The confession should have broken something. Instead, it sealed them.
Alex woke the next morning to the smell of rain-washed air and the soft press of four bodies. The power was back; the bedside clock blinked 6:47 in lazy red digits. He lay still, listening: Mia's slow breathing against his shoulder, Sasha's leg hooked over his, Lena's fingers curled loosely around his wrist, Talia's breasts warm against his back. The house hummed, a low, satisfied note he felt in his bones.
He understood now. The house wasn't haunted. It was *hungry*. Not for fear or blood, but for connection. It had chosen him the way a tide chooses a shore: inevitable, patient, eternal.
Mia stirred first. She lifted her head, blonde hair tousled, lips curved in a sleepy smile. "You're thinking loud."
"I'm thinking," he admitted, "that I want pancakes. And all of you. In that order."
Lena laughed into his neck. "Greedy man."
They moved like a single organism. Shower first: five bodies under the rainfall head, steam thick as desire. Hands washed backs, shampooed hair, traced scars and freckles and the soft weight of breasts. Alex knelt to rinse soap from Sasha's thighs; she cupped his face, guided his mouth to her pussy, came with a shudder against the tile. Mia pressed against his back, breasts slick, fingers wrapping around his cock to stroke him slow while Talia kissed Lena under the spray.
Breakfast was chaos and syrup. Pancakes stacked high, bacon crisp, coffee strong. They ate naked at the kitchen island, feeding each other bites, licking sticky fingers clean. Sasha dripped syrup on Talia's breast and chased it with her tongue. Lena painted a line of batter across Alex's chest and sucked it off slow, teeth grazing his nipple.
The day unfolded in languid, erotic increments.
**Mid-morning:** The backyard. The storm had left the grass wet and fragrant. They spread a blanket under the old oak, sun filtering through leaves in dappled gold. Talia oiled them all: coconut scent thick, hands gliding over breasts, hips, the curve where thigh met ass. Alex lay on his back while the women took turns riding his cock, his face, his fingers. Mia came with the sun on her breasts, head thrown back, blonde hair a halo. Sasha followed, grinding slow, red curls damp with sweat. Lena and Talia kissed above him, breasts pressed together, nipples rubbing as they watched him disappear inside the others.
**Afternoon:** The basement studio. Alex's graphic tablet lay forgotten. Instead, they used the big screen for something else: slow, looping videos of their own making. Sasha filmed on her phone: Mia on her knees, mouth stretched around Alex's cock; Lena riding reverse, breasts bouncing in the mirror's reflection; Talia's fingers buried in Sasha's pussy while Alex fucked Talia from behind. They watched the playback later, tangled on the sectional, touching themselves to the sight of their own pleasure.
**Evening:** The kitchen again. Lena cooked risotto, naked except for an apron. Alex bent her over the counter, slid into her slow and deep, stirring the pot with one hand while the other circled her clit. The others watched, sipping wine, fingers wandering. When Lena came, she did it quietly, biting her lip, walls fluttering around him. He followed, spilling inside her, the scent of garlic and sex thick in the air.
**Night:** The bedroom. Candles again. Talia orchestrated a final, perfect tableau.
They laid Alex in the center of the bed, wrists loosely tied with silk scarves: not restraint, just suggestion. Then they worshipped.
Mia straddled his face, slow and deep, breasts swaying as she rode his tongue.
Sasha took his cock, sinking down inch by inch, walls velvet and tight.
Lena and Talia knelt on either side, breasts pressed to his chest, kissing each other above him, nipples brushing his skin. Their hands roamed: Lena's fingers circling Mia's clit, Talia's stroking Sasha's breast, both women moaning into each other's mouths.
The rhythm built like a tide. Mia came first, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his tongue. Sasha followed, grinding down hard, red curls damp with sweat. Lena and Talia took turns riding his fingers, then each other's mouths, until the room was a symphony of gasps and slick sounds.
