgotten silk blouse, a single high-heel on its side. The coffee mugs on the table were cold, a skin forming on the surface.
Aidan was sprawled on the deep couch, a towel around his waist, his body humming with a strange, saturated fatigue. Catriona nestled against him, her fingernails—painted a deep burgundy now—drawing absent circles on his thigh. Her other hand rested lower, her fingers tracing the thick, dormant veins of his cock where it lay against the couch’s arm. It was a proprietary touch. Clinical and possessive.
He stared at the ceiling. “I keep waiting to feel guilty.”
“Do you?” Her voice was morning-rough, intrigued.
“No. That’s what’s fucked up.” He turned his head to look at her. The freckles across her nose were darker in the sharp light. “I feel… utilized. And fucking powerful. And then I look at you and I don’t know what you’re thinking at all.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were calculating, scanning the blueprints of something in her mind. “I’m thinking about the taste of my own fingers last night. I’m thinking about the sound Siobhan made when she finally swallowed. I’m thinking about the way Fiona looked at you when she left—like she’d stolen something precious from me and was grateful for the theft.” She shifted, her breath hot against his ear. “I’m thinking this is the most honest we’ve ever been.”
The shower down the hall shut off. A door clicked open. Silence, then the pad of bare feet.
Siobhan appeared in the doorway, wrapped in one of Catriona’s robes. It swam on her smaller frame. Her damp red hair was darkened to a deep auburn, her face scrubbed clean of the previous night’s smudged mascara. She looked younger. Exposed.
“Coffee’s dead,” Aidan said, gesturing to the mugs.
“I don’t need any.” Siobhan’s voice was quiet, but clear. She looked directly at Catriona. “Can we talk? In the kitchen?”
Catriona’s fingers stilled on Aidan. A flicker of something—anticipation, warning—passed between the two women. Catriona peeled herself from the couch, the silk of her own robe whispering. “Don’t go anywhere,” she murmured to Aidan, not as a request, but as an instruction. She followed Siobhan out.
Aidan listened. The murmur of voices was a low hum from the other room. He couldn’t make out words, only tone. Siobhan’s was earnest, rising and falling. Catriona’s was measured, with long pauses.
He let his head fall back. The city sounds were beginning outside—a distant siren, a garbage truck groaning. Normal life. It felt like a television playing in another room, completely irrelevant.
In the kitchen, Siobhan leaned against the cold stainless steel of the refrigerator. She was twisting the belt of the robe in her hands. “Last night… I’ve never felt like that. Ever.”
Catriona crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. The morning light here was harsh, unromantic. It showed the faint shadows under Siobhan’s eyes. “Desired?”
“No. That’s part of it, sure.” Siobhan shook her head, searching for the words. “Owned. And… in control. It makes no sense. He was fucking her. You were telling me what to do. But when I was… cleaning her.” She paused, her cheeks flushing. “It felt like I was the one who’d done it to her. Like it was my mess. Mine to deal with. Does that sound insane?”
“No.” Catriona’s answer was immediate. A slow smile began to curve her lips. “It sounds perfect.”
“I want more.” The words tumbled out, rushed. “Not just… following your orders. I mean, I want that too. But I have an idea. For next time.”
Catriona went very still. The only sound was the hum of the fridge. “Tell me.”
Siobhan’s gaze flickered toward the living room doorway, where Aidan was just out of sight. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Him. Blindfolded.”
Catriona’s eyebrows arched. She hadn’t expected that. “Go on.”
“He doesn’t get to see. He just has to… feel. Listen. He won’t know which of us is touching him. Which of us is taking him. He won’t know who he’s finishing inside.” Siobhan’s eyes were bright now, the earlier vulnerability burned away by a hot, focused light. “He’s this huge, powerful thing. But you take away his sight, and he’s just… a tool. For us. For whatever we want.”
A long, silent moment stretched. Catriona studied her friend—the woman who’d tasted another on her command, who was now proposing a subtle coup. It wasn’t a challenge to Catriona’s authority. It was an evolution of it. A deeper collaboration.
“You’d direct it?” Catriona asked.
“With you,” Siobhan nodded quickly. “You tell me the plan. I help execute it. But the blindfold… that’s my rule. For me.”
Catriona pushed off the counter. She stepped close to Siobhan, into her space. She could smell her own shampoo on the other woman’s hair. “And what do you get out of this particular rule, Siobhan?”
Siobhan didn’t look away. Her voice dropped, steady and clear. “I get to know he’s completely at our mercy. And I get to see the look on your face when he does exactly what we want, completely in the dark.”
A sharp, bright thrill shot through Catriona’s chest. It was better than she’d imagined. This wasn’t just about her fantasy anymore. It had mutated, grown new, intelligent limbs. It had a collaborator.
She reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair from Siobhan’s forehead. “Tonight,” Catriona said, the word final. “My place. After dinner. I’ll text Fiona.”
“What do I tell Mark?” Siobhan’s practical question was a splash of cold reality.
“Book club,” Catriona said, her smile turning wicked. “We’re discussing something… visceral.”
She turned and walked back to the living room, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. Aidan was right where she’d left him, a monumental sculpture of muscle and tension on her couch. His eyes were closed.
She didn’t sit. She stood over him, looking down. He opened his eyes, sensing her presence.
“Well?” he asked.
“We’re having company tonight,” she said, her voice light, casual. She let her robe fall open slightly as she leaned forward, bracing her hands on the couch cushions on either side of his head, caging him in. “Siobhan’s idea. You’re going to wear a blindfold.”
His breath caught. She watched the emotions play across his face—shock, a flash of resistance, then a dark, dawning curiosity that made his cock twitch under her gaze.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I want to see what happens when the only sense you have left is touch,” she whispered, her lips an inch from his. “Because she wants to watch you struggle to figure out whose mouth is on you. Because you don’t get to have all the power, Aidan. Not even here.”
He held her stare, a war in his eyes. Pride against a hungry, deepening submission. He gave one slow, tense nod.
Catriona kissed him then, hard and claiming. When she pulled back, she glanced toward the kitchen doorway. Siobhan was standing there, watching them, her knuckles white where she gripped the doorframe. Her expression wasn’t jealous. It was ravenous.
Catriona winked at her.
The game had just changed the players.