“What do you mean?”
“Apparently his candles find exactly who they need to find. That’s how it works. I probably would have smelled it from halfway across the city.”
“What did it smell like? The first time?”
“You,” she says, staring into his eyes. “You and Andrew, together.”
He blushes—god, he’s so cute when he blushes. She’s always thought so but she’s never been able to say so without feeling like a desperate, pathetic, deluded woman hopelessly in love with her gay friend. She expects him to look away from her penetrating stare, but instead he nibbles on his lower lip, meets her stare and asks, “Did I smell good?”
“Very,” she answers.
“Have I always smelled good?”
With one bare foot, he drags his toes gently across her bent knee. His cock is starting to rise in the loose folds of her husband’s boxer shorts, and she wonders if it’s the result of being cuffed, asking her coy questions, the lustful stare she’s giving him or all three in combination.
“Yes,” she answers.
He slides his foot up onto her leg, and once the bare sole is exposed, she realizes what he’s doing, referencing that little moment they shared together, a moment of such unexpected, flowering desire she barely managed to repress her memory of it until they made love the night before. She drags one fingertip along the arch of his foot, and he sucks in a breath through clenched teeth.
“So what did you and my husband get up to while I was gone?”
“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks her. “Or do you want me to show you?”
Her heart races. She grasps Shane’s bare foot in one hand. His perfectly manicured, pale foot. Just then, the shower shuts off. A minute later, Andrew appears in the doorway, toweling himself off, trying to appear relaxed and casual even though he’s clearly dying for information about her trip to the French Quarter. The sight of them touching brings a smile to Andrew’s face.
The smile fades when she starts to recount everything Bastian told her, including a description of the frozen rain that leaves both Andrew and Shane speechless. By the time she’s done, Shane is sagging against his handcuffs, and Andrew is wrapping his towel snugly around his waist.
After a few minutes of silence, her husband takes a seat on the foot of the bed, his back to them, as if he needs to stare at the carpet to absorb everything she just described. “Y’all remember my aunt Linda?”
“Of course,” Cassidy answers. “She couldn’t stand me.”
“She called me the gay one," Shane says.
“Exactly. You remember how uptight she was, how everything in her house was always perfect. Totally straightlaced, super conservative. Church every Sunday.”
“We remember,” Cassidy says.
“A few years before she died, she had too much to drink one night. I mean, it was, like, the only night I ever saw her have too much to drink. And she told me this story. She was walking her dog out at her husband’s fishing camp and this little girl ran across the trail right in front of her, chasing this red plastic ball. There wasn’t another house within ten miles, not so much as an access road near the trail. All around was just swamp. Anyway, as soon as Linda tried to run after her, the girl just disappeared. When she got back to camp, she called the cops, described the girl to them, just to, you know, see if there were any missing person reports for a child who matched that description.”
“And?” Shane asks.
“There was just one report from the year before. For a girl who eventually turned up dead because her father killed her.”
“Aunt Linda told you this story?” Cassidy asks.
“That’s what I’m saying. She wasn’t exactly a tarot card reader. Never read a scary book, never watched scary movies. She wasn’t someone who wanted to believe in anything except the Lord. But she saw something she couldn’t explain and she kept it a secret for most of her life. Ever since the night she told me, well… I told myself a time would come. That something might happen to me too. Something that would change what I believed was possible.”
“So you don’t think we’re hallucinating anymore?” Cassidy asks.
“I didn’t think it this morning. I just didn’t want you to leave, babe. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I think everybody has their Aunt Linda moment eventually. I’m just glad I’m not having mine alone.”
“Me, too,” Cassidy says.
“Me, three,” Shane answers.
“But they weren’t ghosts,” Cassidy says.
“I hope not,” Shane answers. “‘Cause I knew one of them.”
Andrew turns so quickly at this announcement, the towel slips free of his waist. Cassidy is stunned, waiting for Shane to say he’s kidding. But Shane stares back at them intently, nodding.
“I was in the bathroom at Perry’s when it happened,” he says. “Samantha and I were having dinner. I looked up and there was this golden…man staring back at me from the mirror. And it was Jonathan Claiborne.”
“The guy you hooked up with?” Cassidy asks. “The waiter?”
“He’s not a waiter anymore apparently, but yeah, Samantha and I’d been talking about him before I got up from the table, so I thought it was…you know, I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Maybe you were,” Andrew says. “I mean maybe the ghost was real, but his face was vague and you just filled in the gaps.”
“It’s possible. I don’t know. But you want to know the other thing?”
“Yes,” Cassidy says.
“I don’t care,” Shane whispers. He’s looking back and forth between the two of them. When he speaks again, his voice has a catch in it, a catch that brings Cassidy’s hand to his knee. “I don’t care why we did it. I don’t care if it was ghosts or magic or drugs. All I know is that I don’t want it to end. I never want it to end. In high school, whenever I looked at a beautiful guy, I would feel this sadness, like this heaviness in my heart. Because I didn’t want to be attracted to men. I didn’t want to find men beautiful. And then I came out and I was Mister Proud Gay Man and the sadness went away, for a while, at least. But then, a few years ago, it came back. It came back whenever I looked at the two of you together. And that’s when I knew I wanted you both, but I thought I could never have you.”
