The Wife Lottery_Fallon

by Charlie Hart

  “I know, I know,” I say, waving him off. Not like I can get out of the house without a key card anyways. “I’ll be the perfect wife. I’ll do the dishes and make the grocery list and meal plans and...” I purse my lips. “What else do housewives do?”

  Emerson sits at the table with a piece of toast and glass of orange juice. “My mom always did the laundry on Mondays, dusting on Tuesdays, I don’t know--she had this whole schedule. She could send it to you if you want?”

  I bite back a laugh. “Can you really picture me doing that?”

  Emerson shrugs. “You asked about housewives and she’s the only housewife I’ve ever known.”

  “Did you imagine your wife washing your underwear and cleaning your toilet?”

  There’s an awkward shifting in the kitchen and all the men seem to simultaneously stand to leave.

  “Well, I have to get to the office,” Salinger says.

  “And I set the house alarm, so you don’t need to worry about that,” Fallon adds.

  Everyone else follows suit, leaving the compound to get their days started. I watch them drive away through the window in the study, exhaling. Is this what freedom tastes like?

  I’m alone for the first time in ages.

  At Saint Augustine’s I had other women around constantly, as well as our chaperone, Evelyn. Her job was to prepare us in our duties as wives, but somehow, I always managed to skirt out of the lessons and curl up with a book in the library instead. Evelyn could never tell me, Warren Thorne’s daughter, no.

  Now, with the morning conversation and Emerson’s words on my mind, I can’t help but wonder if I spent my time all wrong. What use was studying molecular biology when I needed to learn how to make meatloaf or whatever else it is burly Alaskan mountain men eat?

  I head to the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes. Over the last few weeks the guys always did them. Emerson cooked and Hux and Salinger would chip in with clean up. Same with laundry, I think I remember Giles dropping off a pile of my clean clothes on my bed a few times, and I know that Banks put fresh towels in my bathroom more than once. As far as garbage went, I know Fallon made a fire to burn trash and built a compost area in the yard for food scraps.

  I swallow, adding detergent to the dishwasher, realizing that they probably think I’ve been a lazy slob since they met me. The main thing I’ve been focused on is getting to know each of my husbands, always willing and ready for whatever they suggest. Heck, I got roped into strip poker last night and that certainly wasn’t my idea. Housework wasn’t even on my mind. Acclimating to life with six husbands has been my full-time job.

  I pull out a broom and get to work. I manage to sweep up the grime from the kitchen floor easily enough. Then I head upstairs to the bathrooms and find the cleaning supplies I need under the sink in Giles’ bathroom. An hour later I’ve done a basic scrub of all seven upstairs bathrooms. And to be honest, I feel like I should get a reward for that.

  It was tempting, washing my husbands’ personal space, but I made a point to only look where I ought. I want to get to know my men naturally, and if they want to share their grooming habits with me, I will learn in due time.

  Heading back downstairs, I enter the study, finding plenty of dirty glasses around the liquor cabinet. After dinner drinks has become an uncomplicated way to pass a few hours. Giles stokes the fire, Huxley cajoles everyone into a silly game of charades or Would You Rather, and we play along until the conversation naturally evolves into everyone getting to know each other better.

  Banks is surprisingly good at mixing cocktails, and he’s claimed the role as barkeep. He’s made it his mission to concoct for me the perfect drink--though I have vetoed anything with Scotch after my experience with it on my second night home. It’s cute to see Banks with a shaker in hand, shirtsleeves rolled up. It’s the only time I’ve caught him with something other than a book in his grip.

  Using both hands, I carry the glassware to the kitchen to wash it. “Oh shit,” I scream, as I step in knee high bubbles. “No, no, no,” I groan, realizing that the water and soap are coming from the dishwasher.

  The cycle seems to have just ended, but it’s too late-- the mess is made. I grab hand towels from a kitchen drawer and try to sop up the mess, but I slip, falling on my butt, soaking my jeans. I slump against the kitchen cabinet feeling like an absolute idiot.

