Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHARLIE
“What do you usually do with dildos?”
“ B abe, check.”
Shampoo suds stream down my face. The pelting warm water feels so good.
“Babe? Check, please.”
Wiping bubbles off my face, I sneak an eyelid open, glancing down, answering Daniel, “You got it all. No more paint in your ass crack.”
“I don’t know how so much got on me.”
“Really? Because there’s none left on Redix, Beau, and Colt.”
Daniel cocks a guilty grin. “Ah, then it was worth it.”
Combing his fingers through his wet strands, his shower is done. The water between us runs clear. Though I’ll never want to clean the dirty memory of tonight from my mind.
Tenderly, his grinning lips kiss mine. But I’m curious. “So, is this a new kink? Alien sex?”
“No.” He steps out of the shower and onto the bathmat, grabbing a towel. “But it could be a new project. A new series.” He pauses, rubbing his chest. “A million says Redix agrees. We’ll talk to Blair tomorrow.”
“Aliens mating with humans? On Netflix?” I reach for the conditioner. “I’d watch. So would millions. There’s enough fighting. We need more romance, more sex on streaming shows. And as long as you and Redix or some other actors are making it hot and not creepy, it could be like Sex Life meets Stranger Things .”
“Well, tonight was sure strange and sexy. And I’m knackered.” He leans in for one more peck. Happily, I give it. “See you in bed. I’ll warm your spot for you.”
He snaps the shower curtain closed. In a few moments, the door to our dressing room in the honeywagon slams.
And I’m alone.
These moments I enjoy. It’s not that I don’t love my husband. Our partners. Or just the company in general. But a few minutes under the lavender-scented steam is heavenly.
Eily put those aroma tablets in every dressing room shower, and if this fancy wagon weren’t on wheels, with a quiet generator humming, it really could be a spa.
Earlier, I let the other aliens go first, taking turns cleaning up. Daniel and I were the last to go. The others are already in the tent.
So, I take my time. I’m still sore and not complaining after my sexorcism.
Closing my eyes, I lean back, inhaling steam, letting myself relax and?—
Thud.
The door slams again.
“Daniel?”
Silence .
“Did you forget something?” Casually, I ask, but I’m not the kind of woman who gets fooled twice.
I sense it. I’m not alone .
The lights flicker.
Do I hear huffing breath?
Wait.
Do haints huff?
Please tell me they do.
Okay, fine. Yes, I want to be haunted. I hope it’s my haint. I hope it’s my dead uncle, so far removed from my bloodline and dead for centuries, and still, he makes it look good.
Damn, I hope I inherited those genes. I’ll save so much money on Botox.
Turning toward the shower curtain, waiting for it to rip open, I have no weapons. No rifle. No 9mm. It’s just me and my pruney fingers, and that’s enough.
It’s a fight.
Or a fuck.
I vote: fuck.
My heart rate knows the drill. My senses heighten. My dripping skin turns to goose flesh. I’m listening. Focusing. Tensing.
Waiting for…
Rip. The shower curtain yanks aside and?—
“Shit!” I huff. “Shit. You scared the shit out of me, you little shit.”
“Well, shit!” Silas laughs. “I was gonna wash your back and shit.”
I roll my eyes.
He smirks. “Well, at least, turn around and let me admire it. ”
“You were two seconds away from a blinding eye gouge.”
“As long as you ain’t gouging my dick, I can spare other parts.”
I stand naked, my nipples thrilled to see him. His gaze drops, taking a moment to enjoy the sight. His hair hangs damp. His fresh T-shirt and clean shorts smell like laundry detergent. Silas just showered and changed.
And now, he wants me.
For what?
“You were hoping I was your horny haint, weren’t you?”
I scoff, “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“Shut up.”
“You want me to go get a mask and come back? I can flick the light switch again. Or kill the generator and make it damn creepy for us. I can’t speak French, but I know enough to fuck with it.”
“Since when do you know French?”
He leans against the wall by the shower, folding an ankle over the other. “From Daniel. I acquired his appreciation for French porn. He’s right. It’s the best. High-quality productions. Fancy sets. Sexy wardrobe. Good lighting. Great natural tits and dicks. And?—”
“Hand me a towel.” Silas can wax on about porn for hours. “And tell me what shit you’re stirring.”
“Can’t a man just chat with his best friend turned fourth best fuck buddy?”
“Fourth?” I pat down with the towel he gives me. “Since when is there a pecking order?”
