Shadows of the Flame

The cabin smelled of pine and woodsmoke, its walls glowing amber in the firelight as Liz uncorked a bottle of merlot. She and Tom had been here dozens of times—their secluded retreat in the mountains, a sanctuary for their swinger adventures. Tonight was different, though. A newcomer was joining them. Sasha, a 30-something artist they’d met on a discreet forum, had intrigued them with her witty messages and a single, sultry photo: dark hair spilling over bare shoulders, a smirk that promised trouble.

Tom adjusted the logs in the fireplace, his broad shoulders tense. “You sure about this?” he asked, glancing at Liz. After five years in the lifestyle, they were pros—confident, open, unshakable. But Sasha felt like a wild card.

“She’s fun,” Liz said, pouring three glasses. “We need fun.” Their last few meetups had been predictable, stale. Sasha’s energy—flirty, bold, a little chaotic—was a spark they craved.

The knock came at 8:03. Sasha stepped inside, shaking snow from her boots, her leather jacket hugging her frame. “Cozy,” she said, her voice husky as she scanned the room. Her eyes lingered on Tom a beat too long, then flicked to Liz with a grin. “Thanks for having me.”

The night started light. They played cards by the fire, swapping stories over wine. Sasha’s laugh was infectious, her touch casual—a hand on Liz’s arm, a brush against Tom’s knee. Liz felt the familiar thrill of the game, the dance of boundaries they’d mastered. Tom leaned into it, his charm dialed up, tossing playful jabs at Sasha’s terrible poker bluff.

By midnight, the air thickened. Sasha suggested truth or dare, her tone daring them to say no. Liz went first, picking dare. Sasha’s eyes gleamed. “Kiss Tom like it’s the first time.” Liz obliged, straddling him on the couch, their lips meeting with a heat that surprised her. Sasha watched, sipping her wine, her silence louder than words.
Tom’s turn. “Truth,” he said. Sasha leaned forward. “Ever been jealous in this lifestyle?” He hesitated, then smirked. “Once. Early on. Guy wouldn’t stop texting Liz after.” Sasha nodded, filing it away.

The game escalated. Dares turned physical—Sasha shedding her sweater, Tom unbuttoning his shirt, Liz guiding Sasha’s hand to her waist. It was playful, electric, exactly what they’d wanted. But then Sasha dared Tom to kiss her. He glanced at Liz, who nodded, her pulse quickening. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and when they pulled apart, Sasha’s gaze locked on Liz—not Tom—with an intensity that felt personal.

Morning brought tension. Liz woke to find Sasha brewing coffee, wearing Tom’s flannel shirt. “Borrowed it,” Sasha said, casual, but Liz’s stomach twisted. Tom emerged from the shower, oblivious, and the day unraveled from there. Sasha flirted harder with Tom—whispering in his ear, laughing at his jokes—while Liz’s smiles grew tight. By lunch, she snapped. “You’re here for both of us, right?” she asked, voice sharp.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Just testing the waters.” But the damage was done. Tom tried to smooth it over, pulling Liz aside. “She’s playing. You know how this goes.” Liz didn’t buy it. She’d seen the way Sasha looked at him—like he was hers to claim.

That night, the secret spilled. They were tangled on the rug, fire dying, when Sasha murmured, “I’ve done this before. With my ex. He’s why I’m here.” Liz froze. “What?”

Sasha sat up, unapologetic. “He was like you two. Open. Until he wasn’t. Left me for someone he met at a retreat like this. I wanted to see if it’d happen again.” Her eyes flicked to Tom. “You’re solid, though. Both of you.”
Tom laughed, incredulous. “This was a test?” Liz wasn’t amused. “You used us to work through your baggage?” Sasha shrugged. “And you got a weekend out of it. Fair trade.”

The cabin felt suffocating. Liz stormed outside, snow crunching under her boots, Tom following. “She’s gotta go,” Liz said. He nodded, but his hesitation stung. “You liked her,” she accused.

“I liked us with her,” he corrected. “Until now.”

They sent Sasha packing at dawn, her taillights fading down the mountain. The ride home was quiet, the secret gnawing at them. Sasha hadn’t broken them, but she’d exposed cracks—jealousy Liz thought she’d buried, doubts Tom hadn’t voiced. Their lifestyle had been a game of trust, but now it felt like a gamble.

Back in their city apartment, Liz poured two whiskeys. “No more newbies,” she said. Tom clinked her glass. “Deal.” But in the silence, they both wondered if the real secret was theirs: could they ever go back to who they’d been?