  “Hypatia?” Fallon’s voice booms in the house. “You okay? I heard a scream from the garage.”

  “Fal?” I cover my face as he walks in, not exactly wanting my capable husband seeing the mess I’ve made.

  “Oh hell, Tia, what happened?”

  I lower my hands, groaning. I don’t want my husbands to think I’m incapable. “I don’t know. I was trying to help.”

  Fallon frowns, walking over to the dishwasher in his now water-logged work boots. He’s changed out of his jump suit though, and is wearing jeans and a flannel.

  “Why are you home?”

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here all alone. It scared me, Hypatia.”

  I swallow at his words, feeling a rush of tenderness toward him. Of all the men, he’s the only one who calls me Hypatia. I like it. Even if it’s a name I chose for myself.

  He opens the cabinet under the sink and pulls out a bottle of detergent. “You used this?”

  I nod.

  “It’s dish soap, not dishwasher detergent.”

  “Right. And how is anyone supposed to know the difference?”

  Fallon’s lip curls into a smile. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

  I laugh, not expecting him to be easy with me in the midst of this mess--he’s always so harsh and intense. But I watch him now, and see that his concern is truly in my well-being. It’s a relief. Being reprimanded right now would shatter my already low confidence.

  Pulling my hair up in a messy bun, I assess the damage of the room. Looks worse than it is, mostly bubbles, nothing a few large towels won’t fix. I know the dishwasher isn’t my real problem. I miss parts of my old life. There were lots that were wrong with it, for sure. Enough wrong to make me run. But thinking about other, less grim aspects, makes my heart constrict with longing --the books and taking meticulous notes for hours on end. The way my father would poke his head into the library and give me a slight nod, the simple gesture letting me know he was proud of my thirst for knowledge.

  I weighed my costs when I left, but I didn’t realize how high of a value I placed on learning until the opportunity was taken from me. Now I unsuccessfully wash dishes.

  “I’m so over my head, Fallon.”

  He takes my hand in his, squeezing it tight. “Let me help.”

  I give an exaggerated smile. “Wow! You’ll do the dishes from now on?”

  He pulls me up, his eyes bright, and I see how easy it is for him to fall into the role of fixing things. Right now, he has a project to complete and it puts him at ease. “How about we start with getting this floor cleaned up.”

  “No,” I say, wrapping my arms around my husband’s waist. “Let’s start with you cleaning me up.”

  “I thought I was the dirty one.”

  “Nope,” I shake my head slowly, looking up in his eyes. I may be having a hard time settling into the role as housewife, but I am finding my footing as a sexual being. “I’ve been on my hands and knees all morning, scrubbing the bathrooms.”

  He smirks. “Oh yeah? You wanna get back down on your knees?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I lower myself to the soapy floor, and pull down his jeans with a few easy tugs. Fallon’s body is so solid and so manly, I can’t imagine ever resisting him. His thick cock is hard, and I run my hands over his velvety length, getting excited as I watch what my touch does to him.

  He moans as I touch him, and it gives me confidence that I know how to take care of him. I might not be a domestic goddess, but I’m guessing every man in the house would choose a blowjob over polished windows.

  My mout
h opens to take him in, and he groans as I wrap my lips around his growing shaft. I run my fingers over his tight balls, another hand reaching around to squeeze his firm ass.

  His hand pulls out the elastic tying up my hair, and tendrils fall over my shoulders. I look up at him, mouth full of cock, and he thrusts against my mouth so that I nearly gag on the length of him. He seems to love the way I take him so fully, and I suck him with one goal in mind--getting him off.

  I want to taste his come, want it in my mouth and I moan in anticipation. My lips are tight around him, sucking hard, my fingers running up and down his throbbing shaft as I bop my head.

  He comes against me, inside my mouth, and I swallow his release, the creamy come sliding down my throat, making my body thrum with intensity.

