Free It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead by Julie Frayn Page A

towards him.
    “Finn, wait.”
    His brow creased. “But…”
    “Condom?”
    “Oh shit.” He stooped down, pulled his
wallet from the back pocket of his pants and fished out a shiny packet.
    A grown man who kept a rubber in his
wallet. Interesting. Had he known she’d be this easy? Or maybe just hoped so. And
who the hell cared anyway?
    He rolled on the condom. His fingers
trembled and fumbled with the latex.
    She wrapped her legs around his body and
pulled him into her before he even finished. He took one ass cheek in each hand,
slid her to the edge of the counter, and kissed her.
    She devoured his mouth, the wine and garlic
that lingered on his tongue better than any dessert.
    She gripped the edge of the counter with
both hands, his thrusts coming fast and hard. Her head bounced off the pine
cupboard behind her and she laughed.
    He picked her up, stepped out of his pants
and carried her to the living room, never leaving her body, kissing her all the
way. He kneeled on the area rug and laid her down as light as a feather. Then
he shifted gears, made each movement long and slow, nearly withdrawing, then filling
her with each push.
    Every rhythmic thrust arched her spine and
tilted her head back. He drew out her pleasure, maximized her enjoyment, took
her to the brink and then stalled again and again before sending her over the
top. He was in full control of himself. And of her.
    His movements intensified, shorter, faster,
deeper. Sparkles of light exploded behind her closed eyelids, her heartbeat
pounded in her ears. Was that her screaming?
    He pulled her into him while pushing hard against
her and stopped fully inside.
    Her arms dropped to the rug, her legs as
limp as the spaghetti they’d shared.
    He collapsed on top of her, his gasping
breath rasped in her ear.
    They lay still for minutes, their sweat
mingling where his forehead rested against her collarbone. She ran her hands
over his crew cut and drew a finger behind one ear.
    He propped up on his elbows. “Wow.”
    She laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”
    He buried his face in her cleavage and
sighed.
    “Finn?”
    “Mm-hmm?”
    “Was it Gerald’s case you obsessed over?
The one that ended your marriage?”
    He lifted his head and looked at her for a
few seconds. He nodded once.
    She swallowed and brushed the back of her
fingers across his lips and up to his temple. “Was it because of Gerald?”
    A quick huff of air from his nostrils
tickled her collarbone. The tips of his mouth turned up in a slight curl. “No.
Not because of Gerald.”
    I fixed you
two
    Jem sat in front of Chief and watched him
nibble at the egg salad on whole wheat. “Not your favourite?”
    Chief glanced up at her and shrugged.
    “I mentioned Gerald yesterday. Do you mind
if I talk about him?”
    Another shrug.
    “Gerald is my fiancé. Or at least he was.
He disappeared about four years ago. He’s dead. They found him last month.”
Sorrow welled up in her core, constricted her throat, and threatened to unleash
more tears. She set her jaw and looked at her hands clasped in her lap.
    “He was paranoid schizophrenic.” She looked
at Chief. “Do you know what that is?”
    His eyes released their squint for a split
second.
    “He disappeared one day. I still don’t know
why. He was off his meds and he was hearing voices. And he was erratic as hell,
all over the map with emotions and anger then complete and utter exhaustion
followed by hyperactive bouts of energy.” She let the tears come. “I miss him,”
she whispered. Not crazy Gerald. She missed sane Gerald. The man she fell in
love with. Before he became fastidious Gerald. Before the devolution of his
brilliant mind. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and then wiped it
on the grass. “I wish he could come home.”
    She reached out and took one of Chief’s
filthy hands.  “Do you have family? Is there someone looking for you, wondering
where you are? Someone who wants you to come home?”
    Tears pooled in the