“Pecking? No. None of us have a chicken fetish.” He pauses. “ Yet , but give it time. But for fucking? You know Eily’s first for me. Always. Then I gotta say Redix and your husband take the silver and bronze.”
“Because they take your ass.”
He laughs. “We take yours, too.”
“And you sure moan about it, coming hard like it’s a golden privilege.”
I brush past him, smiling.
Grabbing my comb off the vanity, I love this—me and Silas. We give each other hell because we’ve loved each other through it.
Lazily, he smiles, watching my nightly routine. Hair. Teeth. Moisturizer. Finally, I crack. I’m curious.
“Alright, you little shit. What do you want? If it’s not my ass, it’s something.”
“What kinda moisturizer are you using? Cuz you don’t look a day over thirty.”
“Silas.”
“And your tits are timeless.”
“ Silasss .”
“And your ass is immortal.”
“Silas!”
“Fine.” He sighs, “I need your help.”
I ask the mirror, seeing him in the reflection. “What’s wrong?”
“Eily.”
I whip around. “Is she hurt? Did y’all fight? Is she mad about tonight? I mean, it must be kinda hard watching us fuck others when she’s not. When she’s only with you.”
He cocks a brow. “Ouch, my ego.”
“I don’t mean it bad, it’s just?—”
“She’s not mad. We’re fine. We’re great. We love fucking while others do, too. All she wants is for everyone to have fun, but… ”
His gaze falls.
And so does my heart.
I can’t bear to see Silas hurt.
When we were younger, and he started to get awkward, teen boy zits, he was so shy about it. So insecure.
So, I took a red Sharpie and made myself chin dots, too, so he and his zits wouldn’t be alone.
I knew then, and a hundred other times, he wanted to kiss me. But timing is everything. So is fate.
He needed to find Eily first.
He’ll always need Eily first.
Just like I need Daniel.
I reach for his arm. “It’s okay. Whatever it is. Tell me, and I’ll help.”
“First, put some clothes on.” A grin lifts his pillow lips. “I worship my wife. But you got a damn pretty pussy.”
I punch his biceps.
“Ouch!” He rubs it, laughing.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demand, tugging on my jean shorts before slipping a faded USMC sweatshirt over my head.
“Tomorrow is my trick night,” he answers. “And I need help. Eily’s still ovulating, and I don’t know what to do.”
I twist my hair into a wet bun, never breaking our eye contact. “Well, then cancel the trick and just be with her and make it romantic. We’ll understand.”
“But that’s not what she wants. She’s worked too hard on this week. It’ll bum her out if I cancel a night.”
“Even if she’s ovulating? It’ll be her last night this month, right?”
I know Eily’s cycle.
So does Cade.
We’re so close; we synced up last year.
At first, it was annoying—three Aunt Flos coming to visit at the same time.
We try not to make it a blood bath.
And it’s not like our men haven’t proudly earned their red wings. It’s not like they mind. Hell, Daniel’s the one who remembers to put tampons in my purse, not me.
But it does limit things because sometimes it ain’t a cakewalk. So, the husbands make it sweet. If we’re together and on the rag, they have a ritual. It involves a dozen red roses for each of us. Three gift baskets with Teuscher Swiss chocolates and French wine. And a night of foot rubs, with heating pads on call.
But lately, it’s also the time when Eily gets quiet.
Which isn’t like her.
It’s sweet how Silas knows when to silently hold her tight or when to make her laugh.
But this is one miracle, even with his billions, he can’t divine.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “The window is closing this month. And with each month—it’s been eleven—it gets harder on her.”
Softly, I offer, “And you. I know it’s hard on you, too. You love her. You want this with her. You’re so sweet to her, but I know you’re worried, too.”
“I am.” He tosses his chin up, confessing to me and the ceiling. “This week has been fun for her to plan. You should see how happy it made her, and it’s a dream having y’all here. But once it’s over and reality returns, it’s gonna be rough. I know it. If, in a couple of weeks, she’s not pregnant and there’s nothing else for her to focus on. Like, to have hope about? Fuck, it’s gonna break her heart.”
Barely, I touch his chest. I know him so well.
If Eily hurts, his heart breaks, too .
“If you want,” I offer, “I’ll make sure we’re here—all of us. We can cancel work, get the grandparents to watch the kids again, take her somewhere, or do something special.”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m all out of tricks.” He huffs, hearing his pun, “And treats. I don’t know what else to do. I just don’t want to fail her.”
