Chapter 15: Celebrating, The Only Way Jan Knows How
The front door blew open with a gust of wind that smelled of ozone and celebration. Jan stood in the frame, a bottle of cheap champagne in one hand, her short red hair practically sparking with unrestrained energy. Her grin was a slash of pure triumph.
“Did you see?” she crowed, kicking the door shut behind her. “Front page of the Chicago World News! ‘Alderman’s Petro-Deal Exposed as Shell Game.’ ‘Health Inspector Linked to Racketeering.’ Kent and Leanne are fucking artists!”
Mike looked up from the floor where he was trying to assemble a plastic activity gym for Rick. Casey paused, a half-washed baby bottle in her hand. The air in the cozy, cluttered living room changed. It thickened, grew warm, and carried a scent like night-blooming jasmine and heated skin. Jan’s magic didn’t roar in; it seeped into the atmosphere, a potent cocktail of release and want.
Mike felt it first, a sudden, heavy pull in his gut, a rush of blood that had nothing to do with the news. He blinked, his focus dissolving from the plastic pieces. Casey put the bottle down slowly, her knuckles white on the counter. A flush was already creeping up her neck.
“Jan,” Casey started, her voice tighter than she intended. “Could you maybe dial it back to a seven?”
“Why?” Jan laughed, the sound like shattering glass. She strode forward, the champagne forgotten on a side table. “We won! The Consortium’s local goons are getting perp-walked by actual cops! That’s a ten! A twelve!” Her eyes, bright and mischievous, landed on Casey. “This demands a proper tribute.”
Before Casey could formulate a protest, Jan was on her. She grabbed Casey’s shoulders, spun her, and pushed her backward onto the worn sectional couch. Casey fell with a soft “oof,” her artist’s smock riding up. Jan climbed atop her, knees straddling Casey’s hips, and pinned her wrists above her head on the cushion.
“Jan, goddamnit—” Casey gasped, but the fight was leaking out of her, replaced by a liquid heat that pooled low in her belly. Jan’s power was a tangible pressure, a soft, insistent whisper in her veins: Just feel. Let go.
“Shhh,” Jan murmured, lowering her face until their lips were almost touching. “Just feel good, Picasso. You earned it.” Then she kissed her, hard and deep, her tongue sweeping into Casey’s mouth. At the same time, she ground her denim-clad crotch down against Casey’s. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction was electric.
Casey moaned into the kiss, her body arching of its own volition. Her free hands came up, tangling in Jan’s fiery hair, pulling her closer. The world narrowed to the taste of Jan, the scent of her, the rough, rhythmic pressure against her clit.
Mike watched, transfixed, from the floor. His jeans were suddenly, painfully tight. He saw Jan’s hand slide under Casey’s smock, saw the muscles in Jan’s forearm flex as she palmed Casey’s breast through her bra. Casey’s head fell back, exposing her throat, a soft whimper escaping her. It was the most erotic thing Mike had ever seen, and a fierce, possessive ache twisted in his chest alongside the lust. She was his wife, and she was breathtaking.
He didn’t hear Stacy approach. He only felt strong, sure hands on his shoulders from behind, and then a warm, naked body pressing against his back. Soft breasts flattened against his shirt. Stacy’s lips were at his ear, her breath hot.
“You look like you need a hands-on coach,” she whispered, her voice husky. Her fingers made quick, efficient work of his belt buckle, then the button and zipper of his jeans. She shoved them and his boxers down over his hips in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free, fully hard and already dripping.
Mike gasped, his head falling back against her shoulder. Her hand wrapped around his length, giving him two firm, slick strokes. She was already wet; he could feel the moisture of her sex against the small of his back.
“Stacy,” he breathed.
“No talking,” she commanded softly, guiding him. “Just fucking.” She positioned him, then sank down onto him, sheathing him completely in her hot, tight warmth in one fluid, athletic motion. A guttural groan was torn from Mike’s throat. She felt incredible—powerful muscles clutching him, welcoming him.
