Paired Objective: Matched Desire, Book 2 (15 page)

“Is that a fancy way of saying you don’t get hangovers?”

“All rolled up in a complaint about Twin inebriation not lasting as long as we’d like,” he replied easily. “For us, it takes more booze and wears off faster. You, on the other hand—”

“Couldn’t get properly drunk because
someone
kept moving my drink away.” She leveled a mock-glare at Russ, but let a tiny smile slip through. He’d judged it perfectly, letting her get tipsy enough to enjoy the night, yet not drunk enough to pass out. She was still a little floaty, but tomorrow, she’d recall all the salient points. And right now, she was fully capable of still enjoying herself.

“Won’t move
this
drink,” Russ said with an answering smile. He gestured meaningfully at the water, so she gulped the last few sips, meriting a
good girl
as Russ took her empty glass.

“Well, if we’re all sleeping here tonight…” Abby swung her legs off the bed and reached for her bag, which one of the Twins must have brought in at some point. Rummaging inside for her toothbrush, she stood and stretched.

“Yep,” Cam said. “Unless you’d like separate arrangements.”

“No. I just need to warn you I forgot to pack a nightie, so I’ll be sleeping naked.”

She flashed a grin over her shoulder en route to the bathroom, and shut the door on their expressions of shocked pleasure. Once she’d brushed her teeth, she stripped and emerged naked, casual as anything. It was on the hot side in here, anyway.

Twin indrawn breaths greeted her. The men were in the same position she’d left them in, but their bodies canted toward hers, ready to pounce. She nearly smiled. Seducing them was so much fun.

Mid-saunter back to the bed, the manacles around her ankles clattered against each other. Abby froze, temporarily transported back to the bunker underneath Headquarters.

The place had been used to store supplies—including those forcibly wrested from passing scavengers—and servants had often gone scurrying down there to fetch things for upstairs. But it had also been the place where servants sat to have the so-called temporary bands welded around their ankles.

Temporary. They’d stressed the word so often that Abby had begun to doubt the veracity of everything they told her. She should have run then and there. She should have rejected the seemingly generous offer of food and board in exchange for forty hours of cleaning per week. The metal bands had been for her protection, they’d said. They were for identification, to brand her as part of Headquarters.

A week later, they had welded the chain on.

“Abby. Sweet thing, what’s wrong?” Cam was in front of her, hands framing her face. She knew without looking that Russ was behind her.

“These bands around my ankles,” she whispered. “I want them off.”

“Of course,” Russ said, and his arms encircled her from behind, holding her steady. “We’ll grind them off, baby, just as soon as we can.”

That would have to do. She jerked her head in a nod. “I never want to go back there, you know.”

“Never,” Cam soothed.

“The others. They’re trapped.” Most of the other servants would sell their own grandmother if it got them something they wanted, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be trapped in Headquarters.

“Won’t deny that. But to free them, we need a plan. To get a plan drawn up, we need the support of the president herself and the scientists at the Complex. And we’ll need your help too, Abby. You got into their system, destroyed their security. Now you’re the only one with admin privileges, isn’t that right?”

Russ’s voice was an anchor, holding her to the here and now. She nodded, easier this time.

“Then rest assured you’ll be involved,” he said.

“Whether our nerves will survive is another question entirely.” Cam began to stroke her face with feather-light caresses that made her heart pound.

Abby tilted her face upward, leaning back against Russ. “Thank you,” she said, grateful for inclusion, and the distraction. The men weren’t—and couldn’t be—a panacea for all her problems, but they were damn good amelioration, helping to drive away bad memories and self-doubt alike.

“I need you now,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

“Still drunk?” Cam’s light touch firmed up, and Russ’s support suddenly lessened.

“Make her walk a line to the bed,” the latter suggested, switching places with his brother. His cobalt eyes regarded her intently as he backed away, beckoning for her to follow.

“Good idea,” Cam said.

“What, you don’t have a handy-dandy breathalyzer available?” Abby muttered, placing one foot in front of the other as she followed Russ. Cam stayed behind her, close enough to help but far enough away not to interfere.

