The Wife Lottery: Fallon (Six Men of Alaska Book 1)

by Charlie Hart

  “Dad.” I half hug him, then stand at attention. As good as it is to see him, I know I’ve disappointed him with my irreversible choice: putting my name in the lottery.

  “Congratulations,” he says tightly.

  I nod, seeing the disapproval in his eyes. He never agreed with the new system of pairing multiple men with one female. Believed only in the traditional union. That those who couldn’t find a wife should spend their lives in service to the greater cause -- finding a cure.

  An unlikely hope.

  But he was from the old way of thinking, raised in a world where men only outnumbered women three to one. Things have gotten progressively worse in the thirty years since he married my mom.

  I read one article that claimed China was at a critical point and it was uncertain if the population would be able to sustain itself in fifty years. The mainland United States wasn’t much better.

  At least here in Alaska, greatly due to our refugee policy, women comprise one-sixth of the population, compared to the national average of one-tenth.

  “And the woman?” my father asks.

  “Tia,” I say. “She’s....stubborn.”

  He grunts. “It’ll serve her well out here.”

  Or drive me insane.

  “Shouldn’t you be on your...honeymoon? Don’t they give every lottery winner a paid week off?”

  “Needed to get a few loose ends tied up here,” I lie, knowing my father will see right through it.

  “Marital troubles already?”

  I drag my fingers through my cropped hair, then rub the back of my neck. Confiding in my father will only open myself up to criticism.

  I know what I have to do. Just haven’t found the right time to do it yet.

  After spending a few unnecessary hours at work, I head back to the compound. Maybe I can ease up a little, find a way to make things less intense. But the moment I step inside the house I once again feel like the odd man out. Even Giles, who’d I think would understand why I’m on high alert, seems to have managed to find a way to relax.

  There’s music blaring throughout the house but the living room is empty. Frowning, I hang my jacket on a peg near the front door, and then walk into the kitchen to find it empty as well. On the counter, there are open bottles of wine and trays of food--fruit and vegetables, along with crackers and several wedges of cheese. All fancy, imported, and illegal to bring across the border. I can guess who managed to get that shit here.

  The French doors leading outside are open, and I stand in the door frame for a moment looking at the scene before me.

  Everyone is in the hot tub.

  Fuck me now.

  I lose all sense of reason as Tia stands in the water, moving to get out. She’s in a tiny white bikini, practically translucent, and while Huxley pisses me off in a hundred ways--if he was the one who procured this item of apparel, I hate him a hell of a lot less.

  She’s practically naked, and as she steps away from the hot tub, her skin glistens. Beads of water run from her neck to her breasts. The steam from the hot tub hits the cool Alaskan air, making her look even more ethereal.

  The men are in the hot tub, laughing and drinking beer. Everyone wears a smile and I wonder if this was what the government had expected when it gave each family a week off for their honeymoon.

  For a moment, I can’t help feeling like an idiot for leaving the compound at all. But it wouldn’t have been just Tia and me. It would have been all seven of us, and right now, I’m not in the mood to share.

  “You coming in?” Salinger asks. “There’s beer, man.”

  I frown. I don’t want beer with the guys. I want to get to know my wife. Alone.

  Her hair is pushed back from her face and her skin is bright and clean. She looks so fucking pure, so absolutely angelic, that I feel my cock grow hard at the sight of her.

  Damn, I need to control myself.

  She sees me watching her, and as she reaches for a towel from an Adirondack chair, I swear to god, she intentionally lets it fall to the ground.

  She bends down to get it, folding in two, and as she does, her ass is mine for the taking. Or at least, for the looking. She knows what she is doing and I’m happier for it. It’s the best thing I’ve seen in my whole damn life.

  Now I’m not just rock hard, I’m fucking ready to burst.

  Hell, I don’t want any man that isn’t her husband looking at her. She’s a fucking gift, a treasure, and a woman like her needs to be handled with care. I may not be considered soft around the edges myself, but I have a few ideas of how I’d like to caress her. I know what she needs.

