Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLIE
That’s why I love this; feeling haunted and horny at the same time.
“ O h, my god. This is nicer than our house!” I marvel, gazing around our glamping tent. “That’s it. We need to redecorate.”
“ Charlie ,” Daniel almost scolds, “no more throw pillows. We have enough to build the Himalayas.”
“But our furniture is covered in sticky applesauce. We need real adult stuff like this.” I sweep my hand like a real estate agent, like I’m selling this. “A bamboo wardrobe for our costumes and lingerie. An indigo-washed dresser. Gorgeous paintings. And look at the rugs. No fruit juice stains! This is perfection. Eily’s creativity never ends.”
“Neither does Silas’s generosity.” Daniel plops our luggage down on the massive bed. “He had this custom-made for us. More than six can comfortably sleep here.”
“More than six can populate the world here.”
I’m amazed by the bed, too.
Draped in sumptuous white linens, cozy indigo blankets, and ivory cashmere pillows, once our six bodies are wrapped under those sheets, why leave?
Summon our kids.
Let them run wild around the island while we make more.
Or at least while we pretend to.
Daniel’s been snipped, and Redix is thinking about it. But Silas is fully loaded.
I’m sure it’ll happen for him and Eily soon. But just in case, Cade and I have implants. We really want this for Eily. It’s finally her year to get pregnant.
“Speaking of populating and penises.” Gently, I approach Daniel, touching his chest. “Will you be okay this week? I noticed what you did at Delta’s yesterday. How you didn’t let Silas and Redix even try.”
He nuzzles his forehead to mine. “Babe, I’ve just been so knackered and stressed. Five times lately, I couldn’t spunk, and now it’s blocking my head, too.”
“Was it me?” I worry. “Do you need someone else to do it? To make you come?”
We’ve been married for too long. We love each other too much. Daniel and I talk about everything.
“Never.” He laces his hand through my hair. “Charlie, you’re so fit, that’s the problem. I come home, and you give me stiffies. But work, lately, gives me stress—all the pressure and demands. I feel like a bloody cork, needing to pop, but I can’t.”
“Daniel, just tell Redix,” I urge. “Tell him you want to wrap the show and let him help. You’re writing, producing, directing, and acting, and it’s a lot. You wrote the show for three seasons only, so fuck the studio if they want you to sign on for three more. That’s not what you envisioned.”
“It’s not just Redix,” he answers. “It’s all the cast and crew and their families. They depend on my show. They’ve made Atlanta their home. I’ll gut their lives if I don’t sign on for more.”
My husband. He’s won Emmys and Oscar nominations. They even voted him the sexiest man alive twice, but he’s also the sweetest.
I kiss him because I don’t know what else to say. This is Daniel’s decision. He just needs my support.
Tugging at my waist, drawing me closer, he needs me, too. His deep kiss declares it, so I sigh over our heating lips, our bodies melding.
“Wanna try popping your cork now?”
“Later.” He grins. “Let’s unpack. Let’s relax. I’m sure once I do, I’ll empty my wank tank.”
Since he has a sense of humor about it.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be very inspired once Luca gets here, and Stacey, oh, and Beau Bronson, too.”
Daniel smirks.
Like I can’t clock who twitches his cock, whether we know them well, like Luca and Stacey, or have only met them once, like Beau.
“And you?” He taunts, “I know your type, too—anyone in a uniform.”
“My twat doesn’t have a type,” I huff. “I’m frustrated, too. Even when we get a chance to fuck, and come , we have to be so damn quiet.”
His nose keeps nuzzling mine. “That’s because when I make you scream, our daughter thinks I’m hurting you.”
“What does that say about our sons? They don’t knock on our door? They don’t care if their mommy’s getting hurt?”
“No. They’re my little mates. I told them Daddy needs to get his leg over Mummy. ”
I swat his chest. “They’re too young to know about sex.”
“Not about sweets. I tell them I’m stealing your candy and bribe them to keep quiet about it.”
“Daniel!” It’s not fair. He’s too sexy when he jokes. “When are we going to tell them for real? About the six of us? How we’re a chosen family. I feel like we’re the kids, afraid of getting busted when we’re doing nothing wrong.”
He pauses.
It’s not my career or fame that gets in the way.
It’s his.
“Soon,” he answers. “We’ll talk to the others about what to do. I don’t want us hiding forever, either. I just don’t want us going it alone.”
“Well, look at what Beau, Colton, and Nick did,” I say, full of hope. “The first players to come out in the NFL? And how they did it as a group? It was smart. We could do the same.”
“Maybe.” His shoulders sag. “But let’s just bloody relax for now. I need a week with my wife, our partners, and some naughty games. Reality can wait.”
We kiss. We agree. I unzip our bags and start unpacking, only using two of the six dresser drawers.
What have I learned on our holidays for six?
One—clothes are a waste of fucking time. Literally. Only pack a little.
Two—but yummy robes are priceless. I recommend silk, cotton, and cashmere ones. The sex is always hot, but the temperature isn’t.
Three—pack your personal care items. Lots of them.
And I mean.
Lots.
On our first group holiday, I loved our gushing sex. But afterward, I felt like a glazed donut, all squishy and dripping for hours.
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.”