When she reached the bed, Russ’s expression softened. “Don’t need a breathalyzer,” he said, and pulled her atop him.

Abby threw her arms out for balance, her face mere inches from his as Russ controlled her fall. She planted a hand on his shirtless chest and sat back, the denim of his jeans scraping lightly against her bare legs. She reached for his fly but was thwarted by Cam, who trapped her hands as he snuggled her from behind, forcing her to do nothing but watch as Russ unzipped himself.

They worked in tandem, Cam lifting her as Russ shucked his jeans off. Then her arms were freed as Cam undressed, pressing against her in a way that shot her libido through the curved roof above them. When Russ eased her forward, she was more than willing to give up control, working instead on balancing herself above him as he kissed her.

Vaguely, she was aware that Cam was no longer on the bed. She heard him rummaging in the drawer of one of the nightstands, but Russ reached to hold her still so that she couldn’t look, could only focus on him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, breaking the kiss off. “He’s going to take care of you—
we’re
going to take care of you.”

“Mmf,” was the only reply she could make, her lips moving against his as he leaned into yet another kiss. She gasped as Cam returned, parting her thighs gently but unceremoniously, so that her back arched as she struggled to keep her balance. Russ’s cock brushed against her clit, driving her half-mad.

“Not yet,” Cam said, dabbing something cool against her back entrance. She heard something rip, and a foil packet fluttered in her peripheral vision. “Ever been taken here?”

“Mmf,” Abby said again, and settled for shaking her head. She gasped again as Cam pressed against her.

“Relax now…yeah, that’s good. Gonna be as gentle as I can.”

Abby sucked in a breath, turning her head to the side as his slow plunge became a burn. He stilled, hands holding her hips steady. Underneath her, Russ held her as well, bending his head to lap at her breast. She quivered at the blending sensations of pleasure and discomfort, gradually realizing that the former had supplanted the latter.

“Push out,” Cam whispered, and when she did, he rammed home with a grunt of pleasure.

Abby let out an answering cry, clenching around the burn and the unfamiliar fullness. Underneath her, Russ toyed with her clit until all she could do was whimper in frustration, prevented from thrusting by Cam’s grip. When Russ nudged against her, she cried out again. She couldn’t possibly take him too.

But he was slow and unhurried about the process. He clearly recalled where she liked to be touched, pulling her head down so he could tease her earlobe with his tongue, running a finger up and down her spine. He teased her until she dropped her head and bit him on the shoulder, unable to stand it any longer.

“Such impatience,” Russ said. But when he saw her arm wobble, he instantly gripped her torso. “Lean against me, Abby. Let me support your weight.”

She obeyed, and he entered her, his heavy groan nearly eclipsing her whimper of need. For a moment, both men were still, letting her grow used to the strange, overfull sensation. The first thrust made her grateful for the hands holding her steady. Her fingers snagged in the blankets as they closed into fists. The cloth seemed the only thing anchoring her to earth. The edge of ecstasy beckoned, nearly slicing in its intensity. She could do nothing but gasp, eyes closed, head down, following it mindlessly.

“So very tight—let go, sweet thing.” Cam’s voice seemed to come from a great distance.

Abby couldn’t possibly have defied him. She was already going over, helpless to do anything but ride the sensations, borne up by the men sandwiching her. She was dimly aware of having screamed, and now had to pant in order to get her breath back. Behind her, Cam went rigid, his clasp on her thighs nearly bruising for a second as he came.

When he withdrew, Russ balanced her upright. The change was almost overwhelming, and he murmured something encouraging as she whimpered. Then Cam was there again, cupping her breasts as Russ thrust upward. Abby tipped her head back and the curved ceiling seemed to undulate.

“That’s it. Again,” Cam urged in her ear. He dipped his fingers downward, toying with her clit, sending her soaring skyward for a second time.

No, they were underground, she reminded herself when she could think again. Deep underground, but safe. She opened her eyes, parting her lips as Russ thrust one last time, his eyes glazing briefly, yet remaining trained upon her face. They became tender as he lifted her hips one last time and withdrew, reaching for a nearby tissue.