Andrew stands up suddenly. What is he doing? Is he about to leave?
“Babe…” Cassidy says.
“I think,” Andrew says. “I’ve made my case to both of you. And quite well, I might add. So at this point, if there’s anything standing in the way of this, it’s going to be between the two of you. So I’ll give you all some time alone.”
“Kind of like the time you two had alone this morning,” Cassidy says.
“Kinda, yeah,” Andrew says with a grin. “Shane here’s afraid he’s only a four on the Kinsey scale unless I’m chewing on his neck. Given what I saw him do to your body last night, I don’t really think that’s true. But it doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what he thinks. And what you think.” Andrew rounds the foot of the bed and gives her a lingering kiss. “So convince him.”
His hand reaches for hers. She looks down in time to see him place the key to the handcuffs in her open palm.
It feels like she’s about to get away with something. Something her husband just gave her permission to get away with. The door clicks shut behind Andrew, and they’re left alone. She’s too nervous to look into his eyes. She gets up on her knees and slides the key into the handcuffs.
“Don’t.” His voice is as tight as a drawstring.
Her heart drops. Is this where it ends? Is the convincing part already over with? Is the prospect of being left alone with her body too terrifying for him to face? When she summons the courage to look down at him, dread swirling in her stomach, she sees Shane’s eyes are hooded with desire.
“Don’t uncuff me, Cassidy.”
The key shakes in her hand.
“Don’t let me go,” he whispers.
“Shane…”
“Touch me everywhere you’ve always wanted to,” he whispers. “Don’t ask for permission. Own me, Cassidy. Own me like you always have.”
Her urge is to tear his clothes off, to emulate the way Andrew ravishes her. But that’s not the invitation he’s extended. Owning him will mean her pace, her urges and desires. She takes her time pulling the boxers down his smooth thighs, grazing his cock with her fingers. Tickling it. Nibbling the head slightly. No shoving his cock down her throat in some mad rush to deep-throat him to orgasm. Instead, she learns the map of his sensitive spots.
He’s told her about some of his special places over the years, but she’s unprepared for the cry that rips from him when she pushes his tank top up over his chest, secures one nipple gently between her teeth and flickers her tongue over it, or the near hysterical giggles that rip through him when she teases the edges of his armpits with her fingers.
Every step of the way, she feels a nagging urge to be more aggressive, more masculine. But each time she feels it, she pulls back, reminding herself of his offer.
Own me…
It is her gentle touches and tastes and scratches that push Shane to the brink of ecstasy. Maybe because they’re new and unfamiliar, a barrage of delicious shocks to his system. When she drags the fingernails of one hand down the sides of his body, he screams as if he’s been penetrated. His throbbing cock jumps against his flat, hairless stomach. She repeats the motions back and forth, just her fingernails, up and down that pale, hairless torso.
“Cassidy!” She ignores the breathless, pleading urgency in his tone, drags her fingernails further down his body, across his hips, down the insides of his thighs. When his hips rise up off the bed, she gives in to temptation, grasps the base of his cock, and slides it down her throat.
His lips part. He’s sucking air, trying to make words. “Give me… Let me…” It takes her a moment to realize what he’s asking for. Her urge is to let him undress her, but that would mean surrendering her control. Standing over him, she pulls her shirt off, unsnaps her bra. His mouth opens when her breasts are still inches away. As soon as she hits her knees next to the bed, he bucks his head off the pillow, snags her nipple in between his lips, and tongues the sensitive nub. To keep from going over, she grabs the bedframe in one hand, right above the spot where Shane’s wrists buck inside the padded handcuffs.
“You like that?” she asks. Her voice sounds like another woman’s.
“Give me the other one,” he answers with a devilish grin. “Just so we can be sure.”
“Bad boy,” she whispers.
“Very, very bad boy. Now give me the other one. Please.”
“Hey. I thought I’m in charge here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Burke. Is there something you’d like more?”
He swirls his tongue across her nipple, gazing up into her eyes. Those big beautiful blue eyes. For years, she’s stared into them for comfort and solace, and now they provide her with something altogether different—pure pleasure.
When she straddles him, he bites the edge of her panties, peels them off her mound just enough that he can begin working his tongue into her folds. The desperate hunger of this frenzied probing has her gripping the bedframe in one hand, peeling the lace to one side with the other hand, giving him full access. Then she rides his mouth, watching his wrists move against the padded handcuffs. She’s so lost in the bliss of it, she doesn’t hear Andrew approaching, doesn’t see her husband until he’s slipped the keys to the cuffs inside the lock. The minute he frees Shane’s hands they fly to Cassidy’s thighs, gripping and pulling so he can angle himself more precisely against her clit. Even with his hands free, he is still her worshipful slave.
Andrew cups her chin in one hand, brings his mouth to hers. She returns his kiss as best she can, even though Shane’s hungry ministrations leave her gasping. Andrew is hard as a rock as he turns to dig in the nightstand drawer with one hand.
