Hello, my alien lovers!

During our recent trip to Paris, there was a day when God was everywhere.

In the peach tone of the sunlight in the early evening, in the whispers of conversations around me, at every corner and wherever I went, God was there, manifesting themselves. Loudly, too!

I don't often feel connected to them outside of synagogue, so this was a nice surprise. It grounded me and reminded me to make more time for my faith.

I've also started reading books by a French Rabbi, Delphine Horvilleur, and that reminded me that faith doesn't just happen in sacred places—or rather that anything can become sacred if you apply the right lens to it. Her book How Isn’t It Going? Conversations After October 7, especially, brought a lot of these feelings to the surface for me.

Bonjour to Chapter 28!

I don't want to spoil but you might want to read this chapter without prying eyes above your shoulders. At least, that's how I prefer reading my smut.

Enjoy!

lunus 🩷

If you're new to the story, start with Chapter 1

If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars

EXCLUSIVE: Marsh Marshweld hires mother & famous PR Crisis Specialist

by Peyter Panffer

On the same day our journalists broke the shocking revelations about the affair between known alien traffickers Maple Defleuvier and Salvatore Súarez, Marsha Marshweld, Súarez’s co-star in Betteraves & Betrayals, hired famous PR Crisis Specialist and her mother, Memphis Marshweld, who is known to soap fans for handling dozens of scandals over the years. 

Mama Marshweld, who took a step back from her PR career since the tragic conclusion of the [redacted] Affair, has returned to support daughter, actress, woman’s rights activist, and drug addict Marsha Marshweld. To do what—and to defend her against what or who—isn’t clear at this time. However, the connections between Memphis and Betteraves & Betrayals, notably around her involvement in the [redacted] Affair makes us think something big is about to happen… stay tuned!

Correction: Marsha Marshweld was wrongly described as a “cocaine addict” in an earlier version of this story. Ms Marshweld is actually well-known to be using other drugs including, but not limited to: crack, heroine, LSD, weed, bleach, poppers, ketamine, and caffeine. We apologize for the oversight and thank our readers for alerting us to the error.

Article posted on Forever Soapy, June 20XX 

Maple’s phone had been good for one last thing before she’d turned it off indefinitely again: finding them the most reclusive motel in a hundred mile radius. The reviews complained about a lack of wifi and phone signal, which was exactly what they both needed right now—to stay low for a night, hoping the frenzy around them would dissipate. They’d managed to lose the dinner crowd from earlier, and they'd be on their guards from now on.

The motel clerk gave Salvatore two keys, each attached to a fuzzy pom pom. The clerk wore a boldly  self-made dress covered in more pompoms. Red, mauve, yellow—all the colours were at the rendez-vous. 

“These two are the only rooms we have left,” the clerk announced. Large, square sunglasses covered half of their face. Their lips were glossed to perfection and their nails were tiny masterpieces of shapes and shades. 

Salvatore nodded. “That will do, thank you.”

Maple couldn’t place what was familiar about the clerk, but something was.

“Do we know you?” she asked, too tired to self-censure her intrusive thoughts. “I feel like we’ve met before.”

It was odd, Maple would remember meeting someone as colorful as this person, whose name tag spelled “Bert, they/them.” But they looked very familiar, somehow. A different version of a person Maple had met before.

“Never seen you in my life, Ma’am,” Bert responded, not an ounce of doubt in their voice. “I wish you a pleasant stay at Motel 45.”

Outside, the cold of the night surprised her. The stars burned bright in the sky, fully visible in this isolated part of the province. 

She filled her lungs with fresh, crisp air. Maple was looking forward to a night by herself, away from temptation (Salvatore) and chaos (everything else in her life).

Salvatore gave her one of the keys. “The rooms are at opposite ends,” he said, pointing at a door on the other side of the U-shaped motel. “I will stay on the ground floor. You take the other. My room is close to the stairs, I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“Nobody is coming to kill me tonight.”

She gestured around them. The parking lot was silent. The neon sign  “No” next to the “Vacancy” lit up. It smelled of fuel and lavender. 

“We’re safe,” she added.

