Healed by Them: A Reverse Harem Romance (Quintessence Book 2)

by Serena Akeroyd

  He cleared his throat. “True. But it’s okay, I can pull it off just as easy like this.”

  She wasn’t sure how that was possible, was just grateful that she wore a baggier than usual man’s shirt.

  Hearing him moving around, curiosity almost got the better of her. But she stayed in position, appreciating the change from laying on her back, and having different muscles aired and others supported.

  The sound of his shoes clicking against the floor as he toed them off was one she immediately recognized. Another, a drawer whistling open then closed before he retrieved something that clunked against the white enamel bedside tables. She felt and heard the mattress squeak as he climbed onto it, and she’d admit to being too exhausted and downright weary to feel anything more than relief at the prospect of having some of her aches massaged away.

  A few days ago, pre-car crash, she’d have been too busy humping Sawyer’s leg to wait for him to dally around doing God knows what. Now, she had no choice but to be patient, because her body wasn’t going to let her do anything else.

  His hands came to rest on her waist. She felt his knee settle in a kneeling position beside her left thigh, the heat from his body radiating against her skin. His fingers were strong, warm. It seeped into her bones, and she nestled deeper into the sheets, knowing she was about to enjoy this.

  He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she pulled her stomach in and raised her butt to release any pressure on the fabric. It wasn’t too hard for him to work the shirt up to her armpits, baring the majority of her back.

  “You can try to pull it over my head,” she told him. “I’ll deal with the pain if it means you working at my shoulders.”

  He snorted. “You’re a bossy little miss, aren’t you?”

  She sucked in a breath when he did as she’d asked; quickly lifted the fabric over her shoulders and head. When she settled back into the plush comforter, Sascha would admit to feeling dizzy and sick with the movement. It took her a few seconds to whisper weakly, “Sometimes. Not always for my own good though.”

  “I’d never have guessed. Need a keeper,” he commented gruffly, but before she could reply to that cheeky remark, she let out a gasp as cold liquid suddenly pooled at the base of her back. The scent of sandalwood, oranges and cloves whispered through the air, perfuming her skin and the bedroom with its seductive scent.

  “You could have warned me,” she grumbled, but sighed happily as he made a ‘W’ with his hands at the base of her back by resting his thumbs together, then dug them into the muscles.

  “No point. You’d have tensed more.” As he worked his fingers into knots she hadn’t known she’d had, making her force herself to stay still so as not to wriggle and cause a deeper headache, he murmured, “Jesus, the bruises on you, Sascha. You look like we’ve been beating you.”

  “You just try it, buddy,” she warned him drowsily, moaning as he ran his thumbs along the side of her ribs, letting his little fingers drag against the plumped edges of her bared breasts. She knew going bra less had been the best decision today. “I know how to defend myself.”

  He chuckled. “You do, do you?”

  “Aye, I do,” she said in a mock brogue. “My dad’s a cop. He busted enough pedos, rapists, and pervs to scare me into learning how to protect myself from predators. Now, I can prey on them. How the world turns,” she finished triumphantly.

  “I’m certain it does, lass. Not much use against a car, though, was it? You’re black and blue. No way you can wear that dress tonight, Sascha.”

  “Dress?” She popped an eye open with interest, but it wasn’t enough to induce her to tilt her head or to turn around to look at him. “Sean picked a dress for me?”

  “He did. A few. But the one we all settled on, no way you can wear it.”

  She blinked, charmed by the notion of five guys choosing her dress. Maybe she shouldn’t have found it as amusing as she did. It was, after all, a decision made for her, when she was more than capable of making it for herself.

  She’d been a big girl for a long time, after all.

  But, Sascha couldn’t find it in her to take offense. Like five boys arguing over baseball stickers or Pokémon cards, she likened them to discussing the pros and cons of her outfit.

  Which had the easiest access?

  Which showed more of her boobs?

  Which would frame her ass?

  They were questions that stirred her up inside in more ways than one.

