Chapter 10
ASHTON
I assumed I understood the consequences of sleep deprivation.
Instead, I’m forced to understand the consequences of just how wrong that assumption was.
—Ashton’s Secret Thoughts
Jamie lifts me from the floor, and I wrap myself around him as he presses me against the wall and pushes my hair away from my face. “Tell me to stop, Ashton . . .”
Oh God . . . that voice. The gravelly need in it . . . It’s overwhelming. And the feel of this man’s body against mine, this man’s weight on me, it’s everything I remember.
“I think I’ll cry if you stop.” I lean into his touch, desperate for more.
Clawing at his chest, I push his shirt up and force it over his head, dropping my mouth to his throat.
He grasps my face in one big, calloused palm, and I gasp, my pulse pounding and heart racing as his lips hover over mine. “Please, Jamie . . . Please.”
I lock my ankles behind his back and—my God, this man. He slides his hand around my neck, his fingers digging into my hair. Brilliant green eyes fix on mine, sending a sharp, sweet bolt of hunger thrumming through my veins, and I count the beats of my heart until his mouth finally claims mine.
My world tilts on its axis as it implodes.
His tongue licks into my mouth, and he swallows the moan that drops from my lips. Soft and sweet and needy. My body burns as his erection settles thick between my thighs, and I want more. More than this. More than I’ve ever had before.
I want it all. Everything I’ve dreamed of for weeks . . . Months.
Dreamed of . . .
Something tickles the back of my brain.
I try to dig my nails into the delicious muscles in his shoulders as I shift my hips, frantic to feel his skin. His heat. Him.
“Jamie . . .” I moan, but nothing comes out.
My voice catches in my throat, leaving me in silence.
The strong arms holding me vanish.
And I expect to fall to the floor, but I don’t.
He’s gone . . .
But I hear him. His voice.
“Good morning, beautiful . . .”
I bolt up in a cold sweat, my pulse pounding and chest shaking.
I’m not in Jamie’s arms. There’s no wall behind my back. Just a bed. My bed. My room. Well, my room in his house.
It was a dream.
The same damn dream I’ve been having for weeks.
I fling myself back and hang my head as I curse the world around me. If I’m going to have naughty sexy dreams about the gorgeous gladiator, at least let him get me off before I wake up. For a hot second, I think about finishing myself off until—
That voice . . . There it goes again.
This time, I realize I’m actually hearing the giant pain in my ass’s voice. Only it’s unfortunately not telling me to ride his cock like a good girl the way he does in my dreams.
“Who’s the prettiest princess in the whole world?” that voice croons, and I realize I’m listening to him through the baby monitor and figure in for a penny, in for a pound and grab that sucker so I can get a visual to go with the audio.
Oh hell. I should have stopped when I was ahead because this visual is just too much.
It’s unfair.
Am I seriously jealous of my sister right now?
“That’s right,” he coos, reaching for Kyrie, his hair damp from a shower and his chest bare. “You’re the prettiest princess.” He lifts her from the crib and snuggles her against him, and my baby sister snuggles into this man like she’s the happiest little princess in the world.
Not that I blame her.
Good lord, I thought the whole ovaries exploding over a gorgeous man holding a baby was a myth, but apparently, like most myths, that fucker is founded in reality.
Because hell, did my ovaries just explode?
Why yes. Yes, they did.
“How about we get you cleaned up and then get some breakfast?” he asks her, and her head pops up following his voice, and she claps her chubby hands on either side of his scruffy face. “We can let your big sister sleep in a little. What do you think? Maybe she’ll like me a little better then.”
If I’m supposed to be mad he’s using her to get on my good side, I’m not. But sleep. . . Sleep is a definite way to earn himself some good juju.
He lays her down on the changing table and gets her diaper changed and her dressed for the day, like he’s done it a hundred times, and my mouth hangs open in literal shock. She’s always a wiggle worm for me. A smiley one, but a wiggle worm nonetheless. But for him she cooperates. Little traitor.
“I think it sounds like a good idea. How about you?” He keeps going. “Maybe I’ll even mix a little of those peaches you like in with your cereal. Seriously, squirt. That shit looks nasty. I’ll make it better for you. Just don’t tell Ashton, okay?”
Okay, so this man isn’t completely stupid because bribery will get you everywhere with us Carmichael girls. Chocolate is a great place to start, but when in doubt, anything sweet will do.
By the time Jamie’s done, Kyrie’s dressed in a pink and white striped onesie with a matching pink headband wrapped around her peach fuzz-covered head. She’s ready for the day, and I’m left speechless as the duo walk out of the room, heading to the kitchen, I assume.
