Page 12 of Bunker Down, Baby

Maple

It took forever to pack up all of Holden’s things. For a guy living off-grid like a sexy hermit raccoon, he sure had a lot of stuff. Useful supplies, sure, but also weird little keepsakes. A photo in a cracked frame. A keychain with a compass that doesn’t point north. The worn-down copy of The Stand he’s clearly read more than once.

Dean and I worked like a fucking moving crew while Holden snored obliviously in the car, strapped in with a blanket and a seatbelt like a cranky wilderness toddler.

No way was I leaving anything behind. Not with things spiraling out there the way they are. People are starting to panic, the flu’s spread going exponential, and I’ve worked too hard to build something good and safe. I’m not losing a single fucking mug or lucky multitool to some looter with a weak immune system and bad hygiene.

By the time we get back and I have Holden tucked and cuffed into bed like the world’s hottest hospital patient, I’m sore all over. My arms ache, my back’s tight, and I might be smiling like I just pulled off the heist of the century, but my body wants to melt into a puddle.

Dean sees it. Of course he does.

And God bless him, he doesn’t say anything. Just grabs my wrist, kisses the inside of it, and pulls me toward the shower like I’m a prize he’s won.

The water’s already running by the time we’re in the bathroom, steam curling around us like we’re stepping into some kind of sacred space. He strips me slow, like he’s unwrapping a gift, eyes dark and mouth filthy with whatever he’s already planning.

“You carried more than I did,” I mumble, half-protesting, as he peels my shirt off and drops it to the tile. “I should be washing you.”

“Oh, you will,” Dean murmurs, pulling me into the stall. “But later. Right now, I want to see how many times I can make you whimper before the water turns cold.”

And then his hands are on me, slick, soapy, worshipful in the dirtiest way. He doesn’t rush. He scrubs my shoulders, thumbs digging into knots like he’s angry at them, and every glide of his palm over my skin feels like some unholy prayer.

I lean into it, into him, the heat and the weight of his hands anchoring me in the best kind of haze.

When he gets between my thighs, I brace on the wall and gasp.

“Dean,” I manage, which is honestly impressive considering I’m halfway to orgasm already just from the way he’s looking at me, like I’m dinner and dessert and a post-apocalyptic wet dream all rolled into one.

His fingers slip between my folds, slick and slow, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning so loud it wakes Holden.

“You’ve worked so hard today,” Dean murmurs into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “You deserve this.”

I arch into him, whining shamelessly as he works me with that same goddamn precision he uses on busted generators. The pads of his fingers circling, teasing, pressing deep while his other hand snakes around to palm my breast, thumb brushing my nipple in time with the rhythm building below.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Let me feel it.”

And I do.

It crashes through me sharp and fast and filthy, one hand slapping the tile and the other fisting in his hair as I cry out and come so hard I see stars behind my eyelids. He doesn’t stop until I’m twitching, legs shaking, water pounding.

And then I hear a slow clap.

I blink, heart still racing, and turn my head.

Evan’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a smirk. “Well. That was a hell of a thank you.”

Dean doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s got more in her. Want in?”

I expect Evan to be snarky, to roll his eyes and disappear.

Instead, he shrugs, pushes off the doorframe, and walks toward us like he’s done thinking and decided he deserves nice things too.

I don’t know if we’re going to rinse off or make an even bigger mess, but I already know one thing:

This is the best fucking family in the world.

Evan steps into the steam like a man with a mission.

The sweatpants hit the floor, and then he’s naked, thick and hard and already leaking, like watching wasn’t just a casual moment, it was foreplay. He slides the shower door closed behind him with a click, the sound sharp in the wet haze.

Dean’s still holding me upright, his palm heavy between my thighs, fingers lazy now, but still inside me, just enough to keep me soft and open and aching.

“She’s still twitching,” Dean says without turning, his voice low and smug. “We should do something about that.”

“I plan to,” Evan murmurs as he steps closer, his hands already finding my waist from behind, dragging wet skin against wet skin until I’m sandwiched between them.

Dean kisses me, slow and deep, while Evan’s hands trail down my hips, over my ass, spreading me wider. His fingers slip between my cheeks and find the slick mess Dean left behind.

“Fuck, she’s perfect like this,” Evan growls. “All wet and wrecked and still begging for more.”

“I knew you’d want to see her like this,” Dean grins, pulling back just enough to let me breathe. “You’ve been watching her like a starving man.”

Evan leans in, teeth grazing my neck, one hand wrapping around to toy with my nipple while the other slides lower, finding my clit with maddening precision. “Watching? Yeah. But now I’m starving for real.”

I moan, caught in the rhythm of their hands, their bodies, the thick heat of both of them pressed against me, Dean in front, Evan behind. My knees threaten to give out, and Dean catches me before I drop, lifting me with an ease that shouldn’t be so goddamn hot.