  She wriggled her butt at the thought, and he tapped her gently on the curve of her ass, making her eyes widen in response. “Don’t move. You’ll make your headache worse.”

  Sascha cleared her throat. “Is the dress sexy?”

  “With five guys in charge, what do you think?” he retorted, but she could tell he was teasing. His voice was always so serious. Like he rarely had time for laughter.

  But then, they were all like that. Like their work was a weight that shrouded their lives, and didn’t give them much escape.

  Of the five, she knew Devon was the smartest. Of course, they didn’t care about rank, but she did. Not because of any kind of ‘status’, but because she’d realized the men treated the cleverest in an unusual way.

  Devon, they usually helped, chided, or chivvied. They moaned over his antics, grimaced at his responses, and tried to save him from himself if he, for example, accidentally set fire to the curtains—a failed attempt at lighting a fire in the hearth, or so he’d told her. More like he’d been in a fit of pique over some of his work and had tried to burn his workings out!

  Andrei and Sawyer came next, she knew.

  Sean and Kurt had their own smarts. They were more than just highly intelligent. They too were, without a doubt, geniuses. With reputations to match, and prestigious peers who spoke of them with great regard.

  But Sawyer, who could keep up with Devon—just the thought beggared belief—was sensitive, she’d come to realize. His quiet nature reminded her of a still lake. The surface didn’t ripple with movement, but underneath, so much was going on, so much that onlookers could only guess at.

  Behind his shamrock green eyes, she felt certain there was a whirl of activity going on, and she for one wanted to mine it.

  His hands ran along the length of her spine, stopping at her shoulders. When he began to work on those muscles, she nearly sobbed with both pain and relief. Every time his thumbs accidentally swept up into her neck, she had to withhold curses, but as he worked, sometimes gently, sometimes with a pressure she felt certain would have her bones caving in—ouch—she realized she wasn’t so tense.

  She felt pink. Hot and flushed. But the nausea had gone, as had the dizziness. The pain in her head was a dull throb, but nothing she couldn’t handle, she realized with astonishment, and as she processed that, another realization came to her.

  She was horny.

  Really, really horny.

  Fuck.

  If he slipped his hands down the loose fabric of her sweatpants, she knew what he’d find, and Sascha found that she didn’t give a damn. If anything, she wanted him to touch her.

  “How’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, breaking into her dirty thoughts with a huskiness that warmed her.

  Either he was as affected by this as her, or the huskiness was just a manifestation of his affection.

  She liked the idea of both options, truth be told. Sascha wanted him to be turned on, but she also loved the prospect of his voice being weighed down by caring.

  “It’s much better,” she admitted, stunned by her own voice which was sounding a little raw and a lot needy.

  She felt the bed shift, the pressure points where his knees were pushing into the mattress moving with him as he bent down and touched his lips to the back of her head.

  “There anywhere else you need massaging?”

  Oh Jesus, that was practically an invitation, wasn’t it?

  Swallowing, she whispered, “A little further down?”

  He froze above her. She wasn’t sure if it
was in rejection or just surprise, then a husky chuckle sounded from behind her, and the bed shifted once more as he bent over her, and against her ear, whispered, “You feeling needy, lass?”

  Sascha blinked. Needy? That wasn’t a word she particularly appreciated, but was now the right time to tell him when he might make her cum?

  Decisions, decisions.

  Correct him on his poor word choice or potentially get an orgasm.

  No contest.

  With a grunt, she carefully rolled over—knowing full well she’d hate herself later on when it came time to laundering these sheets and trying to get the damn oil out of them—and lay flat on her back without too much stiffness working against her. His looming over her enabled her freedom of movement, and she watched his throat work as his gaze dropped down to look at her breasts with covetous eyes.

  “Fuck,” he said thickly, resting his weight on one hand so he could grab hold of one and begin to squeeze it.

  She groaned as the oil started to heat, and she realized it wasn’t just from his hands but from the liquid itself.

