by Kris Norris
Morgan groaned. She needed to get a grip before she really did slip off the deep end. Or worse, before she gave in to the heat burning through her veins and let the guys in. Just the thought of it made her heart race and a hollow, needy feeling coil in her core. Other than Beau’s brutal attempts at fucking her, she hadn’t been with a man in over two years. Hadn’t thought about how much she missed being touched, caressed. Knowing there was someone who cared whether she lived or died. To give that kind of love in return.
But the thoughts also made her throat constrict as panic eventually took hold. What if they didn’t care? If all they wanted was the physical release? What if surrendering to them resulted in them walking away? Or the hard truth that they simply didn’t want her?
Nausea churned in her gut and she sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Though the damn thing was massive, easily enough room for all of them, they’d insisted she take it. They’d camped out in the main room and she assumed they were taking turns doing patrols, though it wasn’t truly necessary. Luckily, this cabin had been a makeshift fire station. Larger than some of the others they’d stayed in, it’d been surrounded by barbed-wire fencing, to guard against anyone tampering with the supplies. Wolfe had climbed the fence as if it’d been nothing more than a ladder and had been able to unlock the gate from within. There’d been a resounding sigh of relief from all, though she knew the boys would never truly relax. Not out here. Not when zombies weren’t the only threat.
She stopped to consider her own words. Would they really go to all this trouble if they didn’t care about her? Was it merely regard for their own safety? Her heart told her she was more than a bit fucked up where her head was concerned. That the men had given her every reason to trust that their feelings and actions were genuine. She just didn’t know how to stop her damn brain from shouting at her. To shove aside the doubts, the memories and let them in.
Morgan fisted her hands, mentally telling her head to shut the fuck up, as she pushed to her feet. Pain flared along her side, but even a couple days of rest had helped. It no longer burned white-hot with every breath, and she’d gotten to the point she could move without wincing again. She stared at the door, slowly making her way to it before pressing her ear against the wood. Nothing. Not a raspy breath, no hint of movement.
She snagged her bottom lip then cracked open the door, looking through the narrow slit. The room seemed brighter, the pale gleam of the moon adding some welcomed light. All the windows in the bedroom had been boarded over, though she secretly suspected that was the boys’ motivation for stuffing her in there. They knew she’d never be able to run off without alerting them.
She gazed around the room. Two couches fronted the wood stove with a kitchen area stretching out beyond. A round table and chairs took up any remaining space, but having four walls and a roof sure as hell beat tying themselves to a tree at night. She scanned the sofas, noting the large, dark silhouettes mounded beneath a single cover. A giggle bubbled in her chest. They made the damn furniture look small with their large frames contorted onto the cushions, and she found herself content to just watch them sleep. Listening to the quiet whisper of breath she hadn’t been able to discern through the door. It grounded her. Made her feel safe.
A noise sounded from the direction of the kitchen and she jerked her focus toward it, fear tingling up her spine before her gaze clashed with a set of hazel eyes, the golden color almost bright in the moonlight. Relief swept through her, and she opened the door enough to lean against the frame.
“You scared me.”
Gunner’s eyes softened. “You’re not the only one, honey. Didn’t expect to look up and see you standing there. You don’t generally come out once you close the door. Can’t sleep?”
She shrugged. How did she tell the guys the truth without coming across neurotic? She groaned inwardly. Who was she kidding? They probably already thought she was batshit crazy.
Gunner frowned. “Morgan? Everything okay?”
She forced a smile, suddenly questioning why she’d ventured out in the first place. Did she really think she could act remotely normal around them? Since they’d arrived two days ago, she’d made a conscious effort not to jump anytime one of them touched her, and she’d gotten better at relaxing when they brushed against her while sitting on the couch, but that was nowhere near being able to embrace intimate contact.
Intimate? Fuck, she’d be happy just to touch them without freaking out.
