The Flame: A Desire Exchange Novella (1001 Dark Nights)

  That’s all well and good, he thinks, but how does he explain the two long fingers of gold now circling the artichoke-shaped light fixture overhead? Suddenly the fixture comes free, as if a giant hand just tugged it gently from the ceiling.

  Shane’s hands fly out to catch it before it shatters to the floor. But the intricate glass light fixture doesn’t fall. It floats, descending slowly before it lands softly in his outstretched palms. The scents hit him next, so powerful they distract him from the fact that he’s rising off the floor. Baking bread, lilac: the combination is familiar. He is engorged within seconds, gasping with as much pleasure as fear.

  He spins in place, several feet in the air, the large light fixture balanced in his open palms by the same otherworldly force that pulled it free of the ceiling. It hasn’t broken, this precious, intricate piece of glasswork. The prospect of it shattering at his feet was a greater fear than any he’d ever experienced. But it’s being supported now—and he’s being supported, too, by golden fingers of thick and fluid light. And the face of a former trick, apparently.

  As Shane continues to spin gently in place, he sees something in the light fixture’s glass leaves. It’s them, he realizes. They’re barely recognizable, and he can’t tell if their faces are somehow being projected onto the glass folds or if the images emanate from within. But it’s Cassidy and Andrew.

  He’s holding them in his hands. They haven’t fallen. They haven’t broken.

  If there’s a message to this impossible supernatural assault—assault seems like too strong a word given how gently he’s being handled, but it’s the first one that comes to mind—that must be it. He won’t drop them. He won’t break them. Some force he doesn’t have a name for will support them, encircle them, and enfold them. All three of them.

  The light fixture rises from his hands, swiftly but smoothly, as if it’s being drawn upward by an invisible string.

  Shane watches it pop back into place as smoothly as a button being snapped. As soon as his feet hit the floor, a wave of pleasure courses through him, so intense and powerful he has only seconds to pull his cock from his jeans before he empties his load onto the concrete floor.

  He chokes back a cry he’s sure will bring the entire restaurant outside to a halt if he lets loose. He’s never cum like this in his life, jet after jet, never seen anything like it outside of porn films. And as it shoots from him, the vision he just beheld settles into his consciousness with surprising ease. If it was a ghost, was that its intention, to use pleasure to make Shane teachable and open?

  You can have them both. Hallucination, spell, or haunting, whatever it was, that’s the only meaning he can ascribe to it, to the delicate fixture balanced perfectly in his hands, and the faces of the two people he loves the most reflected in its crystalline folds. Andrew and Cassidy. You can have them both and nothing will break.

  9

  CASSIDY

  The house is dark, save for the sparkling footprints dotting the foyer’s hardwood floor. Gold flecks swim in each one, waterborne siblings of the luminescent particles that swirled through the candle’s halo as soon as she lit the wick. They have to be Andrew’s footprints, but she’s shouted his name several times and he hasn’t answered.

  For the second time that day, Cassidy is soaked from head to toe and questioning the nature of reality.

  The rain roused her after she lost consciousness. By then, the candle’s glass container was completely empty, as if someone had wiped it clean of every last drop of wax while she’d drifted between sleep and waking, utterly drained by the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced.

  LSD. Acid. Or maybe that Datura stuff Native Americans use for vision quests. Whatever it is, I’m still feeling it.

  “Cassidy!”

  She cries out. The front door is still open. Shane stands on the porch, soaked from head to toe. When she sees the tiny gold flakes dripping from his earlobes and the tip of his nose, pooling slightly in the hollows of his eyes, her breath leaves her.

  Wide-eyed, his jaw tense, he closes the distance between them. He runs an index finger along her forearm and turns up a fingertip glistening with the same gold particles that highlight his face, that swim in the footprints all around them.

  “What’s going on?” Shane whispers.

  “I don’t know,” she says, the rest of her sentence trailing off. It feels like a lie.