She set a punishing pace immediately, riding him with the focused intensity of a workout, her strong thighs driving her up and down his shaft. Each drop sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. He reached back, gripping her hips, fingers digging into firm flesh, helping to lift and drive her. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, filled the room alongside Casey’s escalating moans.
On the couch, Jan had liberated Casey’s breasts from her bra, her mouth latched onto one taut nipple, sucking and laving while her hand worked between Casey’s legs. She had yanked Casey’s shorts and panties down to her thighs and was fingering her with two, then three fingers, her thumb circling Casey’s clit in tight, rapid circles.
“Fuck, Jan… right there, don’t stop…” Casey was babbling, her hips bucking off the couch, driving herself onto Jan’s hand. The coil of pleasure in her was wound impossibly tight, vibrating, about to snap. Her eyes, blurry with lust, found Mike’s across the room. He was on his knees, Stacy impaled on his cock, her nails scoring his shoulders as she rode him. The raw, visual echo of their own passion pushed Casey even higher.
“Mike!” she cried out, the name a strangled plea.
He heard her. Through the haze of sensation, through the incredible feel of Stacy’s cunt milking his cock, he locked eyes with his wife. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her body trembling on the edge. Love, fierce and protective, cut through the pure animal fuck of it all.
“Casey…” he managed, his voice rough.
“There’s never… a dull moment… in our lives, is there?” she panted, a wild, tearful laugh caught in her throat as Jan’s fingers plunged deeper.
Mike drove up into Stacy, feeling his own climax gathering like a storm. “I wouldn’t have it… any other way,” he grunted, each thrust punctuating his words. “But I always… always… want you here. For whatever happens.”
It was the truth, naked and simple amidst the debauchery. It was the anchor.
Casey’s orgasm hit her like a freight train. It wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation. Her back arched violently, a raw, shattered scream ripped from her lungs, and her cunt clenched rhythmically around Jan’s fingers. “I love you!” she cried out, the words torn from the epicenter of the quake. “I’m not going anywhere!”
Her words were the trigger for him. With a final, deep roar, Mike buried himself to the hilt in Stacy and came, pulses of hot cum flooding her as she clamped around him, her own climax wracking her powerful frame in silent, shuddering spasms.
The room descended into a heavy, breathing silence, broken only by the soft pops of cooling joints and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Jan slowly extracted her slick fingers from Casey, giving her clit one last, gentle pass that made Casey jerk. Jan chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, and rolled off her, sprawling on the other end of the couch, naked from the waist down.
Stacy climbed off Mike, her movements gracefully unselfconscious. She gave his shoulder a soft, affectionate squeeze before padding, completely nude and gleaming with a light sweat, down the short hall toward the nursery to check on Rick.
Mike and Casey slid off their respective perches, finding each other on the floor amidst the discarded baby toys and plastic parts. They didn’t speak. They just wrapped around each other, skin to sticky skin, Casey’s head on his chest, his face buried in her hair. The frantic energy of Jan’s magic had ebbed, leaving behind a warm, sated glow and the deep, familiar comfort of each other.
“How,” Mike whispered into her hair, his voice muffled with wonder, “did we get so lucky?”
Casey nuzzled closer, drawing a lazy circle on his stomach. “Dumb luck. Magical interference. Excellent taste in weirdos.”
The couch cushions shifted as Jan stood up. She was completely naked now, having shucked her remaining clothes, her freckled skin flushed. She walked, with the unembarrassed grace of a cat, to the kitchen, found three mismatched coffee mugs, and filled them with the warm champagne. She returned, the mugs clinking gently in her hands.
Without a word, she settled onto the floor on her knees and pushed herself firmly into the space between Mike and Casey, her back against the couch, a shoulder against each of them. She handed them their mugs.
“You don’t have good luck,” Jan said, taking a long sip from her own mug, a contented sigh escaping her. “You just have good taste in friends.”