For tonight, at least. Maple wanted a night off, a respite from the madness of alien killers and remorseless reporters. A couple of hours where tabloids and their rumour mills wouldn’t grind her life. She could think about tomorrow, about what life would look like now that everyone knew about their kiss, after a good night's sleep.

“We’ll see. Good night, Maple.”

“Good night, Salvatore.”

Maple couldn’t sleep. The room was small, nondescript.  She kept churning in the small bed, the cheap fabric of the sheets scratching her at every turn. The AC was broken, the window was open. The lavender smell was strong, too strong almost. She craved another scent. Earthy. Tobacco and cinnamon. 

A phone rang. 

She was disoriented. Her phone was in the SUV’s gloves compartment and off. Whose phone was this? 

It rang, and rang. She turned the bed-side light on and realized the landline was ringing. Someone was calling her room.

She picked up, glancing at the clock. “Hello?”

“Maple, hi, it’s me.” His voice was hushed. 

“Salvatore? It’s 3 a.m. Are you okay?”

A pause. She heard his breathing. 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“The glowing is back,” he said. “So far, just on the hands. I feel fine.”

Maple didn’t rejoice in the idea of facing the teenagers again, but she worried for Salvatore more. She recalled the pain he’d been in last time. The divides were becoming more frequent. That wasn’t a good thing, not when they knew he was dying. What if he split up and never reformed? What then? Would she care for the teenagers? Would they die too? Oh God—

“Maple, don’t spiral,” he instructed calmly. 

She looked around her. He wasn’t here. The curtains were closed. “How?”

“You paused for too long. You do that when you get into your head.”

“I’m scared for you. What if the glowing—”

“I didn’t call to worry you. I wanted you to know, to be prepared just in case. Last time, you said—”

“Yeah, I know, I was surprised, and that didn’t feel good. Thank you for telling me.”

“De nada, Boss. I should let you sleep now. Sorry for waking you up.”

She gripped the phone. She didn’t want to say goodnight. Not yet.

“There’s no need to apologize. I… I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Oh… no?”

“No.” She exhaled, her pulse acting up. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m too… bothered to sleep.”

“Bothered? In what way?”

She rubbed her legs together, the fabric of her panties the only thing between her skin and the summer air. “I can’t get you out of my mind.”

There was no point trying to lie to him or herself anymore. Since the kiss, he’d been all she could think about—for better or for worse.

“I can’t get you out of my mind either.” He breathed out. “What are you wearing?”

“Just underwear.”

“Take them off.”

“Why?”

He made a sound she couldn’t place. Between amused and crossed. “It will go faster if you don’t ask obvious questions.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to go fast.”

She recognized the low grunt that escaped him for what it was. Feral. “Maple. Take it off.”

She did. 

“Good,” he said as if he could see her naked body spread out on the bed. “How are you feeling now?”

She closed her eyes. Listened for Salvatore’s steady breathing. Settled hers to the same rhythm. “I want you to tell me what to do next.”

“How good are you at following directions?” 

“Never got any complaints,” she replied.

“You said you were bothered thinking about me, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more, Maple. What about me makes you so bothered?”

A torrent of images traversed her mind.

Salvatore as Saturno, between scenes when she caught him glancing her way. Salvatore in the tiny diner’s bathroom using his powers. His grin— every time he grinned at Maple these past few days. The kiss—his lips on hers, the touch and feel of his hands on her body. His mouth, hungry and giving. His touch, electric and assured. When his arms circled hers, his muscles tensing like an armour protecting her. How good his naked body would feel against hers. 

“Things,” she said. 

He chuckled. “Try again. You’re a writer. Use your words, Boss.” 

There was a pause, a moment where Maple wondered if she should hang up. If the alien divide happened, she’d need to be well rested to handle the three shenanigans in the morning.

“Don’t think about tomorrow,” he said. “Stay with me, in the present. Tell me. Right now, if you think of me, what do you see?” 

“Your lips.” 

“Good. What else?”

“Your fingers.”

“What about them?”

“I want to slide them in my mouth.”

The truth of the confession startled her. She opened her eyes. The popcorn ceiling stared back at her. She wanted this, so why was she fighting it?

She closed her eyes and said, “I want to suck on them.”

“I’d allow it… only if I could use them on you next.”

Her breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he mirrored, excitement sweeping through his voice. “Maple, could you do something for me?”