  I want to be naked with him, want his body against mine. I take him from my mouth, his hard cock still standing at attention, come dripping off the tip. I lick it off, biting down on my lower lip as I stare into his penetrating eyes. He seems to understand that I need more.

  I pull off my top, unclasp my bra, needing his hands to grab my breasts, needing his fingers splayed against my bare skin.

  “God, woman, you are so fucking beautiful.”

  I whimper at his words, pulling him to the soapy floor. “I want you so bad, Fal.”

  He grunts in approval, but instead of lowering me to my back on the soapy floor, he lifts me up in his arms and carries me to the carpet in the living room.

  On my back, my eyes are aglow at the sight of his still hard cock. He is so big and so thick. My body remembers how it felt to be filled with him and I need it again, desperately.

  He tugs off my shoes and jeans, my panties the only thing between us both getting what we crave. With a swift motion my panties are gone, and he pushes my knees apart, growling in pleasure at my already wet pussy.

  “Hypatia, you make me so fucking horny.”

  His unabashed desire makes me grin from ear to ear and he must see the joy written on my face.

  He pulls off his shirt, his bare chest chiseled, his entire body a mountain of perfection.

  His hand rubs against my swollen pussy, and I moan in delight as he touches me. At first, it’s soft, subtle movements, but soon he begins to press one finger at a time inside of me, until there are three, pushing me to my limits.

  My breath turns shallow as he flicks his fingers against my warmth.

  “Oh, girl, you like that, don’t you?”

  I nod, gasping for breath as his fingers flutter inside me. “Oh Fal, oh, oh, yes.” I can’t speak as he fingers me until I’m coming hard against his hand.

  He loves it, making me drip with pleasure, and I love it too, being opened up by him so intimately.

  His cock is still rigid and wanting, and he guides himself into my swollen pussy. My body is so primed to take him, and when he fills me up, I hold his hips, wanting him to rock harder against me, beginning to learn what my body likes, and how my body wants it.

  “You’re so good to me, Tia,” Fallon moans as he thrusts against me.

  “And you’re so much better than housework.”

  Chapter 18

  Fallon

  I never doubted that I was the man to keep Hypatia safe. But now, as I wake with her in my arms, I know it with every ounce of my being.

  She is mine and I am hers.

  And damn, that’s scary. Because even though I cut out of work the other day to be with her, I can’t just quit my job to watch over her every move.

  It wasn’t just the lottery that cost a small fortune, keeping up this compound means every man here has to pull his weight.

  “Don’t go,” she whispers as I roll out of bed. Her hand reaches for mine as I stand.

  She looks so damn beautiful early in the morning, in the tangled bed sheets, lips still swollen from last night’s kisses. Her hair is tousled, and she wears a sleepy expression that makes me smile despite myself. I sure as hell took care of my wife last night. She’s exhausted and I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept until noon.

  I’m not sure who all she’s slept with, but I do know that she crawled into my bed late last night, seeking comfort from the man she feels safe with.

  Good. I hate the idea of her ever sleeping alone. And damn, I don’t like to share, but I am willing, knowing it means Hypatia is protected by someone in our compound at all times.

  That is my number one concern.

  I head to work, wanting to get my shift over with. I’ve always loved my job, but my world has expanded since the lottery. Now, there is more to life than clocking in flight hours. Now I want to be around the compound at dinnertime. I might not be buddies with all the men, but Giles and Banks are solid--and Emerson doesn’t seem half bad, albeit a bit naive.

  And of course, there is Hypatia.

  It seems every day she wears something more seductive than the last. Huxley has been providing her with everything under the sun. He gave her new perfume the other day, and hell, even now the scent of her excites me in the most primal fucking way. And don’t get me started on the lotion she is forever rubbing into her hands.

  Every time I see her pull the bottle of vanilla scented hand cream out I have to leave the room for fear of a hard-on. Watching her rub the lotion into her skin gets me going in a way that makes me red in the face.