  She picks up the towel and wraps it around herself. It’s barely long enough to cover her ass, and I groan inwardly at the sight of her. It’s utter perfection. When she passes me, she gives a smile I didn’t expect to receive after our cool greeting this morning.

  I follow her into the kitchen, wanting to say something to temper our cool exchange from earlier, but she speaks first.

  “If you want a better view, you better find some swim trunks and join the party,” she says, moving to the tray of food on the island and popping a grape in her mouth, eyes tempting and teasing me.

  She reaches for a plastic cup and fills it with white wine. I resist the urge to say something about drinking while in a hot tub–how it can increase dehydration and dizziness–but I hold back. Damn, everyone in the house already thinks I’m trying to kill the vibe.

  She asks if I want a glass and when I shake my head, she turns and makes her way back to the hot tub, glancing briefly over her shoulder at me.

  I drop my head back, regretting the fact I didn’t say anything. Say everything.

  Alone in the kitchen, I have a few choices. Retreat to my room, alone for the night, clean up this kitchen, or do as she suggests. Turning toward the stairs, the choice is easy.

  More than anything I want to be with her.

  And I also hate the idea of her in the hot tub with the other men, and not me. The thought makes my blood boil.

  So, even though what I really want to do is drag her to my bed, I pull on my swim trunks, beg my cock to behave itself, and join the party.

  Chapter 7

  Tia

  I get a call from Kate the next morning, inviting me over to her compound for coffee.

  “Lilah will be here too,” she says. Her bubbly voice is filled with excitement as I tell her I’ll be there. Before I hang up, she adds, “I’m just dying for some girl time, aren’t you?”

  Even though I doubt Kate and I are kindred spirits, I miss time with other women. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of company at the moment…but I grew up in an all-girl dormitory. I fell asleep each night with a woman, in their own beds, on either side of me.

  And right now, my bedroom is overwhelmingly lonely. I spent another night as a married woman all alone.

  Besides the need for female companionship, I more specifically need a conversation with some other wives.

  I know my husbands are trying to be respectful, but not one has even tried to kiss me, let alone consummate this marriage. I’m starting to wonder if any of them ever will. I’m hoping Kate or Lilah can help me understand the sexual frustration that is growing inside of me and the house.

  Kate gives me her address, and I tell her I’ll be over in an hour. Just enough time to get ready for the day.

  Once in my room, I try to decide what to wear for my first time out as a married woman before jumping in the shower. I have a small stack of clothing to choose from and I roll my fingers over the material. The dark denim jeans and the pink sweater should work.

  After slipping off my clothes, I reach for the terry cloth robe and walk into the ensuite bathroom to turn on the hot water. A knock on the bedroom door catches me off guard.

  “Come in,” I holler over the water, walking back toward my door.

  Huxley wears a big smile, his eyebrows raised. “You all alone in here?”

  I smirk, cinching the belt tighter. “Can I
help you?”

  He walks around the bedroom, taking it all in, then sets a bag on the king-sized bed. “You like the bedding and the artwork? Because I can get you something different if you want.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, looking over the room with a more discerning eye. “It’s lovely. That painting over the bed of the waterfall is so serene. And the gray walls and blue bedding, it’s all very calming.” I sit down on the bed and smooth my hands over the comforter.

  “You like things calm?”

  I nod. “The world feels so out of control. I think everyone prefers things calm, when they can have it,” I say. “Better than chaos.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know, I get bored easy.”

  “Is that why you run a black market?”

  He smiles, leaning in close to me. “Who told you that?”

  “Oh, it’s a secret?”

  Hux pushes his lips forward. “I don’t know your husbands every well. We may be a family, but I need to know who I can trust.”

  “You can trust me,” I say. The words fall out of my mouth before I consider the implications.

