Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Before these guys, the notion of being sweated on by a dude was the most revolting prospect she could have imagined. Even during sex, she wasn’t enamored of the idea. Now? She’d take them anyway she could get them.

  It was like, after years of shitty sex, her body suddenly realized great sex was in the vicinity, and it wanted it all, and it wanted it right now.

  Of course, the broken wrist and concussion weren’t facilitating that, so she was randier than usual. Well, when she wasn’t feeling like she had the Seven Dwarves digging around in her skull.

  By the time she was feeling warm, and panting over the way the muscles in his arms and back bulged with each move he made, he was back on his feet.

  “I need to shower,” he told her, perky as ever. “I don’t want to get into bed sweaty.”

  “I’ll make you sweatier,” she promised.

  He pulled a face, then said, “Will you change the sheets afterward?”

  A snort escaped her. “And they say romance is dead.”

  “They do?” He frowned at that. “I hadn’t heard.”

  Huffing out a chuckle, she murmured, “It’s a rumor that’s been going around for quite a while. I think we could prove them differently though.”

  “We could?” He pondered that. “How?”

  “Do you want to romance me?” she asked, both amused and charmed by the earnest look on his face.

  “I want you to be happy,” he explained. “There’s a difference.”

  She cocked a brow at more earnestness being aimed her way. Could he get any freaking cuter? Damn his delicious hide. “There sure is.”

  “Would being romanced make you happy?”

  “I suppose.” Being fucked would make me happier still, she thought ruefully.

  “I have no idea how to romance someone,” he continued. “This presents a problem. I wonder if Sawyer knows.”

  Considering Sawyer was earthy and gritty, she doubted it. “Ask Andrei or Kurt,” she advised. They were charmers. Andrei with his warm smiles and eyes that could melt her with the looks he shot her way, and Kurt’s tender affection, his cosseting… the two of them could train Devon to be a pro.

  “Andrei or Kurt?” He put his hands on his hips and stared at a point right above her head. She looked up, wondering what he was gawking at, then she realized he was just processing what she’d said.

  Jesus, the day she understood what the fuck was going on in his mind, she knew she’d have to check herself into the looney bin.

  After thirty-seconds of processing, he murmured, “I’ll do that. I’m surprised you didn’t say Sean.”

  “Sean’s romantic. Just in a unique way.”

  “What kind of way?”

  “He’s competent.”

  Devon scowled. “That doesn’t sound romantic.”

  She snorted. “That’s because you’ve never lived in a chaotic household before.”

  “True. My home was always ship shape and Bristol fashion. Although, that’s more for the Navy than the Army,” he conceded. “When was yours chaotic?”

  “When my mother died. After, my dad went to pieces.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes, it was. It was just a lot to go through at the time. My mom was used to keeping things organized so dad didn’t have to. Without her, everything fell apart, and dealing with losing her, as well as the nuttiness of the household was a lot for me to handle at the time.”

  “Is that why you became a housekeeper?” he asked softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed at her side.

  She reached for his hand with her good one, pleased when he entwined their fingers. Though he was a little robotic in some things, he needed affection as much as anyone. She’d noticed that as he grew more comfortable with her, he touched her more.

  Especially if she made the first move. Once he knew she wanted his touch, it was like he’d been given permission to be affectionate.

  She hoped that, in time, he’d feel enough ease with her to just throw his arms around her and hug her first. But that was asking a lot after she’d only really been with them like this for a month.

  With their fingers bridged, she answered his question, “I think maybe it is. The money’s pretty good too, and when I first started this housekeeping gig, I didn’t have to worry about making rent, which in London is fucking insane.”

  “You didn’t have to live in the city. You could have gone elsewhere.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  Sascha shrugged. “I like it here. It’s so different than America, yet just as fast paced and busy. It’s alive in a way that I like. But, when you’re a housekeeper, you tend to live in the swankier parts because only the rich can afford someone like me. Look at this place. I get to live here. In the middle of Kensington, for God’s sake. Not everyone can live somewhere like this and for free.”

  “But you have to work hard to live here.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You really think what I do is hard? When you have to calculate crazy math the way you do?”

  He mused upon that for a second, then explained, “You know when you breathe?”

  She blinked. “Quite well. I do it a lot.”

  Devon, her sarcasm going way over his head, just nodded. “Math is like that for me.”

  “Like breathing?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow. That’s very sexy.”

  His eyes widened. “It is?”

  She grinned. “To me, sure. Do you see symbols and shit everywhere you look?”

  “No.” With his other hand, he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not like that. It’s just…”

  Seeing he was finding it hard to explain, she murmured, “Hey, it’s okay, Devon. I don’t need to know.”

  Relief had his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want to be unromantic by refusing to answer.”

  She snorted. “Math is never romantic, so we’re good.”

  “Of course, it is. Everything’s romantic. Rose petals develop in the Fibonacci pattern. Even I know roses are romantic.”

  Impressed despite herself, she winked at him. “Color me stunned.” Then, at his confused look, and well aware he was on the verge of asking how he could color her in, she murmured, “Do you know what would be more romantic than a dozen roses?”