When Alex finally came, it was with Sasha's pussy milking him, Mia's breasts in his mouth, Lena and Talia's fingers laced with his. He spilled deep, vision whiting out, the house itself seeming to sigh around them.
After, they untied the scarves. Curled together. Breathed.
Mia traced lazy circles on his chest. "The house is happy," she whispered. "Can you feel it?"
He could. The walls no longer creaked with age; they *hummed*. The air was warm, alive, content. Outside, Elm Street slept under a blanket of stars. Inside, five hearts beat in perfect sync.
Sasha nuzzled his neck. "We'll stay as long as you want."
Lena kissed his shoulder. "Forever, if you let us."
Talia's voice was soft, reverent. "The house chose well."
Alex pulled them closer: four bodies, one soul.
"Forever," he said.
The house sighed again, deeper this time. Settled. Slept.
And in the quiet dark, the story of Alex and his four impossible women became legend: whispered on Elm Street, felt in the walls, lived in every slow, perfect touch.
The first week after the storm passed like a held breath.
No one spoke of leaving. No one needed to. The women's toothbrushes lined the bathroom counter like soldiers. Their lingerie hung from the shower rod, lace and silk dripping onto the tile. The fridge was stocked with Mia's almond milk, Sasha's oat yogurt, Lena's dark chocolate, Talia's imported espresso beans. Alex's graphic tablet gathered dust; deadlines were ignored, emails unread. The world outside Elm Street felt thin, two-dimensional, a sketch he'd once colored in.
They lived in the *between*: the hush after a kiss, the pause before a moan, the moment when skin met skin and time stopped.
**Mornings** were soft now. No urgency. Mia still brewed coffee, but she wore Alex's T-shirt, hem brushing mid-thigh. She'd bring him a mug, crawl back into bed, and let him sip while she traced lazy circles around his nipple with one finger. Sometimes she'd straddle him, sink down slow, and just *hold* him inside her: no thrusting, just the pulse of her walls, the warmth, the connection. They'd stay like that until the coffee cooled, breathing each other in.
**Afternoons** were for exploration. The house had secrets: a narrow attic ladder, a root cellar Alex had never opened, a window seat in the guest room that looked onto the neighbor's overgrown lilacs. They claimed each space.
One day, Sasha found the attic. Dust motes danced in the slanted light. Old trunks, forgotten board games, a cracked mirror that reflected them in fractured pieces. She spread a quilt on the floorboards and rode Alex reverse, breasts bouncing in the mirror's shards, red curls wild. When she came, she did it quietly, biting her lip, pussy clenching so hard he followed without moving.
Another day, Lena discovered the root cellar. Cool, dark, smelling of earth and old wine. She bent over a dusty crate, breasts hanging heavy, and begged him to take her from behind. He did: slow, deep, one hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. The stone walls echoed their breathing. When they emerged, dirt-smudged and sated, Talia was waiting with a bottle of merlot and a wicked smile.
**Evenings** were for rituals. They cooked together now: all five crowded around the stove, naked or in scraps of lingerie. Mia chopped vegetables, breasts swaying. Sasha stirred sauce, hips bumping Alex's. Lena tasted from the spoon, then kissed him so he tasted too. Talia set the table with candles, her olive skin glowing in the flame. They ate slowly, feeding each other, licking fingers clean. After, they'd migrate to the living room: jazz low, bodies tangled on the sectional. Someone would start it: a kiss, a hand sliding between thighs, a mouth on a breast. They'd take turns, slow and deliberate, until the room smelled of sex and wax and the faint sweetness of their skin.
**Nights** were sacred. The bedroom was their church. Talia still orchestrated, but softer now. No blindfolds. No scarves. Just touch.
One night, they laid Alex on his back and took turns sitting on his face: Mia first, slow and deep, blonde hair curtaining his eyes; then Sasha, grinding with abandon, freckles stark against flushed skin; Lena, quiet and intense, thighs trembling; Talia last, riding his tongue like she was claiming him. While one rode his face, the others touched him: fingers on his cock, mouths on his nipples, breasts pressed to his chest. He came without being inside anyone, just from the taste of them, the weight, the sound of their moans blending into one.
