Sawyer: Quintessence: The Sequel

by Serena Akeroyd

  Sawyer muttered an expletive. “Yes, Devon. What the fuck else would she be hungry for if it wasn’t a burger and it was sex-related?”

  Devon shrugged, jostling those super broad shoulders under his silk and wool blend Epsom coat. Jeez, he looked fine. The dark navy complimented his thick black hair and made his creamy skin look more olive—she’d wanted to jump him the minute he’d stepped out of the bathroom three hours ago.

  In her opinion, she’d been patient for waiting this long.

  And Sawyer? Who, unlike Devon in jeans and a tee, was in a dove gray button-down and black slacks, looked formal and sexy as fuck.

  Or was that sexy enough to fuck? Sascha thought, hiding a wicked grin.

  “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” was Devon’s lofty retort.

  “That’s the perfect tense. Were,” she said on a sniff. “My suggestion can just fall into obscurity seeing as you’re both mean to me and my burger cravings.”

  “You know they’re not good for you, lass,” Sawyer immediately countered, his hand sliding around her waist so he could pat her belly. “If you’d just waited, we’d have made you a nice one. With ground steak instead of that processed shit.”

  She grimaced. Gah, they totally didn’t get it. “Don’t you sometimes just crave the processed shit?”

  Devon heaved a sigh. “That’s the American in you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I was hoping to have some English and some Scot in me, but we can’t have everything, can we?”

  Sawyer groaned. “Lass!”

  She chuckled, deciding he’d suffered enough. Not Devon, though. He looked as oblivious as ever.

  “Do you have like a lovers’ hill or something?”

  “A hill for lovers?” Devon asked, brow puckering. “The Scots aren’t the most romantic of people, Sascha.”

  “Yeah, bud,” she said drily. “You keep telling yourself that when Sawyer’s the one who brings me flowers and chocolates, and you’re the one who forgets our anniversaries unless you have four alarms set.”

  He scowled. “I remember.”

  “Since when?” It was Sawyer’s turn to butt in, and he did so with a snort.

  “Since the day you arrived. I remembered to set the alarms, so that has to be worth something. I just forget that I haven’t wished you ‘happy anniversary.’”

  Despite herself, she had to giggle. “You’re a nut, Devon,” she told him, entwining her arm through his and rubbing her nose against it.

  “No, Sascha, I’m not a nut,” he said, his tone patient. “I’m Homo sapiens.”

  Sawyer groaned. “Sascha, you had to see that one coming?”

  Her giggle morphed into a belly laugh. She dragged them to a halt as she bent over at the waist trying, and failing, to touch her knees, she used Sawyer as support instead.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Devon asked, clueless to a fault. His ability to concentrate was so intense in some matters, but on others? He might as well be a walnut.

  “She’s laughing at you.”

  “That isn’t very nice,” Devon said with a tut.

  “Can’t. Help. It,” she gasped out, then using Sawyer to straighten up, she fanned her hands in front of her to cool down. “Your face,” she bleated, then repeated with a snort. “I’m Homo sapiens. Priceless. Remind me to tell Sean that one. He’ll laugh.”

  Devon pouted, but he didn’t complain when she patted his chest then tilted her head back in preparation for a kiss from him. His six-feet plus height didn’t present that much of a problem when she wasn’t hefting another human around inside her, but now? There was no way her center of gravity was up for the challenge of standing on tiptoes.

  He ducked down so he could press a kiss to her lips. It was just a peck... until she curled her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him. When he speared his tongue in her mouth with very little prompting, she gasped and waded into the fight. She jolted when Sawyer slapped her ass and grumbled, “We’re in the middle of Argyle Street, if you want to have an audience, we’re in the best place.”

  Grumbling, she pulled back. “Lover’s hill?” she repeated breathily.

  Sawyer slapped her ass again. “If there was one, I’d be the one to know, provided I knew what it was for.”

  She twisted back to look up at him. “You park up there and neck, you know?”

  “We can just go on one of the council estates for that. I’m sure the residents of Carntyne would get a kick out of watching that,” Sawyer said drily. “But we’d also lose our hubcaps and our license plates.”

  “Oh. No fun.” But her eyes twinkled at his joke. Even if it was at her expense.

  “No, but you want to get down and dirty in the car, do you?” he asked, his brogue suddenly thick.

  “Aye.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes.

  “It’s far more comfortable at home, Sascha,” Devon told her. “Nice and warm too. No fear of our hubcaps being stolen or of being arrested. That sounds like fun to me.”

  “I know, love, but that’s beside the point.”

  He scowled. “You mean, you want to be uncomfortable?”

  Her nostrils flared with amusement. “No. Not particularly, but I want you. Now. And I don’t want to wait for the ride home.”

  He came to a halt. “You mean you can’t wait five minutes?”