Gunner scraped back his chair then quickly covered the space between them, stopping dangerously close. She hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, the gleam of his skin from the moon making her throat suddenly dry. She studied the swirls of ink across his chest. She hadn’t realized he even had a tattoo until the other day. Even then, she’d bee too overwhelmed by her sudden feelings to really look at it.
She traced along the edges, smiling as his hushed groan. God, the man was gorgeous. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin and had the fleeting desire to press against him. To feel that warmth seep into her, finally chasing away the chill that had taken root since the world had ended.
The man’s frown intensified, and he pressed a hand across her forehead.
She chuckled. “Why is it you boys keep thinking I’m sick?”
“Maybe because we never know what’s going on in that head of yours. And a fever is something we can treat.”
It was her turn to frown. “You think I’m crazy.”
His mouth lifted into a sexy smile. “Maybe just a little.”
She swatted his chest, somehow holding back the moan when her hand connected with the smooth, warm flesh. Gunner palmed his hand over hers and the damn moan slipped free, vibrating in the air for all to hear. All the reasons for pushing them away began crumbling around her as the steady beat of Gunner’s heart thrummed beneath her fingers.
He raised his other hand, gently cupping her chin. “You’re not crazy or broken or weak. You’re a survivor and coping the best you can from some shitty experiences. We just want you to know we’re here if you need us.”
Her chin quivered in his grasp, and she closed her eyes against the rush of emotion. God, she couldn’t remember a man—hell three men—ever being this patient, this sincere. Offering without ever expecting anything in return, and she knew they weren’t like Beau or the others she’d encountered. They were decent. Honorable. And she was falling for them.
Morgan gave him the best smile she could muster, aware the other two men had sat up, their gazes on her and Gunner. “Why haven’t you given up on me?”
She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. Shit. That’s not what she’d planned on saying.
Gunner thumbed her cheek, seemingly in awe that she hadn’t broken contact yet. But how could she when his simple touch was the only thing keeping her from screaming? From running out the door and joining the damn zombies once and for bloody all? He shifted slightly when Ham and Wolfe moved to their side of the couch, closer but not to the point they were invading their space.
“Simple. You’re worth fighting for.”
A single tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek. Damn, how did these men know just what to say to make her want to take the chance? To chase the bad memories away with ones worth saving? Gunner grunted, swiping the moisture away as he glanced at his buddies, his face clearly expressing his concern.
Ham took a step forward. “Morgan?”
She turned to look at him, aware more tears had somehow escaped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. “Hamilton.”
He glanced at Wolfe then Gunner. “You okay? You’re crying.”
She nodded. “I know. I’m fine, it’s just…” She gathered back a modicum of control, wanting to tell them that she’d simply realized she was falling in love with them, but she wasn’t sure how to form the words on her tongue. Instead, she motioned to the room. “I just got scared. The dark. The dreams.”
Wolfe stepped up beside Ham. “You ca
n join us out here if it’d make you feel better. I’ll sit with Gunner. You can have my spot.”
She reached for them, touching Ham’s arm before pulling back her hand at the jolt of electricity that zinged between them. “Actually, I was hoping… I mean I thought maybe…”
She cringed. Why was it so hard to tell them she needed them? That she wanted nothing more than to curl up beside them and forget about zombies and men like Beau for a moment? To allow herself to lean on them, even if only to get a few hours of sleep?
Hamilton smiled in that way that made her stomach drop. “Nothing you say is going to shock us or make us run. What were you hoping?”
She firmed her jaw. She could do this. She wasn’t broken. Beau hadn’t beaten her. There were still pieces of the old Morgan waiting inside—the one who kicked ass and went after what she wanted. And it seemed about time that girl took charge again.
She met each man’s gaze then sighed. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Wolfe chuckled. “I thought you were going to tell us something we didn’t know? Sweetheart, we’re well aware you’ve barely gotten a wink since we met you—even less these past couple of nights.” He moved forward, his chest mere inches from her. “But that’s not what you wanted to ask us, so out with it.”
