Halloween For Six

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

EILY

This is Halloween Ho Prep 101.

H ow do you prepare for hosting a Halloween for sex … I mean … for six ?

Me? I start from the bottom up.

Lying on a table, naked ass in the air, I prop my chin on my forearms, gazing at a painting of a perfect peach.

“Now, you may feel a little tingle,” the spa technician warns, like this is my first assperience. “Ready?”

I grin.

“Blast my ass, Doc.”

Nope, she’s not a doctor, but she is about to play cosmetic laser tag with my rump, zapping it into a perfect peach, too.

“Eily, you have some assplaining to do,” Cade chuckles, naked ass up, too, and lying beside me with her lips smushed against the table. “I can’t believe you talked us into this.”

“Yeah,” Charlie, lying on the other side of Cade, wonders aloud, “like … how is this a facial when they’re putting a green, goopy mask on my ass ?”

“This is the Top Tushy Treatment, ladies,” I boast. “Today, our peaches get steamed, zapped, peeled, masked, and creamed.”

Cade scoffs, “My peach gets creamed a-plenty at home.”

I glance at her and Charlie.

Our three treatment tables are lined up, probably for when innocent bridal parties come in for spa days, but this is equally momentous.

This is Halloween Ho Prep 101.

“Look,” I school them on our sexcapades, “we’re about to have our asses out for five nights in front of fourteen guests—seventeen if you count us—and I, for one, plan on having a perfect pumpkin for the hallowed feast.”

A technician glides a wand over Cade’s booty. It zaps her flesh, probably erasing a little pimple.

“Ouch!” But it makes Cade jump.

“Someone’s being a butt baby.”

“No, I’m not,” she huffs. “But I’ll have a roasted pumpkin if we keep this up.” She sniffs the air. “Hair. I smell burning hair.”

“Like your pound cake hasn’t been roasted and toasted in hotter ways than this before.”

Charlie snorts, amused by the truth.

Cade rolls her violet eyes at me.

“Besides,” I remind her, “you’re both so busy, I have to schedule a derrière date just to see you.”

Charlie sighs, propping her chin in her palm.

“I know. Sorry. It’s been a crazy year, and I need this break, too. Lately, I’ve been hiding in the bathroom to get some me-time. But no. My kids think I sit on the porcelain throne to hold court, resolving their latest fuss. ”

“Think that’s bad?” Cade says, “I had an erotic dream about Paw Patrol the other night.”

Charlie laughs. “Which one?”

“The girl pup and the police pup. Should I be disturbed? Was it a sign?”

“Girl, that’s a sign you should be properly fucked.”

“Exactly!” I blurt. “We got Brazilians, butt facials, and, oh, let’s do spray tans today, too!”

“Nope.” Cade puts her verbal foot down. “You can zap my peach but not bronze it. We’re not porn stars.”

“No. We’re even luckier than pro pussies.”

The technician zaps away at my fanny.

Do I smell burning hair, too?

Meh. Maybe .

But I’m too excited. I’ve worked too hard. So hard that I’m now a Pornified Party Planner.

I even made the certificate for myself on Canva and framed it.

“We’re a polycule of six,” I continue, “about to host eleven friends in an epic Halloween week of kinky tricks and treats, and you two are my slutty ghouls, so spread your vertical grins about it.”

I don’t care that the technicians can hear our every word.

I’m not ashamed of our lives and love.

Are we non-traditional?

Yes, and a-haunting we will go.

You see, celibate, miserable, old White men made most rules about marriage and sex, and I’m not dumb enough to follow them.

What did they know about love, anyway?

Are we controversial? Six people fucking? And loving?

To some, I guess .

I’m a happily married woman. I’m supposed to be devoted to my husband, and I am.

Silas Van de May has my soul.

Every morning, I wake up in his tan, beefy arms while he kisses my neck, his lush lips softly whispering how he loves me while his hard morning wood eagerly pounds on my door.

And usually, I open wide for him with a smile.

Silas is my paramour.

He’s my every breath.

But my heart? My body?

I’m exactly like my husband. Our hearts are big enough to love more than one, and our bodies won’t be shamed into following rules we didn’t make.

And with the way we break those rules? It’s too much fun.

Yes, you’re welcome to join my vaginal vigilante crew, too. I’ll make us some T-shirts.

So, now it’s the six of us—at least—when we have the rare time.

There’s me and my husband, Silas; Cade and her husband, Redix; and Charlie and her husband, Daniel.

“The Six,” as we call ourselves.