Mike took his mug, his free arm automatically curling around Jan to rest on Casey’s far side. Casey took hers, leaning her head against Jan’s shoulder. They sat there on the floor, three friends in a naked, contented pile, drinking warm champagne in the quiet suburban afternoon, while from the nursery, the soft, sleepy gurgle of a baby provided the only soundtrack they needed.
They sat there on the floor, three friends in a naked, contented pile, drinking warm champagne in the quiet suburban afternoon, while from the nursery, the soft, sleepy gurgle of a baby provided the only soundtrack they needed.
The nursery door opened with a soft click. Stacy emerged, barefoot and still gloriously nude, with Rick cradled against her shoulder. She moved with a predator’s grace, her muscular frame utterly relaxed. She whispered a Hebrew lullaby into the fine, dark hair on the baby’s head, her voice a low, mesmerizing hum that seemed to vibrate in the still air.
Casey watched them, a complex warmth blossoming in her chest that had nothing to do with champagne or magic. She took a slow sip from her mug, the cheap bubbles tickling her nose. She turned her head, her cheek resting against Jan’s freckled shoulder.
“In all seriousness,” Casey said, her voice husky from screaming. “Why here? For the… celebration raid.” She gestured vaguely at the room, at their naked, sated states. “Why not with Hank and Fatima? Or Mara and Zack? They’ve got more room. Probably better champagne.”
Jan was quiet for a moment, listening to Stacy’s lullaby. She swirled the liquid in her mug. “I come to you two because I know things.”
Mike lifted his head from where it rested against Jan’s other side. “What kind of things?”
“Future things.” Jan’s tone was uncharacteristically flat, stripped of its usual mischief. “Thanks to my brother Johnny, I had my mind shunted forward. Twenty years.”
The air in the room seemed to cool a degree. Stacy’s lullaby stopped. She stood by the window, rocking Rick gently, her dark eyes fixed on Jan.
“The Consortium was still there,” Jan continued, staring at a water stain on the ceiling. “More powerful, embedded deeper. James Murphy won a senate seat at some point. But you two…” She tilted her head, looking from Mike to Casey. “You were real. With Rick. And his younger sisters.”
Mike blinked. “Sisters?”
A ghost of Jan’s smirk returned. “I probably said too much. The next one won’t come along until Rick is walking, from the looks of things. You should try to look surprised when the girls show up.”
Casey reached out and took Mike’s hand, their fingers threading together automatically. The weight of a future, their future, settled over them—not as a threat, but as a strange, accepted fact, like a peculiar piece of mail delivered decades early.
Jan set her mug down on the floor with a definitive clink. “I came here,” she said, her voice dropping to a confessional murmur, “because you have no magic. Your kids won’t have any. You don’t have Stacy’s strength, or Hank’s skill with engines, or Mara’s legal mind.” As she spoke, her left hand slid casually into Mike’s lap, her fingers wrapping around his softening cock. She began to stroke him, slowly, deliberately, her thumb swiping over the slick head.
Simultaneously, her right hand drifted between Casey’s thighs. Casey inhaled sharply as Jan’s fingers, still slick from her own body, found her swollen folds and plunged two fingers deep inside her without preamble. The intrusion was stark, claiming, a physical counterpoint to the cerebral revelation.
“When you learned magic was real,” Jan continued, her hands working in a steady, distracting rhythm, “you weren’t afraid. You were excited. You saw it as a path to joy and wonder. Just like I do.” She pumped Mike’s length, feeling him stiffen rapidly under her touch. She crooked her fingers inside Casey, pressing against a spot that made Casey’s hips jerk. “You reacted the correct way.”
Jan’s gaze grew distant, her motions becoming more mechanical, as if fueling the memory. “James and Inez Murphy learned magic was real and decided it was the enemy. That was wrong. It’s a fucking tool. A texture. People are people. And just because a certain sexy redhead makes people feel awe and wonder whenever she strips naked doesn’t mean she’s evil or wrong.”