She huffed. Wolfe had a way of bringing that stubborn side of her to the surface, though she suspected that was always his plan—to get her pissy to the point the demons in her head retreated.
She braced her feet, trying to look more intimidating. “Fine. I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes that bastard Beau invades my head. His voice, his breath, the feel of his hands…” She grunted out a breath as her voice cracked. She could do this.
“Fuck!” Wolfe stopped her from saying anything more as he traced the line of her jaw, an emotion on his face she didn’t dare read. “Morgan. I didn’t mean to push. What he did… I’ll fucking kill him. And Ham and Gunner will take care of anyone else who’s ever threatened you. I guarantee it.”
“Hell yeah.” Ham shouldered up beside Wolfe, somehow sharing the same small space. “Never again.”
She gave them a smile. “I know, and that’s not what I meant.” She relaxed her shoulders, feeling some of the ever-present tension finally easing. “The only time I’ve ever relaxed was that first night when Ham…” She made a pathetic attempt at waving between them.
Ham laughed. “When I what? Damn near tied you to the couch so you wouldn’t run off?”
“No, smartass. When you sat with me.” She swallowed, praying she didn’t choke on the ball lodged in her throat. “I was thinking that since the bed is big enough for all of us, maybe you’d all lay with me.” She closed her eyes, not daring to see their faces as she said the final words. “Take turns holding me.”
Panic crawled down her spine as the room went silent—the thrashing of her heart against her ribs the only sound in her head. She held her breath, not sure what to think when warm, soft lips pressed against her eyelid. She inhaled sharply, opening her eyes to find Hamilton hovering above her, his mouth tilted into a boyish grin.
He searched her face, and his smile flourished. “Were you honestly afraid we’d say no? Baby, if you’d kept your damn eyes open you’d have seen that we momentarily considered breaking the damn wall down so we could get in there quicker.” He leaned forward, brushing his mouth over hers, but not pressing her for a kiss. “Whatever you need, it’s yours, if we can physically manage it.” He nodded toward the room. “Now get that cute ass of yours into bed and let’s all get some sleep.”
Flutters rumbled through her stomach, and she realized for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t fear. She turned, wondering what the heat was warming her chest when the answer hit her. Happiness. Anticipation. Pleasure. God, how long had it been since she’d experienced any of those emotions? Had allowed herself to feel them?
She smiled, holding back a groan when Gunner crawled on the bed, every muscle flexing in sequence as he slid beneath the cover on the far side. Ham moved in beside him, his bare chest like a damn beacon in the dark. Fuck, they were all bare-chested.
She managed to suck in a calming breath as Ham extended his hand, wiggling his fingers in silent offer. She glanced at Wolfe over her shoulder, allowing her focus to linger on his body before shuffling onto the bed, wincing a bit as her ribs shifted.
“Easy, baby.” Hamilton guided her down, tucking her against him without touching her wound.
He nodded, and she felt Wolfe close in behind her, using part of his body to help brace her side. Relief flowed through her as any discomfort faded into the warmth of Ham and Wolfe’s bodies against hers. She closed her eyes, and for once, the horrifying images didn’t materialize. More tears spilled over her lashes, landing on Ham. She tensed, but he just stroked his hand along her hair, using his other to hold her arm.
“Shh. Nothing’s going to hurt you. Promise. So stop worrying about whether this was right, whether we’ll think you’re weak and sleep.”
He kissed her forehead, and she responded with a light press of her mouth to his chest. Spicy essence tempted her tongue, but she held back, not quite ready to take things further. This felt right. Felt safe. And for now, that was enough. She stretched out her right arm, feeling her way over to Gunner, smiling when he took her hand in his, placing it over his heart.