  As he plucked at her nipples with his slick fingers, she groaned again as his touch sent shivers through her. He reached behind him, palmed the bottle, and poured some between her breasts. She peered down, watched the oil and gravity start playing, as he lifted a leg and straddled her thighs.

  With a shuddery breath, their gazes connected all the while, he reached down and began to rub the oil into her torso. Without leaving an inch untouched, he rubbed the liquid into every part of her upper body, making gooseflesh rise and fall in the sexiest Mexican wave imaginable.

  Gulping when he carefully traced his fingers around her nipples, getting close to but never touching them outright, she released a moan as he plied the mounds, gently squeezing before ignoring them altogether and moving onto her stomach.

  She wasn’t the skinniest Minnie in the world. Had silvery stretch marks that ran around her belly button and down to her hips, some from being plump as a kid, others from growth spurts, but the desire in his eyes burned away any embarrassment she might have felt about them.

  He looked at her like she was a Goddess.

  That level of intensity was more than exciting, it made her heart thud in her throat.

  “Jesus,” she whispered thickly.

  He swallowed as he carefully massaged her belly, ran down to her sides where she was a little ticklish. Sawyer’s smile about broke said thudding heart, because he looked so boyish at that moment, so playful and not his usual intense self, that she wanted nothing more than to be as close to him as two people could be.

  Biting her lip, she reached for his left hand with her good one. Bridging their fingers, she nudged at the lip of the waistband of her sweatpants, and whispered, “Somewhere else needs massaging.”

  Fire burned at the backs of his eyes, and she let out a throaty sigh, head falling to the side as he slipped his fingers free from hers, shoved his hands down her pants, and sank three moist fingers down the line of her slit.

  The digits were oily, greased, and they slid around her cunt like a teenager on coke while ice skating. She immediately separated her thighs, parting them as wide as she could to allow him all the access he needed. The movement seemed to open up her pussy, giving him more freedom to touch her how he wanted—thank God for sweat pants.

  “You like that, lass?” he asked softly, his fingers caressing her clit. It wasn’t how she would touch herself, but with the slip and slide of the oil, his movements were actually softer than hers usually were. That soft swiftness had her tensing up at a ridiculous speed.

  She rocked her hips up, aware that this could be the quickest orgasm she’d ever had in her life.

  That is until the bastard moved his hands away.

  She glowered at him, made to reach for him, then whimpered as pain shot through her head and arm at the jerky movement.

  He glowered back. “Still yourself,” he growled “I’m not going anywhere. Just making you more comfortable.”

  A moan escaped her by way of response, and the sound lessened his glower into a glare of irritation—an irritation that was aimed at the pain she’d caused herself.

  Embraced once more by his caring tenderness, she allowed him to maneuver her. He was careful not to jostle her further as he pulled down her pants, and he let out a hissed breath, as he whispered, “No bra and no panties? Dear God, if this is how you usually walk around, I’ll have a constant hard on.”

  She chuckled a little, but it was breathy and weak. “No. I usually wear thongs, remember?”

  His eyes flared with remembered amusement. Devon had pointed out in his regular unsubtle way that the lines of her thong were perfectly visible through her skirts.

  “Aye, how could I forget?” He sighed as he looked her over. Though she could see the many flaws, he shoved all that aside and murmured, “Jesus, Sascha, you’re beautiful.”

  Gulping, she whispered, “You’re too far away.” With her good hand, she reached down between her legs and touched herself. Rubbing her clit in the way she liked, a movement he took note of if his narrowed eyes were anything to go by, she moved her fingers down to her gate, and slipped two into her pussy. “I want you here.”

  He cocked a warning brow at her. “We can’t do anything too rough. Not with your head and arm like that.”

  A deep groan escaped her, not just from disappointment at his words, but also from the need his touch and hers had inspired in her.

  “I need you,” she whispered throatily, loving how his already narrowed eyes turned into desire-loaded slits.

