Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley
“For fuckin’ decades.”
“I know, honey.”
“Walked all over people, fucked with people’s lives, didn’t give a shit about anyone.”
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“She didn’t deserve that,” he whispered back.
“No,” I agreed.
“She didn’t deserve that,” he repeated and my head came up.
“No, honey, she didn’t.”
“My sister,” he whispered and I watched his head drop like he couldn’t hold it up anymore.
My arms went around him and I hugged him from behind. His hand left the railing and found mine at his belly, his fingers lacing through and he held on.
So did I.
And we did this until I felt his body tighten.
“They’re here,” he stated, let my hand go, I let him go and stepped away.
I stood by him and Tate joined us when Stella’s car pulled into the drive.
When Tate and I were working, or I was working and Tate was hunting, the deal was that Stella or Pop picked Jonas up from school and he hung with one or the other of them at the office at the garage until Tate or I could come and get him.
Today was no different.
Tate, Wood and I watched, our bodies turning slowly as the car made its way up the drive, Pop sitting up front by Stella who was at the wheel, Jonas in the back.
“I’ll finish coffee,” I muttered and quickly went into the house.
They didn’t need me there, not now. There was a time when I’d be needed, but it wasn’t now.
I went to the cupboard, pulled down mugs, went to the fridge, got the milk, slid the sugar across the counter away from the wall.
Then I heard it and I stopped. My hands pressed into the counter, my teeth clenched and my eyes closed tight.
It kept coming at me and the sound was so monstrous it felt like it was tearing away my flesh. If I felt like that, removed, how did Tate feel, being right there while Jonas was making that hideous noise?
The door slid open and I whirled around, opening my eyes and I watched Jonas dash through. He kept going but caught sight of me and skidded to a halt.
I stared at him, his face red, his eyes and cheeks wet, his breath coming fast and uneven and I didn’t know what to do. He stared right back at me but I couldn’t read anything in his eyes, nothing but pain.
Finally, I could take no more and I whispered, “Baby,” and the minute I did, he moved, straight at me. His head down, he crashed into me, forcing my breath out and pain in. I went back with Jonas propelling me until I hit the counter, the small of my back slamming into it, throbbing pain radiating instantly out.
I thought, at first, he meant to hurt me, to take his pain out on me then I felt his hands grabbing at my clothes, tugging at my t-shirt, his face still buried in my ribcage.
“Laurie,” he groaned as his legs gave out and I felt him falling, his hands grasping my shirt and I went down with him, to my knees, Jonas to his and I wrapped him tight in my arms. His face was in my chest and he was burrowing there, like a kitten into his mother, shoving his face this way and that as he kept grabbing at my clothes.
“Baby, I’m right here,” I whispered, holding him tighter, my hand coming up to grasp his head and press his cheek into my chest.
“Laurie.” His voice was a croak.
“I’m right here,” I whispered.
“Laurie,” he repeated, his hands twisting in my shirt, holding on.
I bent and rested my cheek against his head. “Right here, Bub,” I murmured and started rocking him. “Right here, baby. Hold on.”
“Laurie,” I could hear his tears and mine came too, my breath hitching with them so violently, my body shuddered.
“Hold on, baby.”
He held on, his fists still twisted in my shirt and I gently moved to my behind, pulling him down with me so he was mostly in my lap and I kept rocking him like a baby as Jonas and I sat on the floor and both of us sobbed.
This went on for awhile, how long, I didn’t know, but it went on until I felt Tate get close. I lifted my cheek from Jonas’s thick, soft hair and looked through my wet eyes at Jonas’s father crouched beside us.
“Let go of Laurie, Bub,” Tate said softly.
Jonas didn’t move.
“Let go, Bub,” Tate repeated.
Jonas sucked in a broken breath and looked up at his Dad. Then he let go, Tate’s hands went to his son and he lifted up, swinging Jonas’s body in front of him. Jonas circled Tate’s hips with his legs, his shoulders with his arms and Tate, his son in his arms, walked out of the room and down the hall toward the mudroom.
I sat on the floor and watched the space I last saw them in.
Then a hand filled my vision, I looked up and it was attached to an arm attached to Wood.
“Let’s get you up, baby,” he said gently, then squatted, grabbed my hand, his other arm going around my waist and he pulled me up to my feet.
He kept my hand in his and his arm around me as I wiped my cheeks.
“Do you…” I said to him then my eyes went through Stella and Pop, Stella looking shell-shocked, Pop’s eyes rimmed with red and my gaze went back to Wood. “Do you want coffee?”
“Yeah, baby, coffee’d be good,” Wood said in his gentle voice.
I nodded but Wood didn’t let me go.
I sucked in breath, closed my eyes, opened them and looked at Pop.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back.
I nodded again and bit my lip.
“I don’t want coffee,” Stella stated, my eyes went to her and she finished, “bourbon.”
“We have that,” I said.
“Good,” she replied.
I looked at Wood. “Coffee or bourbon?”
“Both,” Wood answered.
I looked at Pop and didn’t get a chance to speak before he said, “Same as Wood, sweetheart.”