And yes, we share more than sex. We’re close friends. We’re a chosen family. Hell, some of us work together, but not this week.

This Halloween getaway is for adults only. It’s for taboo tricks and treats.

“You know I’d be smiling about this,” Charlie says, “if our husbands were here, spreading their cheeks, too. I call bullshit on anything women are supposed to do that men don’t have to do as well.”

“I call it ironic,” Cade adds. “Because our men are gold- medal athletes in the anal Olympics. Where are they, anyway?”

“Shopping,” I inform Cade.

“Shopping for what? You have everything ready. You’ve been planning this erotic extravaganza for months.”

“I have. I’ve decorated romantic glamping tents for each polycule and?—”

“ Glamping ?” Charlie squeaks. “And they’re decorated ? On a Lowcountry island ?”

Can her voice get any higher?

“Bitch, I’m an artist.” I laugh. “Like I won’t go glamorous, even in nature and shit. We’ve built huge canvas tents that I decorated, putting cozy beds in them with white linens and indigo blankets, of course. I found cute furniture for each and hung twinkling lights on all the high wooden rafters. I even found huge white fuzzy carpets, like giant porno rugs. And I scored huge steel drum bathtubs. There’s one on each tent platform we built and?—”

“You mean platforms Silas built,” Cade corrects.

“Hell, yes, he did.” I swat her arm, all playful. “Give that man a project and some power tools, and he’s a pig in shit. Besides, Silas loves spending his money on others. So, after our Halloween, we’ll leave the glamping tents up and let charities use them for retreats.”

“You mean after you buy new beds for the tents,” Charlie warns, “because we’ll ruin them.”

She’s not wrong. We’ve learned the very fun way that some love leaves permanent stains.

Y’all, Tide detergent has nothing on our trysts. To be fair, we test its strength with silicone lube.

And who, other than charities, does my husband, Silas, like spending the fortune he’s inherited on?

Me .

For our wedding present, he bought me a private island on the Lowcountry coast of South Carolina. He named it “Indigo Island,” after the local art I create. Then he planted an indigo farm for me before he and a crew built my barn-sized art studio and a home we plan to fill with our kids one day.

But while I’m trying to get pregnant, I’m like Silas.

I love spoiling our friends.

I live for hosting our get-togethers.

Nice ones and naughty ones, too.

“So, what do you call the fancy tents we used last year?” Cade asks. “Roughing it?”

“Oh, those were tiny yurts. Our group was smaller last year. Hell, you and Scarlett were pregnant and couldn’t even play our games.”

“We got in the spooky spirit.” She reminds me, “We painted pumpkins on our bellies every day.”

“That was so cute.” Charlie kicks her feet. “Who’s coming back?”

Last year, I convinced Silas we should host a Halloween week on our island. But not everyone we invited was able to come … or play. Bellies and balls got in the way.

A.k.a. pregnancy and the NFL.

But this year?

Things have changed, and I’m brewing up naughty plans.

Drawing a breath for this list, I’m not exhausted by it—no. My kitty is sweeter than candy corn over our guests.

“Well, it’s the six of us, of course. Luca and Scarlett are returning, and Stacey will be back with her husbands, too.”

“All three this year?”

Hmm. Noted.

Charlie’s kitty sounds excited about Stacey’s men .

“Yeah,” I reply. “Stacey’s husbands, Ford and Mateo, are returning, and finally, her husband, Luke, is joining us. He’s on a thirty-day leave. He’s coming and?—”

“Oh,” Cade goes for the pun, “it sounds like we’re all coming this year.”

Devilishly, I nod. Trying not to get distracted by the word “coming.” It’s like a bright, shiny object to my dirty mind. It has ADD.

Not that ADD.

My dirty mind has Active Dick Delirium.

That’s what you get when your husband has a talented one.

“Yeah,” I focus, “and football won’t get in the way this year, either. Zar can come with Nick since Nick’s on Injury Reserve again this season.”

Charlie tsks, shaking her head. “Poor guy. His fucking ACL. Players tackle his knee, knowing it’s his weak spot.”

“And since Zar and Nick are coming this year,” I keep ticking down the list, “Beau Bronson and Blair Monroe are coming, too. But Colton Hawke, their partner, has a home game in Atlanta, so he’ll join us later.”

“Why didn’t they come last year?” Cade asks. “They were invited.”

“Because,” I shrug, “that’s like asking newbies to pilot the Space Shuttle with only a single-engine plane license. We’re kinda intimidating.”

“We are ?”

Cade doesn’t get it, but I do.

