Page 39 of Bunker Down, Baby

He leans against the counter, towel slung over one shoulder. “You sound like you already know what brand of boxers he wears.”

“Oh, I do.” I hum, opening the fridge. “He’s a black boxer-briefs kind of guy. Has about eight pairs total. I was looking through his dresser once and dropped something, loud. He didn’t even flinch.”

Dean just stares at me, something dark and amused flickering behind his eyes. “You were in his bedroom?”

“Of course. How else was I supposed to plan his extraction?” I frown. “I had to know his patterns, his layout. The weight of his boots. Whether the back door locks automatically.”

He doesn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he steps behind me, close enough that I feel the warmth of him all down my back, one hand sliding around my waist.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my ear, and I shiver.

I turn, eyes sparkling. “So now that you’re here, I can just give him a mild sedative while he sleeps. Won’t even need to tie him up beforehand.” I brush my lips across his jaw, soft. “You’ll carry him to the car. I’ll drive. We’ll bring him home.”

Dean’s hand tightens just a little on my hip. “Easy as pie,” he says.

“Exactly.” I smile like we’re talking about a bake sale.

He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice a rasp. “You think he’ll adapt quick?”

I exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Slower than Evan, probably. He’s more of a loner. Less used to people. Less willing to trust.”

Dean chuckles. “So he’ll sulk longer.”

“Maybe,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “But with everything going to shit out there, I expect they’ll both come around. Realize what a gift this is. That I saved them.”

His lips graze my ear, sending a fresh thrill down my spine. “Until they’re ready to thank you,” he whispers, rough and low, “I’ll thank you enough for all of them.”

My knees buckle just a little, but he’s already pulling me closer, holding me steady, his cock pressing against the small of my back like he’s ready to drag me over the countertop and do it again.

I control myself despite the temptation. It’s a fucking miracle But I manage.

Once everything is ready, I unlock Evan’s room with a smile.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hair a little messy, jaw set like he’s expecting bad news.

But I’ve got great news.

“We made dinner,” I tell him sweetly. “And I want everyone at the table tonight. Like civilized people.”

His eyebrows flick up. “We?”

“Dean and I,” I say, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I let him out. He’s very handy. And sweet. And enthusiastic.”

Evan just stares.

I step inside and pat his knee like he’s a sulky toddler. “He’s settling in great. I think you’ll really like him. But please try to behave? We went to a lot of trouble with the meal. And if you ruin it, I’ll be very disappointed.”

His expression flickers at that, something guilt-colored in the corners.

I leave the door open and head back to the kitchen, where Dean is plating the roasted chicken like he’s auditioning for some unhinged post-apocalyptic cooking show. No shirt. Just jeans and tattoos and that shit-eating smirk. He looks good enough to eat.

God, I’m going to marry him.

And Evan.

And Brock.

---