  Living with a woman is more than a novelty, it’s fucking glorious. I’d be lying if I said folding her laundry wasn’t a turn on. Tiny thongs and silky nighties. And I know it’s not just me. I saw Salinger lick his lips as he helped her unload the dishwasher the other night. She’d bent over to get something from the bottom rack and his eyes were on her tight little ass, and the black thong that peeked out from her jeans.

  Truth is, my own eyes were in the exact same place.

  Hard not to think about anything else but my beautiful wife. And I catch myself, more than a couple times drifting to memories of her beneath me, as I drive to work. The day in the kitchen, her full lips wrapped around my cock as she got me off, swallowing my fucking come--damn, it’s the thought I get myself to sleep with most nights.

  Cock in hand, I have no problem jerking off to the memory of my wife’s mouth taking me until I come.

  I shake my head, it’s like I’m fucking fifteen years old all over again. Hypatia has given me a new lease on life, that’s for damn sure. I never realized how much I was missing before she entered my life.

  “I’ve been looking for you, son,” my father says, walking up to my station in the hanger. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “Yeah, I had the time off after the lottery.” I close my toolbox, and turn to him, having my daily flight schedule in hand. “How about you, doing alright?”

  I take a closer look and see a familiar look in his eyes. Dark and hollow. A look I remember from when we lost Mom. Lost Caroline.

  Dad shakes his head slowly. “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?” Whatever it is, it isn’t good. I know that immediately by the expression he wears.

  “An attack last night. It was bad. A woman down at the wharf was raped and killed. She’d been traveling here, for the lottery.”

  “Jesus.” A shiver races down my spine. That could have been Hypatia. I run a hand over my beard, refusing to dwell on that idea.

  “I know.” Dad rubs his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m done, Fallon. Tired and ready to throw in the towel.”

  These words don’t sound like my father. “What are you talking about?” I press a hand to his shoulder, as if trying to steady his thoughts. “You joined up to make a difference, to help-”

  Dad raises a hand and my words fall short. I pull my hand away and really listen to him. “The world is no good anymore, Fallon. Hiding in Alaska won’t solve anything. There are bad people everywhere, wanting to kill and destroy. Ruin every good thing.”

  “There’s more good than bad. You’ve always believed that.”

  He just shakes his head. “I used to. Thought flying planes, going to r
emote places on rescue missions would mean the world was a safer place.”

  “It does. You’re making a difference. We are making a difference.”

  Dad gives me the saddest damn smile I’ve ever seen. “It’s nice to think so, isn’t it?”

  I think about the men at the bar the other night, how deplorable they were. They certainly weren’t the good in the world. They would hunt down every vulnerable woman in this state and have their way with her, without thinking twice.

  “So what, we just give up?”

  “Maybe we’re just fighting a losing battle, son. And maybe that’s why I hate the idea of you and the damn lottery.”

  “I thought it was because you were old fashioned.”

  “Maybe that’s how I spin it, you know? The truth is a bitter pill to swallow.”

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Frustration races through me, squeezing my throat.

  “You've been flying planes long enough to know there are less and less women to rescue and bring to safety. And you know why.”

  I clench my jaw. We used to do evacuations every week, getting pregnant women in remote areas of Alaska to safety to give them the best chance of survival.

  I can’t think of the last time I did an Evac.

  The women are gone.

  “So what?” Dad continues. “You marry a woman, all six of you men fall in love with her, only to watch her die.”

  Fear. That’s what smacks me square in the chest.

  “There’s no guarant-”

  Dad cuts me off. “You’re increasing the odds of her getting pregnant six-fold.”

  “Isn't that the point?” The anger of my words is more from fear that he’s right, than anything else.

  “Good question. What is the point of any of this? It’s over, Fallon. Life as we know it is gone. And it’s not coming back.” My father sighs and drops his hand.

  “Everything will be fine,” I say, not sure who I’m trying to convince more, him or me. “Our scientists are working night and day for a solution. I should know, I have one living under my roof.”