“You’re not failing her. You love her more than anything. I never thought the boy I used to beat in spitting contests would become a prince so in love with his tiny, rebel princess.”
A smile lifts his lips. “And I never thought the gorgeous girl who ate crickets for fun would be a Marine so in love with an English gentleman.”
Gently, I bang my head against his chest. Memories of our cherished childhood make me smile while he pecks my hair.
There’s no word to describe me and Silas.
Well, there’s one.
Love.
“So, what do we do?” I ask. “How do we make tomorrow night perfect for Eily? How can we make her ovulating dreams come true?”
He takes my hand. “Come with me.”
“Are you sure I’m supposed to be in here?”
“What?” Silas asks, flipping on a wall switch. Golden uplights glow from the corners of the room. “It’s just our sex room.”
“Yeah,” I glance around. “It’s you and Eily’s sex room. I’ve never been in here. None of us have. ”
It felt weird sneaking into Silas and Eily’s home. Silently, we waved at the staff staying here, and they waved back, raising an eyebrow, watching me disappear upstairs with Silas without his wife joining us.
Then again.
Who cares?
I’d never hurt Eily. I’m beyond loyal to her. I love her, too.
And this room is so her. So elegantly decorated. It’s sexy, sumptuous, and chic at the same time.
The walls are painted in dark indigo, the luxe sheen of the rich paint making them almost shine, while the ceiling glows. It’s painted gold. Pearl and gold fixtures with warm lamps make it cozy. Champagne velvet chairs and a settee are tucked around the room. Black leather sex furniture—a chaise, a bench, a bed, and a swing—blend into the room like they belong.
You belong.
It’s all so inviting.
On my left, a wall of mirrors beckons, its glass looking antiqued. Sliding one aside, Silas reveals neatly arranged gold shelves with rows of acrylic containers and even calligraphy-labeled black leather bins.
It’s like The Container Store and Etsy had an orgy with Delta’s. It’s signature Eily Van de May style.
But what really impresses me are the glass shelves Silas reveals, sliding aside another mirrored wall. Automatic uplights click on, glowing behind the shelves, revealing a shrine.
“Oh my god,” I sigh. “I love her so much.”
“Right?”
Silas admires the same sight.
Eily built a shrine to her sex toy collection .
And I mean, collection .
She has them carefully resting on acrylic stands. Vibrators, plugs, dildos and more in every size and color. Every material, from plastic to latex to glass to metal to wood.
On the top row are toys I’ve never seen. Not at Delta’s. Not online.
“Those are historic ones.” Silas catches my wonder. “She collects historic sex toys. We don’t use them, of course. And some she donates to the Museum of Sex in New York, but these are her private collection.”
I linger my fingertips over a ceramic dildo. Its old, original black glaze cracked in spots.
“My god,” I mutter. “Has Stacey seen these? She’d appreciate them, too.”
He nods. “Eily’s going to curate a show with her at Delta’s one day. That’s one of her many art projects: a show celebrating historic sex toys, proving how so many cultures never shamed it. They celebrated sex, and so should we.”
“So, are you saying we should use one of these on Eily?” I admire a worn wooden dildo made of oak. “For your trick night? Is that what you’re thinking?”
Our partners are likely asleep in our tent, assuming Silas and I are missing because we’re messing around. That we’re still satisfying the sexual tension we denied between us for so long, and they definitely love us so much they want us to.
We know exactly what they’re thinking.
And how they’d never suspect what we’re really up to.
“Nah,” he answers. “I don’t think we should use one of her antique toys. Some are too valuable, or I don’t trust them. What if I break one off in her?”
I snort, pointing to the modern quartz one with gold inlay. If not for its prominent penis head, I’d guess it was a rare sculpture you’d buy in an art gallery; it looks that fancy.
“But that one won’t break,” I say. “It’s too big and thick.” Silas smirks. “Damn, you’ve already used it on her, haven’t you?”
“It was her very happy birthday trip to Paris.”
“Okay, then.” I point to others. “What about these from Delta’s?”
I recognize the new purchases. I bought a few, too. Some of these dildos work great in my strap-on.
Daniel does love a good pegging at the end of a long week.
“We’ve used them,” he says. “Almost all of them, and that’s why I need help. I want to do something special for her. Something different.”
I grab the unicorn dildo, admiring its twirling length while I ask, “What have you planned so far? Anything?”