Casey, her breath coming in short hitches around Jan’s penetrating fingers, managed a choked laugh. “I just figured your magic was a better explanation for the wild parties than you being a nymphomaniac who kept spiking our drinks.”
Mike, fully hard again in Jan’s fist, grunted. “She could still be a nymphomaniac.”
Jan laughed then, a real, bright sound that cracked the solemnity. “I just want people to feel good.” She twisted her wrist on his cock, a slick, tight corkscrew motion that made his toes curl. Her other fingers slid in and out of Casey with a wet, rhythmic sound. “The one thing I feel I can tell you,” Jan said, her voice softening, “is that when I saw the future, you were together. Happy. You built a… a house of joy. A real Green Moon thing for people who never joined the Order.”
She looked at them, her eyes shining with an intensity that was neither lust nor magic, but something purer. “It will be hard. But it will be worth it. Particularly for the person who will deserve that happiness the most.” She nodded toward Stacy, who stood silhouetted by the afternoon light, the baby now asleep on her shoulder.
Mike and Casey exchanged a look over Jan’s head—a silent, entire conversation flowing between them in an instant. They saw the fierce protectiveness in Stacy’s posture, the unguarded tenderness as she nuzzled Rick’s head.
“Rick could do a lot worse,” Mike said quietly, his voice thick.
“A whole hell of a lot worse,” Casey agreed, pushing her hips down to take Jan’s fingers deeper.
Jan smiled, a beautiful, radiant thing. She removed her hands, bringing her wet fingers from Casey to her mouth, sucking them clean with a soft pop. Then she took Mike’s slick cock and guided it firmly, unambiguously, toward Casey’s waiting entrance.
“So,” Jan breathed, her own naked body humming with renewed energy as she positioned them, as Mike sheathed himself inside his wife with a long, mutual groan. “Is everyone up for round two?”
Stacy’s answer was to lay the sleeping Rick gently in his bassinet by the window. She turned, her expression shifting from serene caretaker to focused hunger. She didn’t walk toward them; she stalked.
Jan met her halfway, rising to her knees. Stacy grabbed a fistful of Jan’s red hair and crushed their mouths together in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Jan moaned, her hands flying to Stacy’s ass, kneading the hard muscle.
Mike was moving inside Casey, a slow, deep, reconnecting rhythm that was more about feeling than frenzy. Casey clutched at his back, her legs locked around his waist, her eyes watching Stacy and Jan.
Stacy broke the kiss, her lips glistening. “My turn,” she growled. She pushed Jan down onto her back on the carpet beside the intertwined couple. She spread Jan’s thighs, her gaze fixed on the glistening red curls below. She didn’t hesitate. She buried her face between Jan’s legs, her tongue lapping at Jan’s clit with the same relentless efficiency she applied to everything.
“Fuck! Stacy, right there!” Jan arched, her hands scrambling against the carpet.
The room filled with the sounds of them: the wet, hungry sounds of Stacy eating Jan out; the rhythmic, skin-on-skin slap of Mike fucking Casey; the ragged symphony of their breathing. It was a messy, overlapping convergence of need and affection.
Jan, writhing under Stacy’s mouth, reached out a trembling hand. She found Mike’s arm, her fingers digging into his bicep. She then found Casey’s hand, tangling their fingers together. They were all connected—by touch, by sound, by the shared, secret knowledge of a future they were building right now in this sunlit, ordinary room.
Stacy worked Jan with a ruthless precision, sliding two fingers into her dripping cunt while her tongue circled and flicked. Jan’s cries became shrieks, her body bowing off the floor. “I’m gonna come! Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”
Casey felt her own second climax clawing its way up, spurred by Mike’s thrusts and the raw, visual feast beside her. She turned her head, watching Stacy’s dark hair between Jan’s thighs, watching Jan unravel.