“Yes?”

“Gently slide your fingers in your mouth. One by one. Wet them for me, please. Can you do that?”

Her index was already at her lips when she said, “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good. Now, while you lick your fingers, making them wet and ready to use for me, I’m going to ask you a few questions. Is that okay, Boss?”

She was coating her middle finger in saliva and nodded, moaning just loud enough to answer him. 

“When I push my fingers inside of you and open you wide with them, how should I address you? Maple? Good girl? Boss?”

She smiled briefly thinking about all the times she’d written sex scenes where the female protagonist would quiver at the simple idea of being called something other than her name in bed.

“Boss is good. After all, I’m still your boss, technically.” She opened wider, fitting her ring finger inside her mouth.

“Technically.”

All three fingers were slipping with ease against her tongue. She took them out to ask,  “What’s the other question?”

“What?”

Was he too flustered to keep track of his own flirtation? “You said you were going to ask me questions. That implies more than one.”

He groaned. Maple felt it in her bones.

“The next question is asking you if I can touch myself while I guide you tonight,” he said.

“Guide me where?”

“Hasta el clímax, Boss. When you scream out of pleasure. Will you let me do that?”

 “Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “And please, touch yourself. I want to hear you, too.”

“Yes, Boss.” 

Her body sunk into the mattress as she exhaled, conjuring images of Salvatore’s naked body splayed next to her.

“Now, gently lead your fingers down for me, Boss.” 

When her wet fingers reached the pulse between her thighs, she visualized Salvatore’s fingers instead. She gasped at the first friction, her digits gliding with ease.

“Yes, more of that, please,” he beckoned.

Her legs clamped up under the sudden burst of pleasure. “More of what?” She asked, propping a pillow between them.

“I want to hear you, Boss.” His voice was breathier, quicker. “The gasps, the moans, the groans—”

“Salvatore—”

“All of it. Let me hear all of it, Boss.”

Another surge of mind-blowing sensations washed over her. It wasn’t just her fingers doing the job. It was him, his words, his breathing.

She whined, unable and unwilling to hold anything in anymore. She deserved some respite and for someone to take care of her. The realization straightened her, as if someone was pulling a cable through her body.  She could let herself enjoy this, ride this wave of pleasure until its end. 

“Salvatore,” she repeated, almost incoherently. 

“Louder, Boss," he encouraged. “I want to hear your squirm for me. Please.”

She moaned as the frictions on her clit intensified. When the wetness dried out, she rolled on the bed, in a cloud of unashamed glee. 

“What are you doing? I can’t hear you anymore.”

“Lube,” she said, finding the bottle at the bottom of her suitcase. Spit would only take her so far. 

Laying back down, Maple covered two of her fingers with the slick, transparent liquid. She didn’t waste any time. She applied pressure to her clit, the slickness of the gel bringing her back to the edge as she slowly skidded a second finger inside of her.

“Oh, fuck…” 

“Yes, that’s it, Boss. More of this.”

“More fingers inside of me?”

“Yes—fuck, yes. Can you put a second in there for me? 

She could, and she did. She was using the in and out movement of her digits to rub her clit at the same time, squirming on the bed, letting whimpers escape her trembling lips as she neared her climax. The pillow stopped her legs from clamping up against the force of her pleasure.

“I’m close,” she whispered. 

“Let me hear you louder, Boss.”

“I’m close,” she repeated.

“Louder, Boss.”

“Fuck!” she shouted, her climax blindsiding her, a violent shock coursing through her. She wailed, wiggling as she rode it to its last flutters. She drank in the sensation of pure bliss, the freedom to be in her body and not in her mind for once. 

When she came back to herself, to the gaudy room and the scent of lavender, Salvatore was panting.

“Oh, Boss,” he sighed, the sound of his heavy breathing muffling his words.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t remember how to form a sentence.  She wanted to see him, now, to see what he looked like right after he came. She wanted to do this all over again with him in the room with her, not just in her ears. She wanted him to use the result of his orgasm as a lube to fuck her to her next climax. 

“Thank you,” she said instead, when she was able to regain some sense of decorum. 

“De nada, Jefa. Buenas noches.”

“Good night, Salvatore.”