  It is a lie. She accepted the invitation written on that note; that’s what’s happening. She lit Bastian Drake’s candle at the scene of her greatest desire and now… and now…

  Shane’s lips are inches from hers. Rain swirls through the open door behind him. Flashes of lightning turn the branches outside into giant claws. But they don’t frighten her. They do, however, seem to send a word of warning: Stay inside. It’s not safe to run. The answer, if there is one, is inside this house.

  “Andrew…” she whispers. “We have to find Andrew.”

  Shane follows her upstairs with bounding strides.

  The master bedroom is empty. When she sees the alarm clock’s blank screen, she realizes the power’s out. She’s about to scream her husband’s name again when she sees him in the doorway. He is naked and dripping wet. Streaks of gold outline his nipples. They travel the hard ridges of his obliques and fringe the heft of his cock, which jerks from his sudden arousal. The sight of Cassidy and Shane standing together in the shadowed bedroom makes her husband instantly and powerfully hard. While it’s too dark to see his face, she can see his muscular chest rising and falling with deep, sustained breaths. He always breathes like that when he’s getting ready to pounce. To lick. To taste. To ravish.

  “Get on the bed, Cassidy,” he says, his voice low and deep.

  Yes. Please. Now. If it’s a mistake, I’ll blame the candle. I’ll blame Bastian Drake. But I want it now. Both of them. Here. Now.

  In a flash of lightning, she sees Shane’s expression. It’s a portrait of astonishment and desire as he looks back and forth between the two of them. An expression just like the one he wore when he kissed her for the first time—not fear, but a kind of dazed wonder that life could suddenly deliver something so unexpected and all-consuming.

  When Andrew grips the back of Shane’s neck, this visual reminder of their moment at The Roquelaure House enflames her desire. Then her husband says, “Take your panties off, Cassidy,” and it feels as if her skin has become a thin layer of radiant heat that can no longer contain the desire coursing through her veins.

  Hands shaking, Cassidy unbuttons her skirt, kicks her way out of it. It turns into a brief struggle because she can’t look away from what’s happening in front of her. Bent at the waist, Shane runs his tongue up the side of Andrew’s body, following a slender thread of gold all the way up to her husband’s pecs. When he reaches Andrew’s nipple, Shane sucks it briefly, loud enough to make a pop.

  Her husband’s low, throaty laugh is gentle. Shane’s desire for Andrew is a feeling on Cassidy’s skin as she peels off her bra and blouse, a tingly blanket. It feels like invisible hands have just lightly slapped her thighs, squeezed her breasts. As if she is being tweaked and teased and tested by the newness of what they’re about to do, by the delicious danger of it. But there are no golden ghosts in the room with them now. It's just the three of them. And while everything about Shane’s posture says he wants to suck her husband’s tongue from in between his lips, Andrew teases him, gripping the back of his neck, holding their mouths inches apart.

  “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Andrew asks. “Both of you. You’ve always been afraid of how much you want each other. Afraid of how it doesn’t fit into a neat little box.” Their lips inches apart now, the two men she loves the most seem connected by a current of fearless desire, a current fueled by her exposed sex, by her wild passion for them both. “Well, enough! Both of you. Enough already. I’ve had enough of watching the two of you together.”

  His voice is a low growl and his wording makes her tense. If Andrew is about to pu
nish them, why is he still stroking the back of Shane’s neck? Why is he unbuckling Shane’s belt with his other hand?

  “All that hunger between you two, and it’s got nowhere to go. Not anymore. ‘Cause I’m gonna give it somewhere to go. I don’t care if I have to fuck you both into loving each other the way you’ve always wanted to, always needed to. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you two, so why not this? Why not, huh? Get on your knees, Shane. It’s time for you to taste my wife.”

  With a light pop, Andrew unbuttons Shane's pants from behind and slides them down his slender hips. All it takes to send Shane knees-first to the carpet is a light shove. Then Andrew sinks down behind him and starts steering him toward the foot of the bed, toward Cassidy’s spread legs. He pulls Shane’s rain soaked shirt over his head, revealing his lean torso, his perfectly etched abs, that blend of delicateness and hard edges that for years has held Cassidy in a kind of sustained swoon she has channeled into friendship. Her husband’s muscular arms are a delicious contrast against Shane’s smooth, pale skin. And while she might be the one sprawled on the bed, immobilized by anticipation and lust, they’re the ones on their knees. They’re the ones poised to worship her.