A defiant, willful part of her mind assesses each swipe of Shane’s tongue across her pussy for any sign of resistance, but it doesn’t find any. Even if there’s some part of Shane that will always be purely, resolutely homosexual, it’s being overpowered by a thundering need to give her overwhelming pleasure. These thoughts have her ablaze. Next to her, Andrew tears open a condom wrapper, but the sound seems distant.
By the time she’s rolled over onto her back, by the time Shane is on top of her, sliding her soaked, tangled panties down her thighs, his mouth gasping against her neck as he slides into her for the second time in twenty-four hours, she feels separated from the business of her extremities by the delicious, throbbing pleasure in her core.
And then she hears a second condom wrapper being torn open.
A second later, Shane halts in mid-thrust, still buried inside of her as his entire body goes rigid, as his breaths turn into a series of hissing gasps through clenched teeth. Cassidy reaches up to find her husband’s chest coming to rest against Shane’s upper back. She blinks, sees Andrew’s face above her now as well, sees him tenderly kissing the nape of Shane’s neck. Her hands travel from Shane’s shoulders to her husband’s shoulders directly above.
“Oh, fuck,” Shane whispers, desperately, pain rippling through his words. “Oh, fuck.” But laced through his pain are the sounds of hunger, need, and endurance. Still, Cassidy is afraid, afraid this is too much. She knows he rarely bottoms, has spent most of his adult life wondering if he doesn’t have it in him or if he’s never met the man powerful enough to flip him.
“Breathe,” she whispers, taking his face in her hands. She would call the whole thing off right there if Shane wasn’t still rock hard inside of her, motionless and rigid under Andrew’s slow but determined invasion, but still hard, still throbbing inside of the condom.
“Breathe, Shane,” she whispers. “Just breathe.”
Shane winces, tears sprouting from his eyes. She can’t tell if they’re tears of pain or exertion, but they’re tears, goddammit, so does it really matter? This was too far, too fast, and she has to end it now before everything flies off the rails.
“Shane, do you want us to stop?”
“No,” he growls. “Never. Never stop.” She feels him drawing back from inside of her, realizes this means he’s sliding back onto Andrew’s cock. “Belong to you…”
In her head, she finishes for him the words they whispered to each other the night before, when it seemed that shimmering spirits still hovered right outside the bedroom door. Both of you. Always. But Shane doesn’t finish reciting these vows. His heaving breaths steal the power of speech from his lips, as he slowly, carefully rocks between her clutching heat and Andrew’s overpowering penetration. His shuddering body searches out a never-before-felt rhythm, a composition unique to their three bodies, brought together in this way for the first time.
Shane’s facial expressions are a wild parade of pain, pleasure, and abandon. But Andrew is pure determination, his arms wrapped around Shane’s chest, devouring Shane’s neck. She wants desperately to coax Shane past his final wall of resistance. But she knows she doesn’t have this power. Not by herself anyway. Together, she and Andrew might be capable of it. But there are no words, no promises they can give Shane that will force him to surrender.
Shane has to choose. Shane has to give himself over to the dual embrace of Cassidy’s wet heat and Andrew’s unyielding force.
Please, Shane. Please. Give yourself to us. Belong to us.
It’s silly to think he’s read her mind, but that’s exactly what she thinks when she feels the rhythm of Shane’s thrusts increase. That’s exactly what she thinks when she hears her husband’s grunts and realizes Shane’s ass now grips Andrew’s cock with as much hunger and force as her folds grip Shane.
Cassidy screams with release, her hands clawing Shane’s back. And then Shane’s cry joins hers as he collapses against her, shuddering with another emotion as she feels him empty into the condom inside of her. Breath returns to her lungs. Andrew lifts himself off of
Shane and rolls over onto his side.
Shane continues to sob. When Cassidy opens her mouth to comfort him, Andrew brings one finger gently to her lips, silencing her.
“Give him a minute,” Andrew whispers. “Give him a minute to realize he’s ours now, then he’ll be okay.”
She wants to believe him, but she’s terrified Shane’s tears signal the end of this, that without Bastian Drake’s magic, they’ll once again be slaves to fear. Shane lifts his head from her chest. Her heart is racing. She’s already visualizing him leaping off her and running from the house, from the full, world-changing implications of what they’ve done together now. Twice.
Andrew reaches up, cups the side of Shane’s face in one hand. Surely, Shane can sense Cassidy’s fear, knows full well the look that comes into her eyes when she’s gripped by anticipation and dread. Surely, she has the look in her eyes right now.
Shane’s eyes meet her own. He brings one of her hands to his mouth, kissing the tips of her fingers gently.
“Belong to you,” Shane whispers.
“Both of you,” Andrew whispers.
Cassidy’s heart slows to a steady beat as Shane settles into her embrace. The words Bastian Drake’s candle drew from them have once again rolled off their tongues. But the candle has been out for hours, its spirits and their sparkling residue nowhere in sight. It’s just the three of them, their passion, their bravery. And now these words feel like vows.
Not all the words, she realizes. She’s yet to add her final line to these, their new vows.
“Always,” Cassidy whispers.
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