“With me,” Casey panted to Mike. “Come with me.”
Mike’s rhythm fractured into desperate, pounding drives. “Casey… god…”
Jan came first. A raw, shattered scream was torn from her throat as her orgasm racked her, her cunt clamping around Stacy’s fingers, her back arching so severely it looked painful. The force of it seemed to ripple through the tangle of their bodies.
It triggered Casey’s. She convulsed, a silent, open-mouthed gasp seizing her as pleasure detonated in her core, her internal muscles fluttering wildly around Mike’s cock. He followed a second later, his own release punching out of him with a guttural shout as he emptied himself deep inside her.
Stacy slowly rose from between Jan’s legs, her chin and lips glistening. She looked down at the three of them—spent, trembling, and inextricably linked on the floor. A slow, satisfied smile touched her lips. She sank down beside them, her strong body fitting itself against the curve of Mike’s back, her hand resting possessively on Casey’s hip.
For a long time, the only sound was their slowing breath. The late afternoon sun slanted across the bassinet, across the discarded plastic activity gym, across a nested, sleeping dogs. The house of joy, it seemed, already had its foundations. And they were laid deep, here in the quiet aftermath, in the sweat and the stickiness and the unshakeable certainty of what was to come.
Jan was the first to move, a slow, languid stretch that ended with her head propped on her elbow, looking at Stacy. The fitness instructor’s eyes were closed, her face turned toward the ceiling, but a single tear had tracked a clean line through the sheen of sweat on her temple. It wasn’t sadness. It was the unbearable pressure of a want that had no outlet, a future love burning a hole in her present.
“You’re not done,” Jan said, her voice quiet but absolute.
Stacy’s eyes opened. They were dark pools of unresolved tension. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit,” Casey murmured, untangling herself from Mike and rolling onto her side to face Stacy. She traced the line of Stacy’s jaw with a sticky finger. “You just orchestrated three orgasms and settled a baby. You’re vibrating like a live wire.”
Mike pushed himself up, his body protesting. He looked at Stacy, really looked. He saw the fierce protectiveness that had just cradled his son, and beneath it, a hollow ache he recognized. It was the same look she’d had when she’d confessed her impossible love for their adult son, a man who currently existed only as a six-month-old. A love with no target, a devotion with no object. It was a kind of starvation.
“Jan’s right,” Mike said, his voice rough. He crawled the short distance over, his softened cock brushing against Stacy’s calf. “Your turn. No arguments.”
Jan was already moving, a conductor of flesh. “On your back, Coach. You’re benching yourself.” There was no magic in her voice now, just a gentle command.
Stacy let out a shuddering breath, a resistance that wasn’t really resistance, and complied. She lay back on the carpet, her powerful body a landscape of taut muscle and soft curves, bathed in the late afternoon sun. She looked exposed, not just naked, but emotionally flayed.
Jan positioned herself at Stacy’s head, sinking down to straddle her shoulders, facing her feet. She lowered her swollen, freshly-fucked pussy onto Stacy’s mouth. “Taste your work,” Jan whispered, grinding her wet folds against Stacy’s lips. “Get yourself started.”
Stacy’s tongue lashed out instinctively, a hungry, broad stroke that coated her lips with Jan’s combined musk. She moaned, the vibration against Jan’s clit making Jan gasp.
At the same time, Jan gestured to Casey. “You know what she likes. Get up there.”
Casey needed no further instruction. She moved between Stacy’s muscular thighs, which fell open for her. Stacy was soaked, her dark curls glistening. Casey didn’t tease. She dove in, burying her face, her tongue spearing deep into Stacy’s cunt before flattening against her clit in firm, unrelenting circles. Stacy’s hips jerked off the floor, a choked cry muffled by Jan’s pussy.
Mike watched for a moment, the raw tableau hitting him with a force that made his breath catch. This wasn't just sex. It was an act of surgery, of emotional excavation. He moved to Stacy’s side, his hand finding one of her breasts. He palmed the full weight of it, his thumb brushing over her stiff nipple, then lowered his head and took it into his mouth, sucking hard, his other hand skating down the quivering plane of her stomach.
