Halloween For Six: A Lots of Friends To Lovers Romance, page 8
“So, you’re not a fan of shrimp and grits?”
A lush accent interrupts my untouched brunch. I glance up. Luca’s taking a seat across from me.
“I prefer scones. But I’ve learned to love biscuits. Southern biscuits.”
“Likewise.” Luca sips an espresso. “Though … I still crave the taste of home.”
“Greece, right?”
He nods. “And you? Do you miss London?”
“Actually, Cornwall is home and…”
I glance across the Treat Tent. Its side flaps are open, the autumn sun spilling in.
I have more in common with the fifteen people sitting at hand-hewn farm tables or nestled together on piles of ivory floor cushions than I do with the average Englishman.
Not all accept our life … or our love.
And I care bugger-all if they don’t.
“Though, I like it here.” I turn back to Luca. “This is home. With my wife. Our kids. With you lot, our friends. I’m relaxed here.”
“And yet,” knowingly, he traps my gaze, “something haunts you.”
Crikey Moses. The fork in my hand stalls. I’ve barely eaten. I can’t. For weeks, my hollow stomach’s been in knots.
And this makes it worse.
“How did you know?”
Luca leans back in his chair, his white linen shirt falling open, his jeans faded and relaxed.
“I watched you eat breakfast with Redix,” he says. “Well … he ate, then left, yet you remained like you needed to tell him something, but you didn’t. You can’t.”
“Bloody hell.” I’m not upset. I’m impressed. “You got all that from watching us?”
He smirks. “I gain a lot from watching.”
Luca is a Pleasure Dom.
For a moment, I forgot what I’ve witnessed of his expertise so far.
He likes to restrain, to control, to watch until you let go, until you come for him, breaking into someone new.
I know his fetish saved him from grief. I know that’s why Zar means so much to him. And I know how he lost his first wife. I know how he’d kill for his second wife now. Luca worships Scarlett.
“You saw all that?” I raise a brow. “That I need to tell Redix something?”
“I know Redix well.” He sets his cup down. “He’s been a close friend for years, and I know you can tell him whatever has you, uh…” He licks his bottom lip. “Whatever has you bottled up.”
When someone can read you like a book? Like an erotic one of your darkest secrets, should you be scared? Or aroused?
And when that someone looks like Luca Mercier? Like a merciless Greek sex god? I mean … a Dom.
Should I submit to him, too?
Sweat hits my pits, beads forming over my top lip, too.
“How do you know I’m,” I grab a breath, “bottled up?”
I don’t know why I can confess to Luca what only Charlie knows. That for weeks I haven’t been able to spunk. Translation: ejaculate.
Yes, I’m in pain, but this finally feels good. It feels good talking to a man about it, too.
“Has it ever happened to you?” I whisper. “You know? Your bottle gets hard, but your cork can’t pop?”
Luca’s chuckle is deep, not judging. “A few times. Once, it was stress from inheriting my hotels. In the past, it was grief or guilt. And, father to father, you’ll understand; I can’t always … pop my cork … if I fear my daughter may interrupt.”
I toss my chin up, laughing. Relieved and validated. “It’s a wonder parents ever fuck again.”
His tone drops. “Eventually, the urge in us is too strong.”
We pause. The room, full of our friends and partners, falls away.
It’s just Luca and his crystal eyes mesmerizing me, asking me, “What do you need to tell him?”
“Redix?” I lower my voice because Luca looks worried that I’ll hurt his dear friend.
“It’s not about our love,” I answer. “The six of us are well—quite well. It’s about our work, our show.”
“What about it? It’s a hit. You won an Emmy.”
“I want to end it,” I confess. “I never saw the story lasting this long, but now hundreds of good people depend on it for their jobs, and Redix loves his role. He deserves to win for it.”
Slowly, Luca nods. “And you feel guilty because you’re co-stars, but you won last year, not him.”
I look down, pushing grits across my plate.
“It gutted me. To win when he didn’t.”
“Because you love him.” Luca understands. “And now, it’s tough when you need to do what’s best for you but not for others.”