Abby didn’t have the energy to protest when Cam reached to clean her. Afterward, he tossed the wadded up tissue into a nearby wastepaper basket, and she didn’t have the energy to protest that either.

Paper towels and good strong tissue were hoarded luxuries these days. Grammie used to joke that you could stuff your wallet with double-ply and go shopping like it was a wad of pre-Invasion cash.

But life was short and pleasure was fleeting. With a sigh, Abby turned her head so that it was pillowed more firmly on Russ’s shoulder. Everything ached in a good way. She was safe. Protected. Maybe even loved, for now. She was also utterly unable to move a muscle.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off.

* * * * *

Cam stretched, carefully avoiding Abby’s outstretched arm. She slept quietly, all curled up between them in a way that managed to be both unobtrusive yet possessive. One of her arms was draped over his while one leg rested atop Russ’s leg.

But she still slept deeply, and he was able to slide free of her arm without disturbing her. He tugged the blanket over it quickly, before she could register any loss of warmth. He lingered for a minute at the bedside, watching both Abby and his sleeping brother with a deep tenderness he rarely felt.

He’d been jealous of Russ. Hell, he still had flashes of that green-eyed monster, slashing at the inside of his head as it urged him to grab Abby only for himself, whispering to him that
he’d
been the first to kiss her, that
he
was the one who deserved her, solely and completely.

Now its voice was quiet, its influence diminished. Cam had seen Abby happy with Russ, happy with both of them. He knew deep in his gut that she’d walk away if she thought she would cause a rift between brothers.

She’d proved it in the van when she’d shoved them both away and slept alone in the backseat. Wise girl. He couldn’t help but smile, eyes fully adjusted to the dark of the room in a way that humans could never experience. He prowled the perimeter, driven to move, to protect. He’d already been through the room with the metaphorical fine-toothed comb, searching for any threats prior to bringing Abby to bed.

That was when he’d found the stash of sex toys, condoms and lube. Kinky bunch, whoever’d owned this bunker.

He felt the moment Russ came awake as his Twin’s consciousness brushed against his.
“Don’t bother disentangling yourself,”
Cam sent.
“I’m going to rifle through the tools here, see if there’s something that can grind through those manacles on Abby’s ankles.”

“Good idea.”
His Twin’s mindvoice was still on the hazy side.
“I’ll keep her company.”

As quietly as possible, Cam slipped out the door into the hallway, which was lit by faint emergency lights. One of the Triplets sat in the communal area, eyes glued to the set of screens in front of him. Since the scientists had programmed—or bred, depending which terminology one preferred—them to need less sleep, the men would watch the place in shifts. Process of elimination told him this wasn’t Rocco, since he’d taken the first shift.

“Valentino,” he guessed, and the man nodded.

“Mostly quiet,” the Triplet said. His accent was more heavily pronounced than that of his brothers. “A big truck went by on the road about an hour ago, heading north. So big, it had to go very slow—ten miles an hour at the most.”

“You have cameras on the highway?”

“Yes.”

“That must be a good five miles out.”

Valentino shrugged. “Whoever set up this surveillance system did it pre-Invasion, and was suspicious, bordering on paranoid.”

“Huh.” Cam considered that. The truck had been headed away from Columbus, then. Cam pulled out a chair, studying the array of screens. The dark highway was empty save for a wary pair of deer grazing at the side. He watched them for a few moments, pleased to see some wildlife had recovered. The images were grainy but clear enough to give warning if someone pulled off the highway onto the road leading past the bunker.

It wasn’t impossible that the Shadow Feds had managed to track the stolen commtab to Columbus. They might have sent people after it. Given that they were a vindictive bunch of assholes, he would be surprised if they’d done nothing.

If their pursuers flew, they could have boots on the ground near Columbus within two or three hours. Then they’d branch out, taking the main roads out in pursuit of Abby. They’d likely head north, looking to intercept them before they reached the Complex.

And they wouldn’t get to Chicago for another day at least. Twenty-four hours of uncertainty and danger.

His commtab vibrated, emitting a frenetic beeping that meant someone from Command needed to do business with him
now
.

“Cameron 03656.” He put the device to his ear immediately.
Like a well-trained dog
, he taunted himself.