Risky Cuckold
The backyard smelled faintly of cut grass and wood smoke. Adrian had lit the fire pit earlier, and the small circle of flames popped and hissed, spitting sparks upward whenever the breeze stirred. Above them, strings of café lights arched from the fence to the old maple tree, washing the yard in a warm amber glow that softened the edges of everything. Claire curled her bare toes into the grass. She loved this time of evening. The air still clinging to the day’s warmth, the crickets just beginning their chorus, the sky bleeding from peach into violet. It was the kind of night that made the backyard feel like its own little world, private and contained. Adrian sat to her right, leaning back in his chair with the relaxed sprawl of someone proud of hosting. …