“I feel guilty, and it’s bloody killing me. The studio wants to know next week if I’ll sign on for more seasons, so I must decide. That’s why I can’t—”
I can’t even say it.
Every time I think about it, it gets worse. The pressure. The frustration. The embarrassment. Eventually, everyone will know. Charlie’s trying to help me hide it. But why should I? I trust these people.
They’ll understand.
Bloody hell, I more than trust them. I want them.
We’re open this week. Rarely, does our polycule do this. Usually, it’s only The Six. Mostly, it’s me and my wife.
But on our holidays, the exploration, the erotic play, and sometimes the new lovers make us stronger. I only return, more devoted to my partners, more in love with my wife. My wife, Charlie, who supports me. She sees who raises my eyebrow.
Yes, I fancy Stacey. Of course, I do. She looks like Charlie.
Yes, I think Beau is fit. He’s an all-American man, a perfect athlete hiding a bad boy underneath. I can tell, and it’s intoxicating.
“But you will,” Luca commands, interrupting my silent panic. “Your cork will pop tonight.”
Of the new partners I crave this week, it’s Luca.
I wanted him last year.
His whip intrigues me. All my muscles and might can take it. I’d relish it. Fuck being the boss this week; I need a break. And with the way Luca lowers his dark brows, his lush lips curling up, it’s like he knows exactly what I need, and…
“Heads up!” A deep voice booms.
I glimpse a blur, a football expertly aimed, landing in my shocked grasp.
“Come on!” Beau shouts for me and Luca. “It’s flag football time. Shirts versus skins.”
“Women are skins!” Eily cheers, jumping up from the cushions and flinging her T-shirt off.
She’s so cheeky. Bras are a joke to her.
“If you play tits out and topless,” Silas protests, rising beside her, “it ain’t fair. The men will be too distracted.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nick boasts, leaning against a table. “No offense to our beautiful ladies, but I’m immune. I’m the only gay man here.”
They all begin gathering in the middle of the tent, dressed or not, shirts and bras flying off for the daytime game.
Only Luca and I are seated, witnessing their standoff. It’s entertainment at its best.
Eily throws her arm over Charlie, who throws her arm over Blair. Then, Stacey, Cade, and Scarlett join their topless line.
Like a firing squad of a dozen mouthwatering naked breasts aimed at the men, our women aren’t playing fair.
They planned those little black dolphin shorts they’re wearing, too.
They make Hooters look like Amateur Hour while they stand like the Champs of Chichis.
“Beau plays with us,” Blair announces, “and you guys get Nick because he’s a pro. He’ll help you since the rest of you fellas say you can’t control your blue-veined junket pumpers while our tits are—”
“Our what?” Redix howls. “What the fuck is a blue-veined junk—”
“She knows a million names for it,” Beau interjects. “Donut holder. Frankendick. Hole puncher. Jawbreaker. Meat flute. And my favorite … a salty yogurt slinger.”
“I’m marrying two of them.” Blair shrugs. “Gotta be creative.”
Silas smirks. “Hell, that names Redix before breakfast. Donuts, yogurt, and all.”
Cade quips, “Don’t forget his Frankencurve.”
“You mean his giant hoochie hook!” Eily jumps in.
“Fine then,” Redix says, untying his shorts. “I’ll play with my hook out and catch you all.”
“Yeah,” Mateo unzips his jeans, “our jawbreakers will distract the ladies.”
“Aww, hell nah.” But Luke cups his crotch. “I gotta protect Big Jim and the twins.”
Ford wraps around him, biting Luke’s neck. “Take one for the team, and if Jim gets hurt, I’ll kiss him and make him better.”
A shirtless Beau asks, “So … we doing this?”
Gawd blimey, that man is fit. Something about his beard turns me on.
Luca stands. So do I.
“We’ll play,” I announce, tossing the ball back to Beau. “Knobs versus knockers.”
Beau catches it. “Play on my team,” he says, “to even it out.”
Quit tempting me.
“Whose team is the ghost playing on?” Silas jokes.