Another night, they formed a chain: Alex inside Mia, Mia's tongue on Sasha, Sasha's fingers in Lena, Lena's mouth on Talia, Talia's hand on Alex's balls. They moved like a wave, slow and endless, until they all came in a ripple: Mia first, then Sasha, Lena, Talia, Alex last, spilling deep inside Mia with a broken groan.
They slept tangled, always. Limbs overlapping, breasts soft against his back, his arms, his chest. The house wrapped around them like a blanket.
But the world outside began to nudge.
A text from Alex's boss: *Everything okay? Haven't heard in days.*
A missed call from his mother.
A neighbor's curious glance through the lilacs.
One morning, Mia found the stack of unopened mail on the counter. She held up a thick envelope: creamy paper, gold embossing. "This looks important."
Alex took it. His name, in calligraphy. No return address. Inside: a single card.
> *The threshold strengthens.
> Choose before the equinox.
> One heart, five souls.
> Or none.*
The women read it over his shoulder. Silence fell, thick as the attic dust.
Sasha broke it. "We felt it coming."
Lena's voice was soft. "The house doesn't keep secrets forever."
Talia traced the words with one finger. "It wants permanence. A vow."
Mia looked at Alex, eyes wide and serious for the first time. "We can leave. If you want. Walk out that door and never look back. The pull will fade. You'll be free."
He looked at them: Mia's blonde waves, Sasha's freckles, Lena's sharp green eyes, Talia's olive skin. The house hummed around them, warm and waiting.
"Free?" He laughed, low and rough. "I've never been less free. Or more *home*."
He took the card, tore it in half, then quarters, let the pieces flutter to the floor.
"Stay," he said. "All of you. Forever."
The house *sighed*: a deep, contented exhale that rattled the windows and stirred the candles. The lights flickered once, then steadied. Outside, the lilacs bloomed overnight, heavy and fragrant.
They sealed it that night.
In the bedroom, candles blazing. They stood in a circle, naked, hands linked. Talia spoke first: "I give you my body, my pleasure, my days and nights."
Lena: "My loyalty, my fire, my heart."
Sasha: "My laughter, my hunger, my soul."
Mia: "My light, my warmth, my forever."
Alex: "All of me. Every breath. Every touch. Every morning I wake with you."
They fell together: slow, reverent, endless. Mouths and hands and pussies and cocks: a tangle of flesh and love. They came in waves, again and again, until the candles burned low and the sheets were soaked and the house itself seemed to *pulse* with their pleasure.
When they slept, it was deep and dreamless. The equinox came and went unnoticed.
Elm Street settled into its new truth.
The house had its five souls.
And they had each other.
The first crack appeared on a Tuesday in late September.
Alex was in the kitchen, flipping French toast, wearing nothing but sweatpants riding low on his hips. Mia leaned against the counter in his T-shirt, legs bare, breasts brushing his arm every time she reached for the powdered sugar. Sasha danced barefoot to an old soul track, red curls bouncing, nipples hard beneath a cropped tank. Lena and Talia were still upstairs, their soft laughter drifting down the stairwell like smoke.
The doorbell rang.
Three sharp chimes: polite, insistent, *wrong*.
The music cut. The sizzle of butter in the pan suddenly sounded too loud.
Mia's eyes met Alex's. "Delivery?"
"No packages scheduled."
Sasha padded to the front window, peeked through the blinds. "It's a woman. Suit. Clipboard. Looks official."
Lena appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a towel, hair damp. "Ignore it."
The bell rang again. Then a knock: three measured taps.
Talia came down behind Lena, silk robe slipping off one shoulder. "The house doesn't like strangers," she murmured.
Alex wiped his hands on a dish towel. "I'll handle it."
He opened the door six inches, chain still latched.