  Can Huxley trust me? I’m here under false pretenses.

  “Of course, I can trust you,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Which is why I brought you a gift--a highly sought-after item.” He points to the bag.

  “For me?”

  “Of course. I may not be a fancy scientist saving the world like Banks, or know how to pilot a plane like Fallon, but I know what my wife likes.”

  “Oh yeah? And what’s that?” I grin up at him.

  “See for yourself.”

  I pull out a cashmere robe in lavender. It’s soft beyond measure, easily the most extravagant gift I’ve ever received.

  “Hux, it’s too much.”

  He just shakes his head. “Try it on.” Our eyes meet, both of us knowing that there is nothing under my current robe.

  My cheeks flush, but I stand and turn away from him. I undo the belt on my generic robe and let it fall to the floor.

  I’m naked before him, my ass on display, and I pull my hair into a pile on the top of my head, securing it with an elastic band.

  Behind me, I hear Hux groan, ever so slightly, and then he reaches around me and hands me my cashmere replacement. He doesn’t touch me or kiss me or push me on the bed. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or pleased at his obvious restraint.

  I pull on the robe, but don’t tie the belt. My breasts exposed, my body bare--I’m his for the taking. Turning to face him, I offer myself for the taking.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and gravely. He shakes his head, stepping away. “You look so fucking beautiful, Tia.”

  I lift my eyes as he places a hand on the doorknob.

  “Leaving so soon?” I ask, pulling in my bottom lip.

  “I uh, I gotta check on a few things.”

  He hurries out of the room before I even get a chance to thank him.

  Huffing, I let out a small squeal of frustration. Why are these men so intent on giving me space? In the bathroom, I test the water. Seeing that it’s hot, I put my gorgeous new robe on a hook and step inside the shower.

  I let my shoulders fall, thinking about the way my husbands tiptoe around anything overtly sexual with me.

  Yesterday, in the hot tub I had never felt so beautiful. I knew my husbands were looking me over in my flimsy excuse for a bathing suit--yet they didn’t so much as kiss me.

  And boy, do I want them to. My body grows hot at the memory. Their stares in the hot tub emboldened me to take my time looking over the half-dressed men over myself. I loved what I sesawe, and then some.

  Considering it was a lottery, I lucked out. The men are handsome and physically fit. From what they’ve shared, it’s in large part because there are no women to keep their bed warm, and so the men resort to physical activities to relieve their pent-up energy.

  Even as they explained it, all seven of us in the hot tub, none of them reached for me, pulled me in their laps, and got physical with me.

  Now though, with the privacy of my personal shower, I get physical with myself. I press a finger against my clit, and my nipples tighten with the memory of my men, ruggedly handsome and chiseled to perfection. In the hot tub, I saw more than a few thick erections as they flirted and bantered with me. The sexual tension was there, but if they aren’t going to do anything about it, I will.

  All of them are arrestingly handsome in their own way, but as I part my legs, allowing myself more entrance, my clit swelling as I circle it ever so slowly, my mind is fixed on Fallon.

  My body opens as I picture him. When I asked him to join us outside after he returned from work yesterday, I didn’t expect him to. But when he came downstairs a few minutes later, bare-chested and steely eyes, I was certainly glad he did. I move my hand faster now, thinking about him on top of me. His broad shoulders above me and big hands on either side, intimidating me in the most delicious way.

  I’m panting now as the hot water creates steam around me. I’m gasping, as an orgasm rushes through me, my body alive and more piqued than it has ever been before.

  I pull myself from the shower, needing to cool down, and as I sink against the thick glass wall, my hand stays pressed against my pussy. My fingers keep moving, my body still desperate. There are so many men, so many bodies that are mine for the taking -- if someone would just make a move.

  I close my eyes, my wet hair around my shoulders, and I prop my foot up on the closed lid of the toilet, wanting to come as I imagine all my husbands with me. Taking me. Having me. And even though the idea is overwhelming in absolutely every way-- it also has me moaning as another, stronger orgasm runs over me.

