Halloween For Six: A Lots of Friends To Lovers Romance, page 4
I gave new meaning to sticky sweet.
So, I discovered Dripsticks—intimacy clean-up sponges. They’re like little mops for your pussy. And Cade found vanilla cupcake personal wipes.
Who knew genitals could taste like a French bakery?
You see, you can’t get this intimate with this many without getting over the awkward stuff.
I hand Daniel my toiletry case and his, asking with a kiss on his cheek, “Can you take these to the honeywagon?”
Redix told Silas and Eily about them.
Honeywagons are RV trailers used on film sets. They’re luxury bathrooms on wheels and perfect for our glamping needs, too, so Silas bought a fancy, eight-room one.
This week, two of us will share the individual dressing rooms with private showers and such.
But this time…
I’m locking the door when I use it.
Last year, we left the doors unlocked as invitations, and it was fun. We learned how a max of three could fit in the shower. More than that, and someone’s drowning.
But one night, I went alone.
After our night of Dirty Doctors and Nasty Nurses, I was a blissful mess.
Lathering in pomegranate body wash, I sighed, relaxing. But when I opened my eyes, the lights oddly flickered, a sudden chill skittering across my wet flesh, though I stood under hot water.
Then … a thud shook the RV.
“Hello?” I called out, assuming Daniel and Silas were joining me like the night before.
But no one answered.
And the lights flickered lower.
I could barely see.
I needed to grab a towel and investigate, so I ripped the shower curtain open.
To find an evil silhouette eclipsing the flickering light.
Disguised by a black and gold horned mask with a lecherous smile, the demon shocked me, but I didn’t scream.
And the devil didn’t speak.
It just tilted its perverted face as if it recognized me. Then it dragged an eerie, onyx glare down my naked body, relishing my heaving breath, my dripping breasts, my nipples erect with fright.
Clad in a sinister black, dusty suede topcoat, it was obviously a male. No woman looms that large.
But this woman is skilled.
I’m too trained.
Instinct had me pulling back a punch aimed at his throat, but something killed the power. The flickering lights and pelting water stopped, darkness with an eerie chill flooding the space. I couldn’t see as I heard no footfalls, no slamming door while I just stood naked, heart pounding, pussy oddly aroused.
Then the lights jolted back on.
And he was gone.
It left me half terrified and half thrilled.
And this year?
My pulse races. No telling what will terrify us.
“Babe,” Daniel asks, “where are our handcuffs?”
He’s ignored my request about our toiletry stuff. Instead, Daniel’s unzipped our garment bags, inspecting our costumes for tonight.
“Here.” I hand him two pairs from our luggage. “It’s kinda weird this year, not hosting a trick night.”
“It’s kind of fun,” he rumbles. “I like the idea of others playing with us this time.”
Yep, there goes another zap under my zipper.
Never did I think I’d be fucking my friends and more.
And never did I think my hot-ass husband would eagerly join me.
But never doesn’t really exist.
Not when you invite change. Not when you invite lust and love into your life.
“Are you going to let him do it this week?” I tease Daniel. “Luca wanted you last year, but Ford and Mateo beat you to it. So, this year? Are you up for Luca’s whip?”
“It depends,” he answers.
“On?”
“On what my wife is willing to do. I’ll try new things and partners if you do, too. We have to be equal. That only feels right to me.”
Warmth floods my heart. I close the distance, kissing his granite jaw, then tenderly, his lips. “You always feel right to me.”
He knows it’s my answer; it’s my permission.
Brushing his thumb over my lips, he asks, “Do the others still feel the same?”
The others are our polycule: The Six.
We always talk. We always make sure. And anyone can always change their mind, and we’ll stop. We honor our partners first and our paramours, our spouses, above all.
“So far,” I answer. “I assume once everyone’s here, we’ll chat.”
“Where are they, anyway?” He taps his watch for the time.
“Silas and Redix are ferrying the guests from the mainland. And Cade’s setting up for tonight in the Trick Tent, while Eily’s disappeared inside her house. She’s forbidden us to enter.”
That’s where Silas and Eily house the small catering and event staff who usually help.
I know they’ve had them sign NDAs. They’ve secured their phones. They’re paying them a generous sum, inviting the staff to enjoy their sprawling home by the water, too.
As long as the staff thinks this is just a Halloween party inside the tents.
As long as they don’t leave the house at night.
As long as they don’t get curious and wander down the sandy path under rows of swaying palmetto palms to the clearing where our glamping village stands erect.
Because this setting is spook meets spunk.
Bless my heart. I’m turning British. But you get the idea.
Seven tents rise in a circle. Five standing side-by-side. They’re white and rectangular, like this one. They’re where the polycules will sleep … and more.
But two black tents soar together. They’re giant round event tents.
One is where we’ll eat and hang out during the day. One is where we’ll be tricked every night.
And all hover on wooden platforms two feet off the ground.
This is a coastal island, after all.