Morgan drank in the combined scent of the men and her as she snuggled into Hamilton and Wolfe, all three of the boys’ heartbeats echoing through her, and she knew this was where she belonged. The reward for staying alive. For fighting. She mulled the thoughts over as she drifted into blackness. Three men and her. Maybe it wasn’t quite as crazy as it sounded. Maybe she wasn’t crazy, either.
Chapter Ten
Hamilton sat on the couch, head pressed against the back of the cushions as he stared absently into the fire while Wolfe added another log. The temperature outside was dropping, even during the day, and they’d been keeping the stove going round the clock in order to stave off any chill. They’d been there six days—three since Morgan had finally opened up a bit and given them all a glimmer of hope—and he knew the other men were getting anxious. Not about staying. Shit, they’d already made a run into a nearby town and gotten enough supplies to last another week or two. And based on what they’d seen, they’d be able to eke out the winter if need be, assuming they’d be able to catch the odd animal to supplement their food supplies. And with the amount of snow this part of the state got, water would be abundant.
It was Morgan.
The new sleeping arrangements had taken them all by surprise. After the first night, they’d expected her to insist they return to the previous ritual—her in the bed, alone, while they took turns on the couch. But when she’d risen and headed for the room, she’d stopped and casually asked if they’d be joining her now or later.
Fuck, it’d been like a damn stampede across the living room floor. And it’d been the same scenario last night. The four of them, squished together on the bed. Though it looked huge, he and his buddies had discovered they weren’t the size of average men. And fitting all three of them, and Morgan, in the cramped accommodations was an exercise in space management. But frankly Ham didn’t care if Gunner or Wolfe ended up draped over him. He’d bled for those men. Had damn near died more than once saving their asses. Having Wolfe’s arm across his chest when he woke didn’t even make him twitch. It just seemed…natural.
Ham pulled himself from his thoughts as Morgan shifted off the opposite couch then headed for the small kitchen. She hadn’t been pleased when Gunner and Wolfe had ventured into the nearby town without her this morning, and had been pouting ever since, regardless of their assurances that it was purely due to her ribs. They were finally getting better, and none of them wanted to risk her having another relapse. Not when their medical abilities were limited to what Gunner had picked up helping out field medics on deployment.
Morgan huffed at Wolfe as she walked past him, m
aking Ham smile. He found the gesture oddly adoring. As if she was finally acknowledging they meant more to her than just some guys traveling in the same direction. They’d all noticed she’d been much more at ease around them since arriving, no longer jumping when they brushed against her or gave her a playful nudge. That coupled with her allowing them to be strong for her had given them all hope. But it was also slowly driving them mad.
Ham’s dick twitched as he watched her shimmy around Gunner’s chair, giving the man the same pissed off attitude she had Wolfe, her hips swinging hypnotically as she walked. Fuck. Did she realize how damn beautiful she was? How every moment they spent with her made them itch to love her? To show her how cherished she was? How much her growing trust in them meant? She seemed oblivious to the effect she had on them, or that he, Wolfe and Gunner were continually adjusting themselves to relieve the pressure from their unrelenting hard-ons.
Ham clenched his jaw, willing the bugger away when she screamed. He vaulted off the couch, nearly colliding with Wolfe as the man slammed the stove door shut and headed for her. Gunner reached her first, grabbing her around the waist as she backed away from the counter, hand covering her mouth, her body shaking. Wolfe pushed past them, barreling up to the counter as Ham stopped beside her, knocking shoulders with Gunner as they made a barrier around her.
Her ragged breathing filled the air, the erratic rhythm spiking his heart rate. Fuck. What the hell had she seen that had freaked her out? He looked at her across his shoulder when her eyes widened and she screamed again. Gunner cursed, sending him a desperate glance as he scanned the room and the yard beyond the window, obviously as puzzled as Ham as to what she saw they didn’t.
Morgan huffed, punching him and Gunner in the shoulder as she pulled out of the man’s embrace and turned to face them. “For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there, kill it before it moves again.”