  “What?”

  “If you made me cum.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We agreed. We wouldn’t touch you again until you healed.”

  She immediately scowled. “When did we agree that?”

  “Not you, we,” he retorted.

  “Well, I think I’d like to be the one who takes control of my own body, thank you very much. And a couple of orgasms would suit me greatly.” She could really do with the pain management.

  Climax=no migraine for at least four hours.

  That was her kind of deal.

  His lips twitched. “A couple, huh?”

  “Think that can be arranged?”

  “Your head isn’t aching now because you took meds last night. That doesn’t mean you won’t pay the price later,” he counseled.

  “I already told you; I didn’t take meds last night. I must have just had a nightmare.” She jerked his hand and pulled him toward her. “I want to feel your body against mine,” she told him, her voice a husky whisper. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to know all of you.”

  She studied him, wondering if he’d react to the same stimuli as all men—because one thing she’d learned during her time here, Devon was not all men—and when his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly, Sascha was quite relieved to note that yes. He was.

  He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, rubbing the thick, glossy onyx strands until they were more tousled than before.

  “You shouldn’t tempt me,” he chided her.

  She peered down at his lap and the bulge tenting his fly. “One part of you appreciates the temptation.”

  “That part doesn’t listen to re
ason.” He let out a deep breath. “I’m trying to think of you here.”

  “I know, baby, but I don’t want you to. I want you inside me, Devon,” she told him, her voice low. She rocked her hips; her words and his tension making it easy to imagine him deep in her pussy.

  With a sigh, she dragged their bridged hands to the apex of her legs, and through the duvet, pressed it against her core when she spread her thighs under the covers. The pressure wasn’t right, but it was better than nothing. She let out a moan as she tilted their fingers, so a knuckle landed in a good spot, and tilted her pelvis up for better friction.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick, his gaze glued to their hands.

  “What does it look like?” she retorted, gasping before she could whisper his name.

  He licked his lips and swallowed hard as though refusing her was a temptation he couldn’t avoid.

  Good.

  “Please,” she pleaded sultrily, watching his eyelids droop at her words. His breathing changed. Becoming deeper, faster.

  His hand tightened about hers, and then he began to pull away. About to complain, she watched as he planted one hand beside her head, then the other at her shoulder. Within two seconds, he was looming over her, after he’d tugged the sheets away, baring her totally unsexy flannel pajamas—since the accident, comfort had counted for more than damn silk.

  He didn’t look at her as though she was wearing flannel though. He looked at her like she was a Queen. A Queen he wanted to fuck.

  She shivered, caught in the net of his attention as his bright blue eyes pinned her in place beneath him.

  He ducked down, not stopping until his lips were hovering above hers. “You’re sure?” he demanded, and when she gulped, said:

  “Yes.”

  Their mouths connected with a gentleness that surprised her. He didn’t maraud, didn’t feast, just tasted. Sampled. Her breath shuddered from her at the delicacy of each caress from his lips, and she had the feeling Devon was a whole other ball of wax to the rest.

  It took that one kiss to realize sex with him was going to be pleasure and pain combined.

  She reached up to keep him in place, her fingers sliding against his scalp and her nails digging in for further impact. He ignored her, refused to up his pace, to deepen the kiss. He traced his tongue around her Cupid’s bow, fluttered it in the tender heart. She sucked in a shuddery breath when the tip tickled along the sensitive inner part and let out a moan when he repeated the action.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Properly.”

  His chuckle was cruel. Enticing. “I am.”

  “No,” she whined, moaning against his lips once more. “I want you. Need you,” she admitted on a whisper.

  He smiled, then finally slipped his tongue between hers. She let out a cry as he taunted her again. Sliding his tongue against hers, fluttering here and there, flickering back and forth. Making her tremble. Making her want to beg.

  When she’d never wanted to beg ever before. Not like this.

  He was giving her what he wanted to give her, not what she needed. She rocked her hips, hoping to drag her pelvis against his. She felt his cock jerk at the move, knew he was hard, knew he was hungry, but his self-control astonished her. Obliterated everything she’d thought she’d known about him.

  With a groan, she spread her legs, clasped them around his hips, and dragged him down so their cores clashed. She rode up from beneath, doing as she’d chuckled over earlier—humping him. Trying desperately, to get a reaction from him, and failing.

  Overwhelmed, she ceased dragging her nails against his scalp, and moved her fingers down to his neck. She massaged his nape, then trickled the tips down, scraping her nails over the rise and fall of the muscles in his shoulders and waist, and not stopping until she could lift the waistband of his sweatpants and drag them over his ass too. She dug her nails into his butt and wished like hell she could use both hands to urge him into action. But she couldn't, she had to work with what she had available.

  She didn't hold back, dug hard into the thick muscle of his glutes, and was rewarded when he pulled away from her mouth and nipped at her bottom lip. Tugging it away from her teeth, he headed down, taking the meat of her chin, biting it. She blinked at the sting but was so grateful that she’d stirred him into action and couldn't find it in herself to care.