Stacy was being consumed from three points, and the structure of her control shattered. She writhed, her hands coming up to grip Jan’s ass, her fingers digging into the soft flesh as she ate Jan with a frantic, desperate rhythm. Her thighs trembled around Casey’s head. Guttural, fragmented sounds were torn from her throat.
“That’s it,” Jan moaned, riding Stacy’s face, her own head thrown back. “Let it go. We’ve got you. We’re your fucking port in the storm.”
Mike’s mouth traveled lower, his lips leaving a wet trail down her abdomen. He replaced Casey’s mouth, his tongue joining the campaign. He was less practiced than his wife, but earnest, his tongue licking broad stripes through her soaked folds before finding her clit and sucking it gently into his mouth.
Casey came up for air, her chin slick. She saw Mike’s head between Stacy’s legs, saw the profound intimacy of it, and a new idea took hold. She moved to Stacy’s side, opposite Jan’s straddling form. She took Stacy’s nearest hand and guided it between her own legs, pressing Stacy’s long, strong fingers into her own sensitive, swollen flesh.
“Feel that,” Casey hissed, moving Stacy’s fingers in a circling motion over her clit. “You did that. You make us feel that good. Now take some back.”
Stacy’s eyes flew open, wide and wild. The sensation overload was colossal: Jan’s cunt on her mouth, Mike’s tongue on her clit, Casey’s heat under her fingers. The feedback loop of giving and receiving pleasure short-circuited her famous discipline. Her body began to coil, tighter and tighter, a spring compressed to its absolute limit.
Jan felt the change in the rhythm of Stacy’s tongue, felt the hungry, sucking pulls. “She’s close,” Jan announced, her own voice ragged. “Mike, finger her. Deep. Now.”
Mike didn’t hesitate. He slid two fingers inside Stacy’s sopping cunt, curling them upward, pumping in time with his mouth on her clit. He found a rough, textured spot inside and pressed hard.
It was the final trigger.
Stacy’s orgasm didn’t crest; it erupted. Her back arched violently, lifting Jan off the ground for a second. A raw, shattered scream was torn from her lungs, a sound so full of anguish and release it made Casey’s eyes fill with tears. Stacy’s cunt clenched around Mike’s fingers in a rapid, brutal series of spasms, gushing wetness over his hand and chin. Her whole body shook, seized by a paroxysm so intense it looked like pain.
She collapsed, boneless, her breath coming in ragged, wet sobs. Jan slid off her face, curling beside her, kissing her temple, her cheek, tasting salt. Casey gently removed Stacy’s hand from between her legs and pressed a kiss to her palm. Mike rested his head on her thigh, his face wet with her, his fingers still gently working inside her as the aftershocks slowly, slowly subsided.
The silence that followed was different. It was saturated, complete.
After a long while, Stacy spoke, her voice a ruined scrap. “I don’t know how to wait twenty years.”
Casey wiped her own eyes. “You don’t have to wait for him to love you,” she said softly. “You can love him now. You can love us now. It’s the same love. It just… changes shape.”
Mike withdrew his fingers, leaning up to kiss Stacy’s stomach. “You’re family. Today. That’s not a future thing. That’s a now thing.”
Jan traced the line of Stacy’s eyebrow. “And we’re going to need our deadly motherfucker in Chicago sharp. The Consortium’s going to be pissed about those arrests. The Murphys are going to want blood.”
Stacy took a deep, shuddering breath, the hollow ache temporarily filled, not with the future, but with the palpable, sweaty reality of the present. She looked at the three faces around her, at the baby sleeping innocently in his bassinet, at the ugly, protective cat now watching from the hallway with indifferent yellow eyes.
“Okay,” she said, the word solid, grounding. “Okay. Let them come.”