Free The Flame by Christopher Rice Page B

both.”
    Andrew leaps off the bed. The next thing she knows, he’s sliding under her, hoisting her surrendered body up onto his, keeping her face up. His throbbing cock presses into the small of her back, his mouth finds the seats of pleasure along her neck, his hands knead her breasts, and his fingers find her nipples.
    Shane is frozen, his sheathed cock hard and jerking in the air in front of him. When he senses their hesitation, Andrew draws one knee up in between Cassidy’s thighs and uses it to open them further. Suddenly Shane’s nose is grazing hers. Their lips are inches apart. He presses into her for the first time. Carefully. Gently. Reaching down and aiming with one hand. Never once breaking eye contact.
    Once Shane is buried inside of her, Cassidy lets loose a series of wild sounds, unbidden and unrehearsed, only a few of them becoming words.
    “Big…” she whispers. “Both of you…such big…boys.”
    “ Your big boys,” Andrew growls into her ear.
    Shane starts to fuck her with long, slow strokes, allowing her to get used to the feel of him. Meanwhile, Andrew’s fingers do a dance on her clit he’s learned after years of memorizing the rhythms of her pleasure.
    Over the course of their marriage, Andrew has taken her every which way from Sunday, but never quite like Shane is doing now; steady, determined, cupping her face in his hands, studying her, their lips grazing, each attempted kiss turning to gasps of pleasure. She has never cheated. For years it has been only Andrew, but now her body is being discovered again and by the man who already knows and loves every other part of her.
    They work together. Her husband’s hard body rocks up against her in time to Shane’s strokes, his cock sliding teasingly in between the cheeks of her ass. For the first time in her life, pleasure feels like comfort, bliss like safety.
    There’s still a part of her that’s convinced Shane might be faking the whole thing. So when he starts to grunt and pull away from her suddenly, she’s afraid he might be flipping out. It doesn’t even occur to her at first that it could be something else. Something far more obvious. He slides his condom off and unleashes his seed across her heaving stomach, grasping her shoulder for support. His mouth against her ear, Andrew says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” over and over again. Encouraging, cheerful—the perfect director, the perfect coach.
    And that does it. Together, Shane’s pained sounding moans mingled with her husband’s full-throated grunts of encouragement send the first wave of ecstasy arcing through her.
    When she cries out, Shane cups the sides of her face, rests his nose against her nose, as if her orgasm were a shimmering, radiant thing from which he can draw more strength if they’re as close as possible.
    Andrew’s hand slides between their stomachs, and then he slides a finger coated in Shane’s cum in between Shane’s lips. The debauched sight makes for a shuddering finish. She is wrapped in their heat and in their strength. Shane’s body molds into hers. Andrew strokes her hair, then Shane’s. Her shoulder, and then Shane’s. He’s in no rush to add his own orgasm to the mix but his groans are soft and satisfied too, as if he came as well. And for the first time in a long while, Cassidy is rendered silent by something besides fear, by the bliss of a dream realized.
    “Belong to you,” Shane whispers.
    “Both of us, “ she whispers back.
    “ Always ,” Andrew growls.
     

10
    Cassidy awakens to the feel of Shane’s breath against her collarbone and the delicious weight of Andrew’s arm around her waist. The comforter slid off them during the night, leaving their entwined, naked bodies exposed to the morning sun. Daylight beats through the bedroom window, falling in a precise, accusing rectangle on their discarded clothes. Andrew usually draws the window shade at bedtime. But they slipped into unconsciousness as soon as Shane and Cassidy were