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My heart thrashes and thrums. Breaths crashing to the tune of the fan whirring. The cacophony of my mental decline. I smack the bed, kick my legs, and ruffle the covers. It’s three in the morning, and I’m lying awake. Panting from the new prison I find myself in.
God, he’s a spectacular shackling though.
Sweat-beaded abs. Inked and sculpted pecs. His rasp against my ear. Possessive grip on my hips. Tongue lashing me with pleasure.
Warmth and fire.
Drowning and rising.
Coming home.
A high-pitched screech startles me into the present. Felicity’s cries. She’s about two weeks old, and her days and nights are still mixed up. Since I’m awake, I crawl out of bed so I can relieve whichever exhausted volunteer is on shift.
Careful to not wake anyone else, I creep silently through the hallway toward the delicate wailing, anxious to hold the tiny darling. Even her screams are precious.
When I round the corner to the catwalk overlooking the family room, I halt my strides. My vision drifts below to the four men of the house, all fussing over their miniature princess, a crackling fire in the grand hearth lending an amber Hallmark glow to the scene. Not wanting to interrupt, I drop down, curling up in the shadows against the railing.
Gage cradles Felicity in his massive arms, his thick thighs bouncing in a rhythm that could rival a ballerina’s. My hand smacks against my mouth to stifle my giggles. He’s so determined to soothe her while Ty and Liam lounge on the couches in utter depletion, and Wells oversees with the scrutiny of both a doting father and a commanding leader.
“I could watch you sway like that all night, Big Guy,” Liam teases. “So graceful.”
“He’s got rhythm,” Wells quips with a yawn that eclipses his smile before Gage pauses briefly for him to kiss his daughter. He strokes his palm over her thick raven-black hair. “Daddy loves you so much, precious girl.”
Gage resumes his swaying cadence. “Rest, Wells. No sense in all of us being exhausted.”
Wells hesitates with a frown but relents and lies down on the empty couch.
Unable to resist the changing-of-the-guards opportunity, only three seconds pass before Ty bounds up to shadow Gage in lieu of the Chief’s supervision, addressing Liam like a grumbling kid. “He’s doing it wrong. That’s why she’s still fussing.”
“She’s perfect,” Gage coos. Bounce one, two, sway. Bounce one, two, sway. “We’re just finding our way. They all need to shut the fuck up, don’t they? That’s why the angel isn’t settling, huh?”
Felicity squawks with zeal, and Liam chuckles. “The pint-sized princess is aghast at your distasteful language. Ty’s right. You’re doing it all wrong.”
“I thought her mother would be the death of me, but it’s my very own spawn,” Wells laments, coiling himself into the fetal position around a pillow.
I’ve never seen the man appear anything but in absolute control, let alone wiped out. I wish I had my camera to document the event for Ivy.
Liam cackles, flicking his Zippo open and closed. “We finally found the chink in Chief’s armor. Who knew it would come in such an adorable package?”
“Ivy is a force, but tornadoes, war camps, and malicious hit men can’t touch the fierceness in this little one’s pinkie.” Gage lifts Felicity in the air, smothering her cheeks with kisses. “She’s gonna conquer the world.”
God, that wrecks me.
“Can we let her be spoiled for a few years before she tackles world domination? She’s not even ten goddamn pounds,” Ty counters. He pushes his way through Gage’s arms to get his own grip on the baby.
“Jesus Christ,” Wells roars. “She’s not a fucking ragdoll. Get her head.”
“They’ve got her, Chief,” Liam mollifies with a warning glower directed at the other two.
He might not realize it, but in instances like this one, his deep love and admiration for Wells is so loud that it’s impossible to miss. The thought of his hero in any type of real distress stains his face with instant concern. There’s something about tender devotion among rough men that is immensely touching. One more sight to decimate me tonight.
Gage snarls but releases her and flops onto the couch Ty was occupying with a resounding swoosh.
Ty ignores the whole exchange, places Felicity against his chest, douses her head with his own adoring kisses, and begins swinging her from side to side. “You do wield a lot of power, don’t you, sweet girl? I should call you F-bomb.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Liam claps as Wells and Gage chuckle with him. “Please do. Jesus, but let me be there when Ivy hears it.” His voice is so thick with amusement; it quavers through every word.
“Like a metal umbrella,” Wells murmurs sleepily. “She’s worn out. The Little Storm will strike, Tytan.”