He’s so good with her.
And she loves him . . . and Finn and Ryker. She’s happy here. And I’m starting to wonder if I am too.
I take what has to be the fastest shower of my life, where I can’t even act like I don’t contemplate finishing what I started in my dream, even if I couldn’t bring myself to go there, knowing he was downstairs with Kyrie.
. . Not that it would help. Nothing has helped take that particular edge off for freaking months.
I throw on leggings and a white tank and grab my favorite red sweater, tucking my wet hair up into a messy bun and hurry down the stairs, grateful for the momentary reprieve but not willing to take advantage of the generosity.
I stop at the entrance to the kitchen and stare.
Maybe I should have taken more time.
Not that it would have prepared me for this sight.
Jamie’s still shirtless. And he’s sitting in front of the highchair with a spoonful of peaches mixed with cereal raised in front of Kyrie.
Judging by what looks like peaches on his own face, I’m thinking it’s not going well, but there’s something about the whole picture that makes my heart do funny things.
His brilliant green eyes find mine, and a slow smiles spreads across that annoyingly handsome face. “Morning, Ace.”
“Morning, charmer.” I bite my lip, holding back my smile and the giggle that’s threatening to escape as I make my way over to the coffee pot.
“Thanks for getting her up this morning,” I murmur as I pour myself a cup of the caffeinated goodness that is the expensive, imported coffee Jamie keeps stocked in the kitchen. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t do it because I had to.” Kyrie manages to spray peach-colored cereal all over Jamie’s face, and I lose the fight and laugh as he wipes it away. The laughter gets caught in my throat, though, when he sucks the remainder of it off his fingers
Oh my God, what’s wrong with me?
I want to be those damn fingers, so damn bad . . .
He raises a brow like he knows what I’m thinking, and I glare before he opens his mouth to speak. “I did it because I wanted to.”
Wait . . . “What?” I ask him. “Did what?”
“Got Kyrie.” Jamie’s brows furrow, and he scrapes the sides of the small plastic cereal bowl. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Right. That’s what I thought.” Lies. All lies.
“You feeling okay, Ace? You’re looking a little pale.”
“Damn, brother,” Finn groans as he walks into the room after a another twenty-four hour shift that ran closer to thirty than twenty-four. “I thought you were supposed to be the ladies’ man. Hasn’t anyone ever told you girls don’t like it when you tell them they look like shit?”
Finn pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs a banana before he drops down into the chair next to Kyrie and high-fives her.
Well, he holds her sticky hand and forces the high five, earning himself such sweet baby giggles that I choose to ignore the fact he basically just said I look like shit.
“I didn’t say she looks like shit, dickhead,” Jamie argues and scoops up more cereal, but I catch the hesitance before he offers this one to Kyrie and sip my coffee while I wait to see what she’s going to do this time.
Thankfully, she opens her mouth and gums the purple rubber spoon, her pudgy cheeks puffing up as she smiles with delight. “I said she looked pale.”
Finn’s eyes take me in, assessing. It’s Dr. Murphy looking at me, not my best friend. “You do look a little pale, Ash.”
“Wow, that degree really comes in handy, doesn’t it, doc?” Jamie taunts Finn, and I hide my giggle with another sip of my coffee, ignoring the way the drink turns my stomach.
“I’m fine.” I grab one of the soft baby washcloths from the drawer and run it under warm water. “Little miss and I are actually meeting your mom a little later today.”
“Why?” Finn grins, his mouth full of banana, and I grimace, my stomach flipping again.
“Chew your food, Finnegan,” I warn. “That’s gross.”
“You are the only person in the world I let call me that,” he grumbles as he swallows the banana.
“Yeah well.” I rinse off the cereal covered washcloth and toss it to Jamie, then watch him wipe his sticky, beautiful chest. Damn, this man needs to put on a shirt.
Or maybe never wear one again. I’m not sure which.
“I’m the only person in the world that will call you on your shit too, so you’re welcome. ”
“I call him on his shit,” Jamie tells us both as he tosses the washcloth to the sink like he’s slam-dunking a football.
Wait. That’s not right.
I fucking hate sports.
“Yeah, but he ignores you,” I add and unbuckle Kyrie from her seat. “Do you have to work today?” I ask my friend and smile when he shakes his head. “Want to do something when I get back from lunch with your mom?”
“Sorry, Ash. I’ve got about a million hours of charts I need to catch up on after I catch up on some sleep.”