I nodded, sucked in breath through my nose and looked up at Wood. He leaned in and kissed my forehead then he let me go.
Then I got Neeta’s grieving family their drinks.
* * * * *
“She’s dead, buddy.”
My eyes opened.
I was pressed into Tate’s back and I heard it.
A television.
The house was big but the night was quiet and I could hear it, even from far away.
Jonas’s room.
I slid carefully away from Tate trying not to disturb the covers or him and I got out of bed. I went to the closet, blindly grabbed off a hanger the first of Tate’s shirts that I found, it was a soft flannel that had been washed a gazillion times. I shrugged it on over my camisole and pajama bottoms and I stealthily left the room.
I walked through the dark house, down the backstairs and down the hall guided by the flickering light coming from Jonas’s partially opened door.
I knocked once and pushed it open.
Jonas was lying in bed, his back against the headboard, the remote held loosely in his hand resting on his lap, Buster stretched the length of his hip down his thigh. His eyes were blank on the screen and just as blank when they came to me.
“Can’t sleep?” I whispered.
He shrugged.
“Want company?” I asked.
He shrugged again.
I decided to take this as a yes and I walked forward, crawled into bed with him and rested my back against the headboard.
It took me awhile before I got the courage to slide my arm around his shoulders and pull the side of his body into mine.
I should have known, with my sweet Jonas, I didn’t have to find the courage.
He immediately curled into a ball and slid down so his head was resting on my belly and his arm was wrapped around my hips.
I carefully pulled in breath, slid my fingers through his hair and I kept doing that as we watched TV.
I knew Jonas had long since fallen asleep but was loathe to disturb
“He couldn’t sleep,” I whispered and I watched Tate’s eyes, illuminated by the light from the TV screen, look to my belly and back to me.
“He’s out now, Ace,” he whispered back.
“I’m scared to move,” I told him.
Without hesitation, Tate walked into the room and he carefully slid his son off me and into bed. Jonas didn’t stir through this or while Tate pulled the covers over his shoulders and tucked them in.
Then he straightened and looked at me. “Bed, babe.”
“What if he wakes up again?”
“Bed.”
“Tate –”
“He knows where we are.”
“I don’t want him to be alone.”
“He isn’t.”
“Captain –”
“Bed.”
“But –”
“Lauren. Bed.”
I looked at Tate then I looked at Jonas then I leaned down and kissed his hair. I carefully exited the bed and walked to the door. Tate flicked off the TV, I saw dark then felt his arm slide along my shoulders. When we were in the hall my arm slid along his waist. Connected, we walked all the way back to our room. I pulled off Tate’s shirt and got into bed as Tate took off his jeans and, when he joined me, he pulled me right into him, my front to his.
“What woke you up?” he asked.
“I heard Frank’s voice,” I answered.
“Right,” he whispered.
“Then I heard Jonas’s TV.”
Tate didn’t reply.
I snuggled closer and Tate’s fingers sifted into my hair.
“Reckon it’ll be awhile before you’ll have sweet dreams,” he remarked.
“Probably,” I replied, hesitated and started, “Tate –”
He cut me off. “I’m okay.”
“You and…” I stopped. “There’s history.”
“Know that, babe.”
“Sorry,” I whispered his hand fisted and he rolled into me so I was on my back, his body was the length of mine and his face was in the side of my hair.
“History is just that, history. I can’t say this hasn’t rocked me but what I’m feelin’ is about Jonas,” he told me.
“Okay,” I was still whispering and I was also not believing him.
History was history but Neeta was Neeta. You didn’t spend your whole life knowing a girl, then the woman, sharing part of your life with her, making a child with her and feeling nothing but worry for your son after she was brutally murdered.
“Trust me, Ace.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
Tate was silent.
“I just want you to know, I’m here or…” I hesitated and then said, “I could be gone if that’s what you and Jonas need.”
His arms got tight and his voice was a growl when he stated, “Lauren, you even think of leavin’ me and Jonas, I swear to God –”
“Just for awhile,” I said quickly, “I don’t want –”
“Shut it.” He was still growling.
“Seriously, Tate, you need to know, I want for you and Jonas –”
“Babe. Fuckin’. Shut it.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Christ,” he bit off.
“Sorry.”
“Say you’re sorry with your mouth, babe.”
Confused, I told him, “I just did, Tate.”
“With your mouth,” he repeated and I understood what he meant.
“What if –?” I started.
“Need your mouth, babe.”
“Tate –”
His arms gave me a squeeze and he whispered, “Need you, Laurie.”
He needed me.
Therefore, I rolled into him then rolled on top of him and then I gave him what he needed. Before he came he pulled me up and to his side, yanked off my pajama bottoms and underwear and positioned me straddling him.
“Fuck me, baby, I want my cock inside you,” he growled.
I wrapped my hand around him and slid him inside.
“Fuck me,” he groaned and I moved.
His thumb went to my clit and it circled so I moved faster.
“That’s it, Christ, that’s it, baby,” Tate encouraged.
“Hurry, Captain, faster,” I whispered.
“Come here.”
I bent to him, still riding him and his fingers pulled down my camisole, his hand cupped my breast, he fed my nipple between his lips and pulled hard.