  “Oh, yes,” I cry, my hand slick with my release. “Yes, yes, ohhh.”

  As I come, a door swing opens, and Emerson is standing there, looking at me wide-eyed and alarmed.

  “I, uh, I thought I heard you screaming … I uh, fuck, Tia, I’m sorry,” he says, backing away, running a hand through his long, dark blond hair, his face written in both shock and intrigue.

  I drop my foot to the floor and reach for a towel. Blood rushes to my face as I picture him seeing me getting off in such an unabashed way. I purse my lips, cheeks burning, and step toward him, a towel draped over my breasts.

  “Don’t tell anyone what you just saw,” I plead, watching as his smile turns to a grin.

  “I had no idea my wife was so…”

  “So what?” I press, attempting a scowl, when really, I feel the pleasant turn of a smile spreading across my face too.

  He looks me up and down, head to toe, having had a better view of me than any man in this house.

  “So absolutely perfect,” he says, leaning forward and kissing me on the nose. Then he leaves the bathroom, closing the door, without another word.

  And I’m left staring at the closed door, my mouth hanging open.

  What the hell was that?

  I’m not technically breaking one of Fallon’s rules as I dart down the street, and make a right, then a left towards Kate’s house. And I had mentioned, albeit briefly, to Emerson that I was going to meet with Kate. But he had a funny look on his face when I told him, like he wasn’t really listening, but rather remembering the earlier shower incident.

  Tough luck for him. He’d had his chance. I’d been there for his taking, and all he’d done was kiss me - on the damn nose.

  Serves him right that I borrowed his keycard to get out of the house. See how he likes being locked up.

  A small, satisfied smile plays on my lips as I make my way to the iron gate with the numbers four-eight-six engraved into dark metal. I press the security button, and wait for Kate to unlock the gate. Both her and Lilah meet me at the front door, wrapping their arms around me in a tight embrace, one that speaks of the bond that three weeks locked in the hold of a cargo ship could form.

  “Did you walk here?” Kate asks, frowning, while taking my coat.

&nbs
p; “It’s not far.” I take off my hat and gloves, another gift from Huxley.

  “I can’t believe your men let you out alone,” Lilah says.

  I don’t tell them that I sort of snuck out, because I have more important things to worry about.

  Like trying to figure out why my husbands won’t have sex with me.

  We get coffee in the kitchen, and I notice that while our homes are identical in many ways, there are still differences. My appliances are state of the art, and theirs aren’t quite as fancy. Mine has marble countertops, theirs are laminate.

  I look out the window over the sink, noticing another way our compounds aren’t the same.

  “No hot tub?” I ask, adding cream to my coffee.

  Kate shrugs. “Guessing you do?”

  I nod, following Kate and Lilah to the living room.

  “That’s because you had the highest buy in,” Lilah explains, sitting down on the couch.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize,” I say, embarrassed to have brought up something so awkward.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Kate says. “You’re gorgeous and had the highest pregnancy aptitude score. Makes sense you had the highest number of tickets.”

  “I didn’t realize our housing was connected to that.”

  Lilah nods. “Oh yeah, one of my husbands, Judd, works for the Alaskan Lottery Office. He said the compounds are all rated. Each family gets their assignment based on money brought in from the bride.”

  “So, no hot tub for us to relax in after a hard day of work,” Kate says, giving us a fake pout. “But that’s fine by me. My husbands have a pretty good handle on how to loosen me up on their own.” She breaks out in a laugh and Lilah joins in. I smile nervously, feeling on the outside of the circle.

  We sit back with our coffee and I notice that both Kate and Lilah are glowing. Their excitement is almost contagious as they start chattering away about married life.

  “...I never knew it would be this good...”

  “...I was sore the first day, but now, I just can’t get enough...”

  “...when he kissed me there, I thought my whole body would explode...”