Silas was my first, and he’ll be my last. But, when I literally fell into his world, my big, rebel-hearted, future husband was already in a hot throuple with Cade and Redix.

And those two were already soulmates .

Cade and Redix were childhood sweethearts with a past that needed healing, and Silas did just that—he brought them back together.

At first, once Silas found me, he didn’t want to share me with them. He was too protective, and with good reason, given my past.

I admit I was intimidated, too.

Redix Dean was Hollywood’s bad-boy Romeo, and Cade Bryant was a former model turned cop. Like, she’s his Juliet. Long story, but theirs has a happy ending.

And it was one I immediately felt.

You can’t be around us and not feel the intense connections.

And I didn’t want to change one long, tawny hair on my husband’s sexy head. So, I insisted on joining his throuple with Cade and Redix.

Best. Decision. Ever.

Like winning a Lotta Love Lottery.

I didn’t know friendship, intimacy, and sex could be that great.

Then Charlie and her husband, Daniel, joined our foursome on our New Year’s cruise.

Talk about sailing on a Sea of Sin.

With the intense history Charlie and Daniel have? With how Charlie grew up with Silas and was his first mega-crush? And with how Daniel works with Redix now? They’re two of Hollywood’s leading men on a scorching hot show, acting like closeted Vice cops in love?

Yep, we were a powder keg, exploding with passion, love, and lots of lube that week.

Oh, and Clone-A-Willies, too.

Thus, The Six were born .

But here’s the thing: birds of a poly feather flock together.

So, our friends and their polycules are coming, too.

Coming.

See? How can I avoid the pun?

“So, that’s seventeen people total?” Charlie counts on her fingers. “Six women and eleven men? Holy Halloween holes to be haunted.”

My imagination sparks, picturing the Halloween slasher series Scream . Hoping how, yeah, we’ll be screaming friends, alright, but it won’t be over Ghostface.

No, we’ll be screaming with seventeen O faces.

“But not everyone is open.” I wag my finger. “Some are closed. They’ll be more about parallel polyamory. They’ll celebrate with us, not be with us.”

“And yet,” Cade lilts, “we’ve seen how some change, even if for a night or a holiday.”

“Yeah,” I shrug, “if that’s what they want. Like last year with Scarlett and Stacey’s husbands.”

“Damn,” Charlie sighs, “talk about a Halloween boneyard. Luca and Ford were two alphas who got off dominating each other and lucky Mateo. Their wives sure loved it, too.”

“Oh!” I jump.

Glancing over my shoulder, I admire my technician spreading cold aloe gel over my booty and…

How cute!

It looks so shiny I shake it. “Y’all, look at my booty. It’s The Great Pumpkin.”

Charlie laughs with me, but leave it to her to count heads, too. Like we’re going to war and not a week of cock-n-cunt parties .

“We’ll be outnumbered,” she says. “That’s almost two men for every woman.”

My eyes get wide. “And the problem is ...?”

“No need to padlock your pussy.” Cade dismisses Charlie’s cock count. “Not every man is open to other women.”

“Well then…” Charlie rises on her elbows, letting her white towel fall away, exposing her proud breasts and sending a tingle to my core.

*Zing.* It reminds me how most of our network, like me, is bisexual.

Charlie’s so fucking hot. So is Cade. So are our men.

Our sextuplet is just that: sex-y.

“How will we know,” she asks, “in the orgy pit, who can fuck or suck who?”

I love how candid we are. We gotta be. There are too many cocks and cunts involved to beat around the bush.

Beat. Bush.

There I go again.

Break out the pun scoreboard.

I’ll be chalking up points all week.

“I mean,” Charlie continues, “the six of us agreed to be open this week, but others may not be. And Eily,” I stop shaking my Jell-O, focusing my punny mind, “you’re trying to get pregnant.”

It’s sweet how Charlie worries, “Only Silas can have you bare, but what if it’s dark and?—”

“Don’t worry,” I sigh heavily.

I’m not mad or sad. Well, maybe a little … but I am discouraged. Silas and I have been trying for months with no luck. So, honestly? I’ve focused my frustration into my party.

“Here’s the plan…”

Both women look my way .

And while, yes, I’ve planned a week of Halloween sex to die for, we live for our bond.

When you find souls who match yours, you hang on. You cherish how great love can be—together.

The beautiful thing is, every year, our intimate network only grows.