Silas cleared this side of it, facing the wide river, swirled with swaying marsh grass. He didn’t remove all the trees, just the low brush and scraggly baby pines choking the view.
What’s left are the sprawling ancient live oaks, their wide, low branches dripping with Spanish moss, forming ghostly canopies.
By day, this place looks like a sultry island getaway.
Like where you want to honeymoon in a romantic Lowcountry tent village with the blue Atlantic shimmering in the distance.
But by night?
Holy shit, it’s on.
I live on a Lowcountry island, too. Daufuskie Island, and I know.
Once the sun melts into the ocean’s horizon and all lights dim as the lapping water lulls the eyes of the living asleep…
The darkness awakes, creeping through the shadows as the full moon slides behind the night clouds, conjuring…
The Haints.
Silence your naive mind long enough, and your soul can sense them haunting here.
Because haints are unique.
They haunt this watery land of ancient decay, decadence, and evil deeds. They’re said to be malicious spirits, jealous of your life.
That’s why, in the Lowcountry, we paint our porch ceilings watery blue. It’s lore. It’s a spell, scaring the haints away.
Don’t believe in ghosts?
Fine.
But Home Depot does. They even sell Haint Blue paint.
So, when you finally feel one shiver up your spine, its cold breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck? You can buy pretty blue paint to ward off that evil looming spirit … and hope like hell it works.
Daniel catches me musing. “What are you grinning about?”
“Nothing.” I tuck our empty luggage under the bed.
“Bollocks,” he laughs, toiletry bags in hand, standing at the threshold of our tent.
Its canvas walls are secured open, pulled back like a curtain to a stage.
And why do I know that’s how we’ll sleep?
The polycules will leave our tents open. We’ll be too excited to let others watch and maybe join us. We’ll want them more than we’ll worry about what else may creep in, too.
Gators. Bobcats. Snakes. Haints.
That’s why I love this; feeling haunted and horny at the same time.
“Come on.” I smack my man’s ass. “Let’s get our spook on.”
CHAPTER FOUR
CADE
You gotta tease and ease, not plop and pop.
“Need anything?” Charlie’s voice calls out.
“Cade,” that’s Daniel, “we got bugger-all to do. Let us help.”
They wrap on the flap of the Trick Tent. I rush their way, grabbing the canvas panels, poking my head through the flap.
“Boo!” I answer. “And fuck off. Literally. Go fuck and quality test the beds.”
“We’re not snogging while others work.”
Huh … Daniel’s too hot to look so tense.
“Alright.” I shrug. “Redix just texted. They’re five minutes out. Take some carts and help them on the dock. Help everyone get settled into their tents.”
“Race ya!”
Charlie turns, charging toward the row of parked golf carts we use on the island. She makes Daniel lighten up. She makes him race after her, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder with a squeal.
Good. They’ll help Silas and Redix welcome our guests to Indigo Island, while I finish in here, putting the finishing touches on our first trick night.
An ice-breaker night.
Wait.
It’s gonna get so hot in here; ice won’t have a chance in hell.
Of course, I’m talking about our erotic games, not the autumn temperature. These event tents can be cooled or heated, but it’s perfect outside.
And it’s perfect in here, too.
This Trick Tent is glam meets gruesome.
Eily’s had the inside of it draped in black velvet. From the center pole, billowing down the rails, velvet pools over the wooden platform covered in a mismatch of plush, dark rugs.
Spider webs and Spanish moss sway from heights, too, while dozens of tall candelabras flicker with faux candles.
Once the sun goes down, orange and green uplights will add to the spooky feel. That and the dry ice machine, misting an eerie, sandalwood-scented fog through the tent while a speaker system pumps wicked, wanton beats.
Silas has been working on the playlist for months.
Hundreds of starry lights twinkle above. It looks like a spooktacular night sky above five sofas made of garnet velvet square cushions.
More like blood-red velvet.
With their low height and generous size, the sofas are perfect for … everything.
Eily arranged them in a cozy pentagon, framing the tent’s center. Their black, acrylic side tables gleam … empty?
Huh. Where’s our stuff?
Lubes, condoms, wipes, and toys.
No one in their raucous mind has an orgy without them.
Since she won’t let me near her house, I text Eily.
Where are our fuck bins?
Quickly, she replies:
Fairy O’ Fucks
Behind the curtain opposite the door flap. We made a little room to stage our stuff for each night
See if you can find my pumpkin butt plugs
Some guests are too new
Zar & Nick. Beau & Blair & Colt
We can’t go from handshakes to hotdogging in one night. That’ll scare them away
They trust us. They’re
WTF? A rhino?
No more Paw Patrol
= horny
What happened to the ?
Satanists canceled it
Besides, imagine
Pumpkin butt plugs glowing in the dark
17 glowing butt plugs?
Like Ass-O-Lanterns in the night?
That’s a hard pass
Wisely, Eily assigned the first night to me.