  He headed further down, relinquishing weight from his hands and steadying himself with his knees as he unbuttoned the flannel jacket of her pajamas. His fingers gave her whispers of sensation as they trailed along her torso like feathers.

  Once again, his delicacy was her undoing as those shadowy caresses had every single inch of her coming to life. She'd never felt so sensitive, so aware of every part of her body thanks to a simple touch against her belly. But of course, his hands were busy, but so was his mouth.

  He plied her throat with his lips, teeth, and tongue until she was crying out with the delicious wonder of it.

  Nibbling here and there, he sucked down, and would press gentle pecks to the area before trailing his tongue along the sinews of her throat.

  At that moment, she felt sure she'd go mad. Every part of her was singing with need and he hadn't even touched her in an overt fashion. Her nipples were like bullets, but he hadn't traced his fingers over them. The scent of her arousal perfumed the air in a way that was close to mortifying. She knew he could feel her juices flowing from her greedy pussy, because the crotch of her pajamas was soaked. Each time he taunted her with a teasing move, she'd rear up to drag her aching cunt along the length of his hard dick. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

  Gasping in air, her head rolling from side to side in a way she'd regret later, she felt tears in her eyes as he finally headed down south. With one side of her pajama top open, she knew where he was heading, but he stunned her. Until that moment he’d been careful, gentle. But he surprised the shit out of her by taking the bud of her nipple between his teeth and biting down. Hard.

  She shrieked as pain pierced her nipple, and yelled out his name, "Devon!"

  He hushed her, and the vibrations to the throbbing nub had her eyes widening, her mouth trembling.

  He traced his lips over her belly, bringing the small hairs to attention. Her nerves were on red alert. Small shivers ran up and down the length of her body in response to his touch. She was so achingly aware of her need, every part of her brought to life by him, that the tears burning in her eyes fell without notice.

  Another shudder whispered through her when he reached the waistband.

  "You have to let go," he directed, pulling at her calves to release the hold she had on him with her thighs. Only because she knew what he was about to do did she obey.

  A part of her wasn't certain he'd stay where he was. She felt like he was seducing her, and it made her worry that he’d disappear at any moment.

  With a deep breath, she let him go, dreading his next move. Praying to God he wouldn't climb off the bed and head out, math suddenly on his mind. It was then she realized, math had always been on his mind. When he touched her, when he trailed his tongue over her, he was forming symbols. Ones she half recognized from the loathed class that was Trigonometry.

  Before the notion could perplex her, he grabbed her waistband and jerked her bottoms down over her hips, ass, and thighs. When the fabric hit her calves, he didn’t shrug them off her feet, instead, he used them to keep her legs tied together at the ankle. Then, he grabbed her ankles with one hand, and lifted her legs so they were pointing towards the sky.

  Feeling suddenly out on a limb, and not knowing why when she was lying flat on the bed, her hands shot out to either side for stability.

  He must have seen this because he whispered, "Point your toes, and keep your legs straight." She complied, watching with nervous eyes as he let go. Still expecting him to bound off the bed, she was relieved when he pushed down his own sweats.

  Because his body was hidden by her thighs, she couldn't see him, but she'd f
elt him. Knew he was thick and long, and her pussy wept with the need for his shaft to fill her. By this point, the small shivers running up and down her form, had turned to shudders of response. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up with cramps in her calves, and have to leap off the damn bed to walk it off.

  The amusing thought would normally have had her laughing, but not at this moment. Not when she ached for him.

  She felt snow blind. Lost without his touch to ground her. And then, as the thought flashed through her mind, his hand was around her ankles once more, and as he pressed the backs of her calves to his shoulder, she felt the bluntness of his shaft against her wet cunt.

  A moan escaped her, sharp and high-pitched with relief. The position clamped her pussy lips together, and the bluntness of his tip had her eyes widening as he pressed it to her gate and notched his cock inside, but Jesus... It felt good.

  Better than good.

  Heaven.

  Barely an inch, and the thickness was more than she felt sure she could stand.

  He was big. And she knew she'd thought that about each of them, because they were all far too big for any sane woman, but Devon… He was thick.

  She gulped, clenched her eyes shut. Once again, not feeling the trickle of tears as they forged a path down her face, she held her breath as slowly, but surely, he made a place for himself deep inside her.

  By the time he was all the way in, she was breathing hard. It had been a long time since she'd gone jogging, but this was the best cardio she'd ever had in her life. Her good hand burrowed into the sheets, while the bad one ached with the need to claw at something.

  She felt full, so full that she knew with a certainty she'd go mad with it. She stared blindly overhead, eyes popping open when he hit home, but like with everything he’d done so far, Devon stunned her. Short, deep thrusts. The tip of his cock hitting her deep inside, while the thickness of his shaft forged her wide-open.

  She felt impaled, and that was the only way she could describe the torture. But she loved it.

  "Sweet Jesus," she moaned.

  "No, Devon," he corrected gruffly.

  On anyone else, that would have been declaration. An arrogant, smug response. To Devon, though, it was a statement of fact. His name wasn't Jesus, but Devon.