“Arms around me,” he says, guiding me to wrap my legs around his waist.

Evan steps in, chest to my back, mouth on my neck as he strokes himself with slow, slick pulls.

“She’s already soaked,” Dean groans, grinding his cock against me, sliding through the wet heat without pushing in yet. “But I want you to feel her too.”

He lifts me just a little, enough that Evan’s hand can slide between us. And then, fuck, Evan’s fingers are inside me next, thick and curling, pressing against Dean’s from the other side.

I cry out, caught between them, stuffed full and still greedy for more.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Evan murmurs. “You’re so tight I can feel his fingers through you.”

Dean hisses and presses his forehead to mine, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna lose it if you keep saying shit like that.”

“I want you both,” I gasp. “Now. Please.”

“Fuck yes,” Dean breathes. “Ride me. Evan, help her.”

Evan doesn’t wait, he grips my hips and guides me down onto Dean’s cock, slow and steady until I’m filled to the hilt, my head thrown back, my moan echoing off the tile. Dean groans, hands tight on my ass as he rocks up into me.

Evan trails kisses down my spine, then lower, sinking to his knees behind me in the spray.

“What are you, oh fuck…” I start.

His tongue finds my ass, wet and filthy and perfect, while Dean thrusts up into me from below.

I can barely breathe. I’m caught in a rhythm that feels obscene, the water pounding around us, my body stretched and trembling as Evan works me open from behind with his tongue and fingers, slow and slick and absolutely depraved.

“She’s gonna come again,” Evan growls, licking up my spine before standing and lining himself up behind me. “You want to feel her while I take her ass, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes are wild now, blown black with lust. “Fuck yes. Give it to her.”

Evan pushes in, careful, slow, groaning like a man being reborn as I stretch around him. I gasp, the burn giving way to fullness, to heat, to everything.

They don’t rush. They hold me there, filled front and back, until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

And then they move.

Dean thrusts up while Evan grinds in slow, shallow rolls, and I break. My voice hits the ceiling, hands scrabbling at slick skin and wet tile as they fuck me in perfect sync, every angle hitting something electric inside me.

“Such a good girl,” Evan pants. “Taking both of us like you were made for it.”

“She was,” Dean growls. “Look at her. Look how pretty she is when she comes.”

And I do. I come hard, back arched, body shaking, crying out as pleasure shreds through me like lightning. They don’t stop until I collapse between them, ruined and soaked and still greedy.

They follow soon after. Dean first, slamming up into me with a choked curse as he spills inside me. Evan second, groaning against my shoulder as he pulses deep in my ass, holding me so tight I swear he’s trying to become part of me.

We stay there for a moment, all three of us tangled under the water, breathing like we’ve survived a war.

Then Dean kisses my temple. “Still sore?”

I laugh, half-delirious. “You have to be kidding.”

Evan chuckles low.

Dean carries me out of the shower like I weigh nothing, my legs limp, arms slung around his neck, head lolling against his shoulder in that blissed-out haze I love so much.

Behind us, Evan grabs towels, wrapping one around his waist and draping another over my shoulders like he’s claiming me too. His hands brush over my skin as he follows, casual and possessive all at once.

They don’t speak at first. They just move in sync, Dean lowering me gently onto the bed, Evan pulling back the covers. I melt into the mattress, still warm and dripping, every nerve softly singing.

Dean towels off my hair while Evan kneels beside me, rubbing lotion into my legs like I might fall apart if he’s not careful.

“Holden’s gonna wake up in a few hours,” Dean murmurs, thumb stroking along my temple.

“And Brock’s probably already awake and brooding,” Evan adds, his hand skimming up my thigh. “You feeding your new boys?”

“You wanted French toast.” I grin, eyes still half-lidded. “Dean likes eggs and bacon on toast. I was thinking pancakes and sausage for Brock. And Holden feels like a black coffee and steak kind of man.”

Dean leans in and kisses my shoulder, teeth grazing just a little. “You’ve already got it all planned out.”

“Of course I do,” I say, like it should be obvious. “I’ve been dreaming about this. My boys. My home. My kitchen full of coffee and carbs and chaos.”

Evan huffs a quiet laugh and tosses the towel aside before slipping under the covers with me. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Maybe.” I stretch, letting them curl around me on both sides like wolves. “But tell me you’re not into it.”

Dean’s palm slides over my belly, lazy and warm. “I’m so into it I might need another round before breakfast.”

Evan smirks, brushing my hair off my cheek. “You’re gonna spoil us.”

“I am spoiling you,” I whisper, kissing the corner of Evan’s mouth, then Dean’s jaw. “After a nap… we cook. We clean. We snuggle. And maybe, maybe, we go snatch ourselves a farmer.”

Dean groans. “God, I love it when you talk logistics.”