Zar drags his shirt off. He’s ripped and bronze underneath. “Some of y’all are pale, but you ain’t ghosts.”
“He means our haint,” Redix explains.
Her tone worried, Stacey probes, “Our haint?”
“Yeah,” Silas answers, “Cade saw him. Charlie saw him. And last year, I felt him following me. We conjured him with our wicked sex.”
“Silas,” Eily huffs, rolling her eyes, “no one conjured a haint. We’re not wicked. Cade was just having a horny hallucination. There’s going to be seventeen of us. We’re bound to get dick delusions and vaginal visions all week.”
Luca smirks. “My kind of nightmare.”
“But y’all,” Stacey warns, “haints are real. I sense one at Delta’s all the time. Like it suddenly gets icy cold in the middle of a warm room. That house is almost two hundred years old and haunted.”
Don’t be fooled by her beauty queen looks. Stacey’s a smart woman. She’s sussed this out, raising my pulse because I believe her.
She gestures to the clearing outside. “And what about this island?”
Silas stifles a yawn. His default mode is relaxed. With a stretch, he fills us in.
“Books and records say there was an abandoned French mansion here. Old letters say they heard screams from it. But it’s long gone. It belonged to some pagan Marquis, hiding his depraved rituals from the English Puritans. Marquis Lois Ravenel and—”
“And he’s not my ancestor, you little shit.” Charlie’s fists land on her waist.
But it is her last name, and her people are from here.
Still, I can’t tell if Silas is taking the piss because they always go on like this.
“Charlie girl,” he flips her ponytail, “don’t be scared. It’s just your kinky ancestor who turned his mansion into a wicked brothel during the Revolutionary War.”
She swats his arm. “You’re lying.”
“No, he’s not.” Stacey aims her stare, searching the dark shadows of the thick marshy forest on the edge of the clearing. “That’s the history of these islands. People used them for all kinds of dark deeds and rituals.”
“Y’all,” Cade fears, “we’re haunted.”
“No,” Beau twirls the football in his fingers, “we’re playing.”
For hours, we play.
For hours, the lads tease the ladies with every ghoulish genital joke you can imagine.
It’s a wonder no one gets their jibbly bits smashed.
Half of us are starkers except for our trainers. All of us are sweating with black or gold flags dangling from the belts around our waists.
Still, the ladies, Beau, and I lead by one point until Nick summons his lads into a huddle for the final two minutes.
“Shit,” Beau huffs, glistening with sweat beside me.
Bloody hell, I can’t stop glancing down at his abs. His trail. His bulge.
We kept our gym shorts on. No sense in distracting our team with balls and bats, too.
Wrong sport. Right image.
I wipe my brow. “What?”
“Nick may play defense for Carolina,” Beau warns, “and he may be injured and not running the ball today, but he’s got a cannon for an arm. Watch out. Here comes the final trick play.”
“Whada we do?” Scarlett asks.
Beau studies our beefy opponents. “Cover your man,” he coaches. “Literally.”
But that does fuck all.
Redix snaps the ball to Nick, who expertly holds, waiting. Because instead of running away and avoiding flags getting ripped off, the lads charge us. They trick us.
While Luke stays open, running down the field for Nick’s throw, each man sweeps a woman off her feet, like a regency romance on steroids.
Silas spins a giggling Eily around. Redix has Cade wrapped around him. Stacey takes on Mateo, who scoops her up like a damsel. Our ladies laugh as Ford rushes Beau, defended by Blair and Charlie, and Luca aims for me.
Because Zar tricked Scarlett, tossing her over his shoulder. She’s slapping Zar’s naked back while I tower, smirking at Luca’s approaching blitz.
I match him in size, and that’s an impressive amount. We stop, nose to nose, bodies dripping, grins muzzled.
“Tonight,” Luca dares. “You’re mine.”
Or is it a promise?
Bleeding hell, I hope so.
We leave the game a draw and take our showers.
After a leisurely dinner of calzones shaped like skulls, I notice Luca summoning Redix. Nervously, I watch them leave the Treat Tent.