  Her men. Finally. Both of them. Her men.

  Dazed, Shane grips Cassidy’s feet, one in each hand, squeezes them gently, as if he’s trying to make sure they’re real, that she’s real, that this is real.

  That afternoon she did her best to block out comes rushing back. They were watching television together when Shane suddenly ran one finger across the arch of her bare foot, and then suddenly he was tickling her furiously, and then just as suddenly he stopped, a hungry look in his eyes, as if he’d awakened something unexpected and powerful enough to carry them off in its grip.

  I wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t just me. He could feel it, too. But we were so afraid, both of us. Because with just the two of us, it would never be possible. But it doesn’t just have to be the two of us. It will never just be the two of us.

  Andrew nuzzles his lips against the nape of Shane’s neck, holds Shane in a vice-grip embrace from behind. But his eyes, like Shane’s, are focused on her wet heat, even as he reaches down and starts to tug Shane's soaked underwear down over his ass. Shane’s hands glide up her legs. His touch is hesitant at first. But then he adds pressure, exploring her. His fingers press down and revisit the places along her inner thighs that make her gasp and moan. Then they graze the edges of her pussy, teasingly. Again and again and again. Slow, matching circles of sweet torture on either side of her mound.

  “Have you ever tasted a woman before, Shane?” Andrew asks with a devilish smile only she can see.

  Don’t, Andrew. Don’t remind him he’s never done this before just when he’s about to finally—

  “Yes,” Shane answers.

  What? When? If Shane’s breaths weren’t grazing her clit, she would probably bolt upright from shock.

  “Superboy,” Andrew says, “I thought we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “We don’t,” Shane whispers. “Anymore.”

  And then, without a word of warning, her best friend’s lips encircle her swollen nub. And as the pleasure arcs through her, she has a mad desire to say his name over and over and over again. She’s said his name thousands, if not millions, of times before. She’s shouted it across crowded restaurants. Barked it while laughing at one of his stupid jokes. But to say his name now, as he probes her with his tongue, would be to change the very nature of it, to change the nature of him, to change the nature of the two of them, together. Not just two of them, she realizes when she feels Andrew squeezing her thighs on either side of Shane’s head. The three of them.

  What starts as a gentle, hesitant nibble turns into a suckling that makes her cry out. Instinctively, she reaches for the back of his head, for that fine blond hair she’s run her fingers through time and time again over the years, wondering each time what it would be like if the rules fell away, if labels ceased to exist. If they could have a moment like this. But before Cassidy can grip the back of Shane’s head, Andrew grabs her wrist and firmly drives it to the comforter beside her. This is Andrew’s lesson to give. For now, Andrew is in control. After all, he’s the one who promised to set them free.

  “Who was she?” Andrew asks, his voice thick with desire. He pulls Shane’s mouth away from Cassidy’s pussy. Shane’s chin is lathered in her juices.

  “No one. A client.”

  Jealousy, curiosity, and desire move through Cassidy in a swirl that curls her toes. Then her husband begins to lick her juices off of Shane’s chin. His tongue finds Shane’s. The two men meet in a passionate kiss, sharing the taste of her, and each other, for the first time. Her husband is more than just a director now. He’s kissing another man—with her. For her. As hungry for the feel of Shane’s lips as he is for the taste of her very essence.

  “Just a client?” Andrew asks.

  “And her husband,” Shane whispers.

  “At the same time?” Andrew asks.

  It feels as if Andrew is reading her mind, asking the very questions she would ask if overwhelming desire hadn’t rendered her voiceless and boneless.

  “Yes,” Shane whispers, and then he licks up her folds, finding her clit at the end with a mad flicker.

  “And did you like it?”