This ain’t my first raunchy rodeo. I’m the OG. I started our first throuple: Redix, Silas, and me.
Or did Redix start it?
Or did Silas plan it?
Tough to say.
But with each person, we’ve added more love, more lives to share, and … more bodies.
So, you can’t rush this.
You can’t ask seventeen people to bend over for a luminescent butt plug like a witchy spell of, “Poof! Now glow and fuck!”
That’s a yeast infection and a yelling match waiting to happen.
No. Communication. Consent. And tonight? Costumes and carnal games are required.
You gotta tease and ease, not plop and pop.
I refocus her.
How’s dinner going?
Fairy O’ Fucks
Good
We’re serving Morgue-a-ritas, virgin and slutty
And finger foods. Literally. Severed-finger cheese sticks with bloody marinara sauce. Witch hat dippers. Halloween bat wings
Bat wings?
Chicken wings. As if
The Treat Tent is almost set
That’s what we’re calling the tent beside this one.
The Treat Tent is for friends and food.
The Trick Tent is for fucks and fun.
Dusk falls as golf carts whir, guests chatter outside, and I prepare adult games. I hear them enter and exit the Treat Tent next door, grabbing dinner bites and drinks.
Then slamming doors to the honeywagon let me know the hour is near. Everyone’s taking showers, getting dressed in costumes, as I finish by covering the rugs in the center of the tent with the black Fuck Sheets that Silas bought in bulk.
Yep, they’re a thing.
And yep, we’ll be washing dozens this week.
I check my watch.
Thirty minutes til Boo Time.
Cloaked by the night, I dart from the Trick Tent to the honeywagon, to the dressing room I share with Redix.
I open the door.
“Well, hey there, little lady,” Redix tips his cowboy hat, greeting me shirtless.
“Oh, my god!” I beam. “You’re really going for it! Leather vest, chaps, boots, and turn around…”
He does it proudly, with his arms like “praise me,” and I chew my lip, so in love, so in awe.
You can slurp champagne from the deep side divots in Redix’s ass. His hard glute muscles have no tan lines.
I swear, you can take the boy off the surfboard, but not the man. He still lays out naked with his long hair, kissed by the rays, too.
But it’s the scar on his backside that he doesn’t hide anymore. It fills me with love, my eyes biting back tears. He got that scar because of me, and for too many anguishing years, I never knew until it was almost too late.
But now Redix shows it off in black assless chaps over a mouthwatering black leather jockstrap.
“Alright, alright.” He turns back around. “Your cowboy is ready to ride.” Hooking his finger over my jeans, he yanks me to his lips. “And I sure want my partner.”
Slowly, he kisses me, cupping my cheek, his tongue laving over mine. My core melts, softening with heat, my soul dancing with her match, her mate. We were teenage sweethearts. He was my first so many years ago and still, Redix knows how to claim me.
We’ll never part, but…
“Holster your pistol, cowboy,” I huff over our lips. “I gotta put my costume on and get back to the tent before everyone else.”
“Just a quickie,” he begs.
“Just a hell no.” Gently, I wedge him away. “I’m hosting tonight. So hurry and help me get ready.”
Even while I slip on my matching assless chaps, boots, vest, and hat, Redix plays.
He sits on the vanity countertop, tugging at the strings of the tiny red and white gingham bikini I’m wearing underneath.
“Quit it,” I laugh.
It’s like I’m a picnic, and he wants a bite.
“Dayum,” he sighs, coasting his fingertips over my belly. It’s obvious we’ve had two daughters together, and we’re proud of it.
“My wife looks too damn beautiful to share,” he says. “I may keep you to myself this week.”
I snap my glance up. “Are you serious?”
I’m not mad.
Sometimes, he or I get possessive. We only want the other. Sometimes, one of our partners feels that way, and we understand. When we go to Luca’s hotel or Stacey’s showroom, sometimes we stay closed as couples, or as a group.
No matter what, though, Redix insists, I’m the only woman he’ll kiss—ever and until his dying day.
But I want Redix to kiss Silas and Daniel, and when he does, it’s beautiful.
Those three used to be closed, but they’re opening to other men in different ways. It’s up to them. We wives let them decide.
Because Charlie, Eily, and I do the same. We’ve always been open to other women, though Charlie can be more reserved, and we love her for it.
When it comes to the women with the men? Usually, we’re with our paramours. For us, that’s our spouses. But sometimes we share, and sometimes we swap. It depends on the mood or the need. We never judge, and we always talk about it.
Because we all have our thing.
Like Silas will only hold Eily when he sleeps. He has to wake up with her every day. And Charlie only wants Daniel when she’s upset. Only he makes her feel like it’ll be okay. And Redix has scars and memories only I share, only I can hold.
That’s your paramour.
The one you need above all.
“Nah, I’m kidding.” Redix keeps tickling my belly. “You were pregnant and didn’t want to play last year, so you should get your groove back.”