I trust Luca. He’ll keep my secret. He’ll let me tell Redix what’s troubling me, but their exit is odd until Eily catches me watching.
“It’s Luca’s turn tonight,” she shares.
Sitting on Silas’s lap beside me, she swirls her fingertip through orange icing on a chocolate cupcake, teasing, “Not me betting a million on BDSM treats and tricks for all.”
Please be right. Please be right.
Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.
The rush heightens when Redix returns with garment bags draped over his arm.
“Alright, y’all,” he announces. “Put on a cape, but the red lingerie and men’s shorts are optional.”
Scarlett unzips the bags as if she knows what her husband has planned. “Here you go.” She hands cupless bras and crotchless panties to the women who coo, admiring their quality.
“Nice.” Stacey fingers the chrome buckles. “Mariemur’s red leather line.”
I assume the women know the designer reference, while all men know BDSM kink when we see it.
Holy fuck, my stirring cock sure recognizes it.
Luke studies the black leather shorts in his hand. “Don’t think I’ve ever worn men’s fetish wear before.”
“No fatigues this week.” Stacey drapes her arms around Luke’s neck. “It’s Halloween and time to play with our husbands.”
“What are we playing?” Ford asks.
“Put on your vampire capes.” Redix whips his over his broad shoulders. “Tonight, Luca is playing Love Bites.”
Daniel Pierce, this is going to suck … and you’ll bloody love it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DANIEL
“My island. My orgy.”
Love bites?
Yes, even the song plays in the Trick Tent.
And most would feel like a bleeding idiot dressed like this, but I’m used to elaborate wardrobes.
Besides, sixteen of us are standing in a circle, draped in vampire capes. It’s not embarrassing if it’s on trend. Right?
Luca wears the most elaborate cape. Instead of fetish shorts, he’s laced into black leather pants. Instead of being bare-chested, his white ruffled shirt hangs open.
Cast him as Dracula. With his onyx hair and crystal eyes, Luca IS the deathly Dom … except for his bronze skin.
He must’ve fed recently.
But not on Redix. They don’t cross that line. Don’t think they ever will.
“Damn,” Silas admires Luca. “Who are the lucky ones getting impaled tonight?”
On the other hand? Silas would clearly pole-vault over the line with Luca.
As would I.
Luca presents the black cauldron to us. “We will suck three victims tonight.”
“But no blood play!” Eily yelps. “I mean, no judgment, but I’ll barf.”
Stacey chuckles. “That sounds judgy to me.”
“Really?” Eily’s eyes get wide. She didn’t mean to offend. “You do blood play?”
“No,” Ford firmly barks. “We’re not into blood kink, but Delta’s has some rare, respected clients who are.”
“Who?” Of course, Cade investigates.
“I bet I know,” Silas speculates. “And I’ll donate a hundred thousand to any charity if you tell me what he hides behind that black door on the third floor.”
“Ahem.”
Stacey coughs. Her body, strapped in red leather lingerie, suddenly fidgets, and Ford cuts his wife a look. Stacey cuts him one back. Like What? It just slipped out.
“See!” Redix gloats. “It’s obvious. Delta’s third floor hides our demon haint with his black horned mask and gold monster cock.”
“Silas! I mean, Redix!” Eily stomps her bare foot on the rug. “Both y’all. Quit it. There’s no demon.”
“Ah, baby girl.” Silas wraps around her from behind, kissing her cheek. “Who cares who’s haunting Delta’s when we got our very own horny haint right here on Indigo Island?”
“We are NOT haunted!”
Eily keeps insisting, and I don’t know what to believe.
Is there a strange man Eily has enlisted to scare us? Apparently. Is he a friend? Or is he a foe, as Charlie always fears? Maybe. Is this villain mindfucking us as planned? Obviously.
Or is this island, like many places along these dark, swirling waters, haunted?
Definitely.
“I sure hope we’re haunted,” Blair chimes in. “I need inspiration for my next smutty book. Like lonely demons who crave romance.”
She’s an author. She’s thrilled by the paranormal: fact or fiction.
“Enough.” Gently, Luca commands the room, “Let’s draw.”