That’s why it took some thought. I felt like a happy, horny little witch concocting this spell…

“I sent out RSVPs with kink quizzes and consent lists,” I explain. “Then, I sketched it out—five nights of five kinky tricks. I’ve assigned different guests to host a night in our Trick Tent, the biggest, most lavish on the island. They’ll surprise us with their theme, toys, and costumes for all, etcetera. That way, each night will be different, and that’s where the guys are. They’re shopping with Silas for the final night.”

Cade drops her sultry voice. “Other than me”—she’s always investigating like a cop—“ who’s hosting, and what are their tricks?”

I chew my lip, unsure if I want to ruin the spooky surprises.

So, I torture her with a smirk. “You already know you’re doing the first night, and Silas is hosting the last. The rest? Wait and see. But if you don’t host a night, you get to draw names for who’s the treat to be tricked?—”

“Who’s the treat ?”

Thrill shrieks Charlie’s voice. She’s an out-of-tune Mariah Carey.

“Three treats,” I clarify. “We’ll draw for a turn.”

“Why can’t we all be treats every night?”

I laugh at Cade. “Is your woo woo whining?”

“Uh, look here … my woo woo didn’t get tricked last year. I was seven months pregnant. So this year?” Playfully, Ca de shakes her tush, too. “My Boo Tee needs lots of haunting.”

See? She’s gonna be thankful she had her pumpkin polished.

“Don’t worry.” I wink. “You’ll get your scream night. We all will. And when it’s not your turn, you can watch or?—”

“ I want to know if you’ve invited that masked villain again.” Charlie looks deadly serious. That’s worse than dead serious. “I never did figure out who it was, except it’s a man, and I swear, last year when he scared me in the shower like Psycho . Fuck being a screaming bitch. I almost snapped his neck.”

“Yeah,” Cade huffs. “Whoever he is, tell him not to sneak up on a former Marine, a black belt, or a retired MMA fighter. And that’s just her, me, and Scarlett. Our men are nothing to fuck with either.”

I press my lips together…

Nope. Don’t do it. I’m not blurting this secret.

I mean, the seventeen of us are an intimate network—mess with one, and you’ll get fucked by all.

Yes, dammit.

That’s another pun, but it’s also Poly Rule #1.

So, it’s not easy trying to scare the ever-living shit out of people who trust you, who get your back.

But don’t worry.

I’m not a trained fighter like the women I love. Nope, I’m the smallest and youngest of us, and I have a quirky limp. It used to make me insecure. I used to be a wallflower until Silas.

Until he made me feel beautifully fucked, free, and fearless. In that order.

And now?

My mouth is my weapon. It has no silencer, no filter .

So, leave it to me to find the perfect man for an evil task and not be too shy to ask.

I spotted the villain in the dark corner of the sex club many of us frequent, the same corner I used to hide in. He was twirling his signet pinky ring, eyeing me. Not creepy, just admiring me with Silas.

Then, Fate found us bumping into each other on Meeting Street in Charleston, of all haunted places.

The villain bowed his head like old-world nobility. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Van de May.” He shocked me, knowing my married name, greeting me with Southern manners and a smile so devious it was delicious.

Did I scurry away, all scared?

Hell, no. I’m a preacher’s daughter who rebelled from the flock.

I flew straight into hell.

Secretly, I followed the villain’s wide, tapered back in his dark gray suit down the shadowed, narrow sidewalks of the French Quarter, from Meeting Street to the ivy-covered, cobblestone alley beside Delta’s, Stacey’s exclusive adult store.

When he unlocked the back iron gate to her historic row house-turned-salacious destination, I grinned.

If Stacey knows him, I can trust him.

I entered through Delta’s front door and confronted the villain on the third floor. He was about to disappear behind a locked, black door I’ve never seen the other side of.

Still, I wasn’t afraid.

I grabbed his concrete biceps, whipping him around to stand toe-to-toe with me, my nose barely reaching his hulking chest.

“Since you’re a stranger who knows my name,” I demanded, staring into his rakish eyes, “you’ll get a strange thrill helping me, too.”

So, this year, the villain returns. He’ll haunt Indigo Island, but this time, there are more victims to terrify.

And Cade clocks it across my guilty face.

“Aw, shit,” she mumbles. “I know that look.”

“Who me?” I profess, drawling, “Why, I’m innocent.”

I touch my chest like I have the vapors, whatever the hell that means; it’s a Southern thing. I just hope it works.

“Eily,” Cade smirks, “you’re as innocent as triple X -rated Tinker Bell. I know you’re brewing promiscuous potions for all.”

“Then hocus, pocus, my bitches.” I blow a kiss. “Are y’all ready to have your heart racing faster than in a haunted house?”