The woman on the porch was fortyish, sharp bob, navy blazer, smile practiced and thin. "Mr. Harper? Alex Harper?"
"That's me."
"Rebecca Kline, Elm County Historic Preservation Office." She flipped open the clipboard. "We've had reports of… unusual activity at this address. Loud music at odd hours. Multiple vehicles. Residents who don't appear on any lease or deed." Her gaze flicked past him, trying to see inside. "May I come in?"
Alex's stomach tightened. "No."
Her smile didn't waver. "It's just a wellness check. The house is on our watch list: built 1893, possible paranormal significance." She tapped the clipboard. "Neighbors are concerned."
Behind him, Mia's voice floated from the kitchen, soft but clear: "Tell her the house is *fine*."
Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Sir, if there's coercion—"
"There's no coercion." Alex's voice was steel. "We're adults. Consenting. Happy. You can tell the neighbors to mind their own fucking business."
He shut the door. Latched it. Leaned his forehead against the cool wood.
Silence.
Then Sasha's laugh: low, delighted. "That was hot."
Lena appeared beside him, towel discarded, gloriously naked. "She'll be back."
Talia's voice from the stairs: "With paperwork."
Mia slid her arms around Alex's waist from behind, breasts soft against his back. "We've handled worse."
But the crack had widened.
That afternoon, the mail brought more than bills.
A letter from the HOA: *Violation Notice: Unapproved Occupants.*
A second envelope, heavier stock: *Summons to Appear: Zoning Hearing, October 12.*
A third: handwritten, no stamp, slipped under the door while they showered.
> *They're coming for you.
> The house can't protect you forever.
> Leave before the solstice.
> Or lose everything.*
No signature. Just a crude sketch of the house, windows scratched out like blind eyes.
They read it together in the living room, sunlight slanting through the blinds in dusty bars.
Sasha traced the sketch with one finger. "Someone knows."
Lena's jaw tightened. "Someone *jealous*."
Talia folded the letter, precise creases. "We need a plan."
Mia looked at Alex. "We need *you* to choose. Again."
He looked at them: four women, his women, the house's gift and his vow. The walls hummed, anxious now, a low throb like a heartbeat skipping.
"I chose forever," he said. "That hasn't changed."
But forever, it turned out, had paperwork.
That night, they didn't fuck.
They *planned*.
Spread across the kitchen table: property records, county maps, the original 1893 deed Alex had never bothered to read. Talia's laptop glowed with zoning laws. Lena brewed espresso strong enough to wake the dead. Sasha sketched escape routes on butcher paper. Mia paced, T-shirt riding high, breasts swaying with each step.
"The house is ours," Talia said, tapping the deed. "Purchased free and clear. No mortgage. No liens. But the county can still condemn it if they claim 'public nuisance.'"
Lena snorted. "Four women living with one man is suddenly a *nuisance*?"
"Five souls," Sasha corrected softly. "They sense it. The threshold. They're afraid."
Alex stared at the sketch again. "Who sent this?"
Mia stopped pacing. "Someone who's been inside. Look: the attic window is drawn wrong. It's the one we boarded up after the storm. Only someone who's seen the *inside* would know."
The house *creaked*: a long, slow groan from the attic, as if agreeing.
They went up together.
The attic was colder than it should be. The boarded window had been pried open. Rain had warped the sill. On the floorboards: a single red high heel, scuffed at the toe. Not theirs.
Lena picked it up. "Size seven. Smells like clove cigarettes."
Sasha's eyes widened. "I've seen this heel before. At the bar on 5th. The redhead. She asked about you, Alex. Said she used to live here."
Talia's voice was ice. "Before us."
Mia closed the window, nailed the board back with the heel of her palm. "She's not welcome."
But the seed was planted.
That night, they slept in shifts.
Alex took first watch, sitting on the porch with a beer he didn't drink. The street was quiet, but the lilacs rustled without wind. At 2:13 a.m., headlights swept the curb. A dark sedan idled, engine off. No one got out. After twenty minutes, it pulled away.