That felt so unbelievably good, my hips bucked.
Tate kept sucking and his thumb kept circling then his tongue rolled my nipple and his hand left my breast, slid into my hair and pulled my mouth to his.
“You close?” he grunted.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Harder baby.”
I fucked him harder, felt it coming and breathed, “Yes.”
“There you go.”
My hand circled his wrist as it hit me and his thumb became too much.
“Tate.”
“Fuck me harder.”
“Oh God, baby,” I moaned, my back and neck arching and I came hard and rode him harder as his thumb kept at me.
“Keep ridin’ me, Ace.”
“Tate –” I breathed, pushing at his hand, still coming, God it felt amazing, overwhelming, it felt like I would shatter but his thumb circled faster.
“You’re gonna come again,” he ordered.
“No,” I whispered.
His hips started bucking to meet my strokes and his hand in my hair went to my hip to yank me down.
“Tate, God, baby,” I whimpered as the second wave hit.
“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, his hips surging up, his thumb left my clit and both his hands slammed me down so he was buried inside me and, through my second orgasm, I listened to his grunting moan.
I collapsed on top of him, my face in his neck and I listened to his breathing even as I struggled to even my own.
Then he reached out and, still connected, he yanked the covers over us.
I started to move off him but his arms wrapped around me.
“Want you to fall asleep on my cock,” he growled in my ear.
“Tate, I’m too heavy –”
“Don’t move.” He was still growling.
“Baby –”
His arms tensed. “Want you close as you can be.”
I closed my eyes tight.
Then I whispered, “Anything you want, Captain.”
“That’s right, baby.”
I settled into him, shifting my hips, causing a low noise to come from his throat.
“I love you, Tate,” I said softly into his ear.
“I know, baby,” he said back. “Sleep.”
“Okay.”
And if you’d have asked me, after all that happened that day, and what could assault my mind in the night, if I could fall asleep on top of Tate with his cock still hard inside me, I would have said no, definitely not.
But I did.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After Neeta
“Ace!” I heard Tate bellow and my eyes went from the mirror, through Buster sitting on the vanity watching me arrange my hair in a bun at the nape, to Jonas, who was sitting on the lowered toilet lid wearing his black suit, the collar of his white shirt open, his little kid’s suit tie unknotted and hanging loose.
For the last five days, Jonas had stuck to me like glue.
I found this surprising. I didn’t know what he’d do but I sticking to me like glue wasn’t one of my top ten guesses.
But I wasn’t complaining.
“Ace!” Tate bellowed again and I whispered to Jonas, “Oh dear.”
Tate, like his son, had also stuck to me like glue. As the days passed, I realized both Jackson boys were behaving, as usual, just the same. One of their women had been brought low, no matter how they felt about her, Neeta was still one of their women, and they weren’t taking any chan
Jonas gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, I returned it but hoping mine reached my eyes and I hurried out of the bathroom, hearing Buster drop down to follow me with Jonas. I grabbed my black pumps from the bed and stopped twice in the hall to lift up a foot in turn and shove them on. We all arrived in the dining area in time to see Tate, wearing charcoal gray suit pants and a midnight blue shirt open at the collar, slide the glass door open and walk through.
I looked down at Jonas and we followed Tate, me stopping for Jonas to precede me. I pushed Buster back with my foot and slid the door closed. I turned toward the deck steps just in time to see my father, my mother, my sister and Mack climbing the steps. Dad was going slowly but he looked fit, if much thinner, and he had a tan. All of them were wearing funeral black.
I stared at them a second, in shock. They knew, of course, I’d called them the day after we found out about Neeta. They’d called every day since and they knew the funeral was today.
I just didn’t know they were planning on coming.
I stopped staring and started running. I slowed my progress so when my arms closed around my Dad, I didn’t hurt him.
“Daddy,” I whispered.
“Honey,” he whispered back as his arms went around me strong and tight.
I was holding onto my Dad, feeling his healing arms around me but I heard Mom say, “Tate, hon, give Jeannie some sugar.”
I smiled over Dad’s shoulder at Carrie who smiled back. If Mom was talking in third person and asking for sugar, she was back.
Dad kissed my cheek and let me go in time for Mack to give me a bear hug then, while I was hugging Carrie, I heard Dad say, “You must be Tatum.”
“Tate,” Tate replied and I pulled away from Carrie but kept an arm around her to watch Dad shake Tate’s hand.
When they released hands, Dad looked at Jonas but asked Tate, “This your boy?”
“Of course it’s his boy, he’s the spittin’ image,” Mom declared and bustled up to Jonas. “Hi Jonas, I’m Gramma,” she announced then demanded, “Give me some sugar.”
Jonas stared up at her, clearly uncertain what to do with a self-appointed Gramma since, between Tate and Neeta, he’d never had one.
“She means she wants a kiss, honey,” I informed Jonas and Mom bent down and pointed her index finger at her cheek.
“Right there, hon, a big smackeroo,” Mom instructed and Jonas’s eyes shot to his father. Tate nodded and Jonas leaned in and swiftly kissed her cheek.