“Yeah.” He plops down on the sex chaise. “I got some ideas and bought some stuff at Delta’s. Vale, Blair’s twin. You know her, right?” I nod. “She shipped me some stuff, but…”
His face falls again, his shoulders sagging.
“But what?”
“But what if I get it wrong? What if I do something Eily hates and I miss our last chance this month?”
My throat gets tight, my heart clenching.
I forgot this pressure, while some may always take it for granted.
My first pregnancy, our twins, was a surprise. I wasn’t supposed to fuck Daniel Pierce in the first place. Let alone fall in love with him. We married a month before our twins were born.
And our son? Our third ?
We planned him. I didn’t mind the months it took me to get pregnant. I assumed, naively, I guess, that it would just happen eventually.
But when you’ve been trying for months, even years, with no luck. Or when, like Stacey, you’ve lost a couple. It’s humbling. It’s heartbreaking.
Time feels like torture. Fate feels unkind.
I won’t dismiss the pressure on Silas. The helplessness he must feel, too.
“Just tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll be honest.”
He wrings his hands. “You won’t bullshit me?”
“Do I ever?”
“You laugh.”
“That’s when you’re being such a man. Not a sweet husband like this.”
“If I tell you, you can’t give me shit.”
I raise my hand. “Scouts honor.”
“You were never a Girl Scout.”
“Because I wouldn’t promise to wear a smile all the goddamn time.”
“I’m serious, Charlie Girl. I got an idea, and it’s kinda weird, but…” The sexy lines on his face etch deeper. “It feels right. It feels like it’s my last hope.”
“Okay,” I nod, “just don’t do something crazy. I mean … Eily is a free spirit with a healthy sex drive, and she loves you, but even she has a limit. Like, no super freaky stuff just to get her pregnant and?—”
“But how am I supposed to know what’s too freaky when it comes to us?” Damn, he sounds stressed about this. “I mean, in three days, we’ve fucked like vampires, priests and nuns, and now aliens. Where’s the line?”
I smile. “Donkey dicks.”
I make him laugh. He knows our nickname for him .
“No donkey dicks,” he says. “I swear. But I got an idea. More like … I got an omen.”
“A what ?”
That word: omen.
It raises my pulse, my eyebrows, and that trusted premonition I get when something is coming. Like electricity across a wire, I can always feel it. It’s been a blessing and a curse my whole life.
I can often sense when something is going to happen—something … cosmic, world-changing, life-altering.
I can sense it, but I can’t stop it.
“An omen,” he says. “It keeps telling me to do this thing with Eily. This ritual . I can see it in my dreams, and when I’m awake, it comes in flashes. It’s like someone is talking to me, telling me to do it.”
“Is his name Redix, and does it involve Lemonheads?”
Now, it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m serious, but if you’re gonna give me shit, then?—”
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. It’s just when you talk about omens it scares me. I believe in them.”
“Since when are you scared of shit?” He gestures to the scar on my cheek. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
“Brave is what you do even when you’re scared. I feel fear. I just won’t kneel to it. I make fear my bitch.”
He nods. “Alright then. If I tell you, and if I show you, you can’t laugh or get scared or give me shit. Just tell me if you think it’ll work. If you think Eily will like it.”
I’m about to do the scouts honor thing again, but yeah, I didn’t take that oath, so I salute instead. “Promise.”
“Alright. Pick out seventeen of Eily’s best dildos.”
“Umm, what ?”
“You heard me. ”
He stands before fetching a basket from the corner. Bottles of lube and batteries rumble in the bottom of it.
He answers my questioning stare, “This is our traveler basket for when we borrow from the shrine and fuck in other places. Like … every fucking where.”
I start selecting dildos and setting them in his basket. It’s like we’re in the produce section, picking the juiciest pricks for an orgy salad.
“Dare I ask what we’re going to do with these?”
“What do you usually do with dildos?”
“Well, my son, Duke, found one of ours and started using it as a sword in the backyard. He proudly showed it to our neighbor. There was that mortifying day. And then there was the day when Caroline found my fingertip vibrator and wore it to preschool, saying she was a princess getting married and it was her wedding ring.”
Laughter shakes his chest. “Damn, don’t y’all lock up your sex toys?”
“Don’t judge.” I elbow him. “You’ll see one day. I promise. Your kids will be finding your sex toys, too.”
He mutters, “God, I hope so.”