  “While it was happening, yes.” Shane gasps. But he’s staring down at Cassidy’s wet heat, spreading her lips gently with both fingers, taking occasional, exploratory licks along the inside of her folds. Learning her. Memorizing her. Worshiping her. “But when it was over,” he says. Lick. Lick. Breathe. Lick. “All I wanted was you.” With precision and care, he takes her swollen nub in between thumb and forefinger, rolls it gently, then looks up, studying her face, watching the delicious transformation each wave of pleasure sends through her expression. “Both of you.”

  “Shane…” Don’t ever stop. Don’t ever leave. Don’t ever be afraid again.

  “Both of you,” Shane says again. “Always.”

  As Andrew’s tongue travels the nape of Shane’s neck, Shane stares into her eyes, hypnotized by the sight of her laid bare to him for the first time. When Andrew’s fingers find Shane’s hard, pink nipples, Shane shudders and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. When Andrew gently sucks Shane’s earlobe in his mouth, grips it gently between his teeth, Shane gasps. But even then, even as her husband’s ministrations threaten to level him, Shane gazes into her eyes, never once breaking their connection.

  She knows exactly what he’s feeling, knows exactly the cascades of pleasure her husband can release with just his fingers and his tongue. For the first time, she’s sharing this experience with the other man she can’t live without, and it feels as if their souls have been unzipped from their bodies. As if the three of them are merging in the air above the bed like those golden ghosts that rose from Bastian Drake’s candle.

  “Cassidy,” Andrew says.

  “Yes, baby.”

  “Are you ready? Are you ready to feel Shane inside of you?”

  “Yes…”

  “Are you ready to watch the expression on his face when he feels how tight and hot you are? When he feels you clutching at him because you want him so badly? Because you’ve always wanted him?”

  “Yes…”

  “Are you ready to look into his eyes while you come?”

  “Y-y—ye…”

  With a devilish laugh, Andrew releases Shane from his embrace. Suddenly there’s a loud crack followed by a sharp grunt. Her husband has just slapped Shane on the ass. Hard. Still shuddering from the delicious pain of Andrew’s blow, Shane crawls up onto the bed, pressing down on her suddenly. The combination of submission and aggression coursing through his body makes her open for him like a flower.

  “Cassidy…” he says, smoothing her hair from her forehead, lips grazing hers. Has her name ever carried so many meanings in a single utterance? She can hear Shane’s astonishment that this is happening, his wonder at the feel and tast
e of her body. She can hear him asking her for permission. Permission to open her, to enter her. And because the answer is yes, she wraps her legs around his waist for the first time, and in response, his body arches against hers. This time, their kiss is pure abandon. The hesitancy is gone. The fear is gone.

  Andrew rifles through the nightstand drawer. The sounds should be a distraction, but they’re not. Because she knows exactly what he’s looking for, the condoms they used for a while when she had to go off the pill because of some routine tests the doctor wanted her to have.

  She’s in such a rush to have him inside her she hasn’t taken Shane’s cock in her hand, hasn’t explored him the way he’s explored her. She grips it. Shane bites his lower lip, looks down, watches her stroke him with joyful disbelief. Each new touch, each new physical connection made for the first time is like another small tremor beneath that will shift the ground under their relationship forever.

  “Wow. Not bad there, Superboy,” she whispers.

  And her teasing tone lights up his face with a broad smile.

  “Want to know another secret?” Shane asks.

  “I do,” Andrew answers. Unwrapped condom in hand, he sinks down behind Shane, pulling him upright by one shoulder.

  Once Andrew has righted him. The sight of Shane’s dick sliding through her husband’s powerful, veiny hands thickens the flow of her arousal.

  “After I was with that woman,” Shane says in between gasps. “You know, my client…”

  “Yeah,” she answers, but all she wants to do is kiss him, caress his face for the first time.

  “I used to watch your face when you were laughing or eating dessert,” Shane says. “I used to wonder if I could make you make those faces if I ever…”

  “Fucked her?” Andrew asks. He tugs the condom down the last few inches.