Page 55 of Pack Me Up

I watch them, and for the first time, I’m not jealous. I’m just grateful to be part of it.

We take turns after that, switching off like it’s a game. It’s me with my dirty words and rough hands, Cody with his praise and sweetness. Brittney soaks it up, every bit, her skin flushed and her breathing ragged. The more we give, the more she wants, and it’s intoxicating.

At some point, she grabs my wrist and bites, just a little, and I nearly lose it.

“You like it when I’m mean?” I ask, half laughing.

“I like you both,” she says, and her voice is wrecked. “I like how different you are.”

I glance at Cody, and he grins, sharp and knowing.

“Do you understand now?” he asks her, quietly.

She nods, but then touches her lips, as if she’s making sure they’re still there. “Yeah. I get it.”

I’m about to say something, something filthy, probably, when I notice the color high in her cheeks, the sweat at her hairline, the scent of her spiking again. I look at Cody, and he sees it too: the early signs. If we don’t slow down, she’s going to tip into a full-blown heat, right here, right now.

Cody leans close, mouth at my ear. “Fox,” he says, and it’s all the reminder I need. He needs his time with her.

We ease off, hands gentler now, and hold her between us. Brittney collapses back, spent, and a wild, grinning mess.

“I could stay here forever,” she says.

I believe her. I could too.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, Cody nuzzles her hair, and the three of us breathe, letting the world slow down.

But in the back of my head, the plan is already running.

Tomorrow, we bring Fox in.

Fox

PHOENIX PACK SECURITY BRIEF #120

PROGRESS REPORTS FROM SECURITY TEAMS HART AND TURNER

April 28th

I’m in the kitchen halfway through slicing zucchini when a twin tornado erupts behind me.

The door slams. Colton yells “surprise,” and before I can even register the words, Cody’s got his arms around my waist, pinning me to the counter.

“What the fuck?” I sputter, brandishing the chef’s knife in what I hope is a threatening way.

Colton plucks it from my grip, sets it down with exaggerated care, then hip-checks me so hard I nearly topple onto the tile. “You’re needed elsewhere,” he intones, like he’s delivering a royal summons.

“I’m making dinner, you idiots-” I twist, but Cody’s grip only tightens, hauling me backwards until my heels skid off the floor.

“Saint can finish it,” says Cody, dragging me like an uncooperative puppy. “He’s the only one who does the sauce justice anyway.”

“That’s not even true,” I yelp, but my voice is gone in the wall of Colton’s hand clamped over my mouth.

He leans in close, his breath thick with coffee. “Stop struggling. You’ll ruin your shirt, and you’re going to want to look good.”

The twins share a look, one of those twin moments that makes me want to study their brains for science, then march me out of the kitchen and down the hall. I try to dig in my heels, but it’s pointless. They’re both six-five and have the joint momentum of a battering ram. My feet barely skim the hardwood as they muscle me past the living room.

“Will someone explain what’s happening?” I snap, but the only answer is the thud-thud of their boots and Colton’s off-key singing.