He didn't tell the others.
Morning brought more.
A drone buzzed the backyard at dawn: small, black, camera whirring. Sasha threw a flip-flop at it; it darted away. By noon, the local Facebook group had a thread: *What's going on at 47 Elm?*
Photos: blurry shots through windows, the women's silhouettes, Alex's bare back as he cooked.
Lena slammed the laptop shut. "We're being hunted."
Talia's smile was sharp. "Then we hunt back."
They started with the redhead.
Her name was Claire. Lived in the yellow duplex two streets over: the one with the "busted AC" that had started it all. Mia remembered her now: a flash of red hair at the bar, a too-knowing smile when Mia mentioned moving in with "a friend."
They went at dusk.
Claire opened the door in a silk robe, cigarette dangling. Her eyes flicked over them: Mia's crop top, Sasha's sundress, Lena's leather jacket, Talia's silk blouse. Then to Alex, lingering.
"Well," she said, exhaling smoke. "The harem arrives."
Mia stepped forward. "You've been in our house."
Claire's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It was *my* house first. Before you. Before any of you." She looked at Alex. "He was supposed to be mine."
Alex's stomach turned. "I don't know you."
"You would have. If they hadn't gotten there first." She gestured vaguely at the women. "The house chooses. But it can be *convinced*."
Lena's voice was lethal. "You sent the letter."
"I sent a *warning*." Claire crushed the cigarette under her heel. "They'll tear it down. Condemn it. Or worse: exorcise it. The threshold isn't just pleasure, sweetheart. It's *power*. And power draws blood."
Talia's hand found Alex's. "We're leaving."
They did. But not before Claire's parting shot:
"Ask them about the last man. Ask what happened when he said *forever*."
Back home, the house was waiting.
The lights flickered. The temperature dropped ten degrees. In the attic, the boarded window rattled though there was no wind.
They gathered in the living room, candles lit, the women's faces pale in the glow.
Mia spoke first. "There was a man. Before you. His name was Daniel."
Sasha's voice was small. "He lived here five years ago."
Lena: "He said forever too."
Talia finished: "And then he tried to leave."
Alex's mouth went dry. "What happened?"
The house answered for them.
The floorboards *groaned*. The candles flared. From the walls came a sound: not a voice, but a *memory*. A man's scream, cut short. The scent of lilacs, suddenly cloying. A single drop of blood seeped from the baseboard, dark and fresh.
Mia's eyes filled. "The house took him. Not us. It *keeps* what it chooses. Forever means *forever*."
Sasha whispered, "We didn't know. Not until after."
Lena's fists clenched. "We won't let it take you."
Talia looked at Alex, fierce and terrified. "But we need to know: do you still choose this? Knowing the cost?"
The blood drop trembled, then vanished: absorbed into the wood like it had never been.
Alex looked at them: his women, his loves, the house's gift and its price.
He took Mia's hand. Then Sasha's. Lena's. Talia's.
"I choose," he said. "But not as a prisoner. As a *partner*. The house keeps us: or we keep it. Together."
The candles steadied. The temperature rose. The lilacs outside bloomed darker, heavier, as if listening.
Mia smiled through tears. "Then we fight."
They did.
That night, they sealed the house.
Salt lines at every door. Sage burned in every room. The women chanted: not spells, but *promises*. Alex stood in the center, naked, the women around him, hands on his skin.
"We are five," Talia intoned. "One heart. One soul. One threshold."
They made love on the living room rug: slow, deliberate, a ritual. Alex inside Mia, Mia's mouth on Sasha, Sasha's fingers in Lena, Lena's tongue on Talia, Talia's hand on Alex's heart. They came together, a single wave, the house *singing* around them: walls glowing, air thick with power.
When they slept, it was deep and unafraid.
Outside, the sedan returned. This time, it didn't idle.
It parked.
And Claire got out