  His hands were still greasy, worse, they had her juices on them—because boy, was she wet. Her fingers made noises as she fucked herself, but she didn’t have it in her to even care all that much—but that didn’t stop him from running his fingers through his hair in a gesture of exasperation.

  “I need you too, lass, but I need your head to stay glued to your neck more.”

  “Isn’t there a way?” she asked with a pout. “I didn’t even think I had it in me to feel horny, Sawyer, but I might just explode anyway. How about on my side? I feel so empty…”

  She watched as a pained expression glanced over his features. “It would still rock your head.”

  “Just go slow.” Huskily, she whispered, “I want to feel your cock, Sawyer. Deep inside me.”

  He gulped, and finally, moved his hands to his fly. Within seconds, his cock was in his fist. Mouth watering at the sight, she explored him with her eyes. He was fully dressed, and she was nude—what was it with these guys? First Andrei and now Sawyer?

  This needed to stop right here and now.

  “Take off the rest of your stuff,” she commanded, feeling queenly and in charge now that he’d complied with her other request.

  “Yes, your highness.” The look in his eyes told her she was playing with fire, and she fucking loved it.

  A grin curved her lips because their thoughts were running parallel in regards to her regal status upon this mattress. Plus, her entire form which had been one big ache just twenty minutes ago, felt lighter than it had in ages.

  She was ready for this, she realized. Even though she could see the trace of guilt on his features, knew he didn’t want this for her sake, she did. She knew her body, knew what it needed—he’d learn to have faith in that in time, and time was a luxury they had on their side.

  “I’ll make you bow and scrape next,” she told him with a smirk, feeling cheeky and knowing he’d let her get away with it.

  Rolling his eyes, he climbed off the bed with a care that touched her, pulled off his plain tee by grabbing it from the back of the neck—was there a sexier and more impractical way of stripping down? Sascha asked herself—and revealed a body that was made for sin.

  Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as she looked at the flat, dusky peach nipples, the thick pecs, the solid abs… He even had that whole V thing going down to his cock, and a happy trail she’d willingly hike any day of th
e goddamn week.

  The moan that escaped her was one she couldn’t contain. It fell from her lips as he shoved down his jeans and kicked out of them, baring thick thighs that were made for rugby. His body was covered in a fine layer of golden hair that flecked against his semi-tanned skin. On his chest, there was more of a pelt, but nothing too Neanderthal. Nothing that would have her giving him a body shaver for Christmas, anyway.

  “Like what you see, lass?” he asked, more from amusement than arousal she thought. And he certainly didn’t expect an answer—good job, because she was speechless at the sight of his raw beauty.

  His wicked grin was inspiring, she thought, as he reached down and jacked off his cock for a few strokes. Her fingers curled in, making her have to hide a wince of pain as she moved the ones on her bad hand too.

  He must have seen though. Damn him and his observational skills.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he retorted with a grimace, but she noticed the fist about his cock tightened to what had to be the point of pain. “I can get you off, lass. There are ways and means.”

  “We should. I’m hurting, yes, but I’m aching more between the legs.” She flared her eyes at him. “Just... be careful.”

  He huffed. “How can I be careful? Sex involves movement. Your body needs stillness.”

  She began to fuck herself with her fingers. It was better to do that than to answer in any way that would have discouraged him from climbing onto the mattress and fucking her how she needed to be fucked.

  Heck, she’d gone two years without sex. It had been that long since she’d split up with her dick of an ex. No sex in all that time save with a BOB, and she’d been fine.

  Now, she felt more starved than she ever had.

  He needed to be inside her. Stat.

  With a groan, he climbed onto the bed. “You’re a temptress,” he growled out. “Either that or a fucking pricktease.”

  “Prickteases don’t come through with the good stuff,” she retorted primly, then spoiled it by letting out a mewl as pleasure cascaded through her when she accidentally nudged her clit with the edge of her wrist.

  “True,” he conceded, then gritted out, “Stop touching that pussy. It’s mine to touch, not yours.”