  At his aghast expression, she nodded sagely. “I can’t wait even five minutes.”

  His mouth rounded, then he cut Sawyer a worried glance. “We need to get to the car. Now.”

  She had to bite back a smile at the sudden urgency in his tone—and what she loved most was the fact that urgency was for her, not him.

  “She’s not going to explode,” Sawyer groused, not as taken in by her plea.

  “She can’t wait five minutes, Sawyer. That means she’s desperate,” Devon retorted, grabbing her hand and half-dragging her down the street toward the lot where they’d parked their car. But she let herself be caught up in the whirlwind that was her math genius because he didn’t move too fast for her ambling gait, and he was so fucking cute sometimes, she just wanted to melt.

  Overhead, the streetlights only highlighted how grim the night was. The amber glow enhanced a cold that was fiery somehow, making her feel even more frigid. Everything was slick with rain, and the bitter chill in the air was only exacerbated by a nasty wind that howled down the narrow streets.

  It was cold, wet, and miserable. No reason whatsoever to be happy. But being hustled towards their car for the orgasms Devon would give her because he thought she was so desperate for sex, she couldn’t even bear to wait the short ride to Jacinta and Hamish’s home, put a smile on her face.

  How she contained her laughter, Sascha would never know. But she wouldn’t laugh. If she did, he’d know she was teasing him. And that meant a delay on a Devon-gasm and those were eye-poppingly good. No way was she going to miss out on that.

  Sometimes, she felt sure Devon thought she was some kind of nymphomaniac. Then, she’d ask herself if she was, because she could keep up with five guys no problem.

  As Jacinta had called one of the celebrities on the TV last night, Sascha had to wonder if she too was a bit of a ‘goer.’ Not that she cared either way, she was just grateful she had the sex drive to satisfy her quintet of lovers.

  The Mercedes gleamed under the grim amber puddle of light, and she shivered with relief at its proximity. More because she was cold, not starving for cock, though Devon’s concerned glance told her he thought it was the latter, not the former.

  But his concern wasn’t founded on a throwaway sentence from her.

  It had been established during her first pregnancy, and had been further cemented in this one.

  The truth was: a pregnant Sascha was a horny Sascha.

  And a horny Sascha was an aggressive Sascha.

  Most of her guys were used to it now, but Devon still stared at her like she’d grown two heads because he wasn’t used to being slammed against a wall so she could dr
op to her knees and suck his cock. And his perplexity only soared when he had to help her to her knees to facilitate said hunger.

  Two days ago, when she’d turned into the aggressor on him, he’d stared at her in complete bewilderment, even as he was hissing as she swallowed him down whole.

  His unique brain didn’t seem to grasp the changes in her, and the way her hormones would fluctuate. Devon just knew he had to deal with them, and that he had to keep her happy.

  Because she liked that he kept her happy, she’d decided not to change his opinion of her—the one that had her painted as a cock-hungry pregnant lady in his mind. Better that, in her eyes, than a fuddy-duddy.

  Fuddy-duddies didn’t have much sex appeal, and she loved that they saw her as a sexual being. It was the most empowered she’d ever felt in her life.

  Hiding a smirk, she ducked into the front seat of the car when Sawyer opened the door for her. Devon climbed into the back as their Scot rounded the front of the vehicle and hopped in behind the wheel.

  Devon didn’t drive, even though he had a license, Sawyer was the one who drove them anywhere. Not that that happened much in London, but they did go out quite often here. The Merc, however, screamed Devon not Sawyer. So, while the Mercedes was a present from Devon for Sawyer’s birthday, in her opinion, that was debatable.

  Sawyer was a Porsche kind of guy. Sleek, low-riders that would have done a number on the small of her back. Devon? Not so much. He’d opted for a mini-tank, and the sedan was far too sedate for Sawyer’s tastes. Although, Sawyer couldn’t really complain—the custom-built birthday present had cost close to three-hundred thousand pounds. Sascha knew because she’d seen the money slide out of their checking account.

  It stank of new car smell, and though that was usually a really nice scent, in her pregnant state, it was repugnant. Combined with the leather seats, it was working her over. So, even though it was cold, she opened the window a sliver to let some fresh air in to wash away the stench.

  “Where are you taking me then?” she asked, after she clipped her belt into place and he’d started the engine.

  “Don’t you worry about it, lass. It’s not far from here.” Then, he blew her mind. Slinging an arm behind her seat, he looked over his shoulder and reversed. He moved the car like it was an extension of himself, and he looked so fucking sexy just reversing, she had to act.

  “Good,” she told him on a purr, and with that in mind, lifted the hem of her dress and dragged it over her thighs and up to the crease of her hip.

  Sliding her hand underneath her panties, she felt how wet she was already and bit back a moan as she spread her legs and began to touch her clit.

  “Lass?” The husky endearment sounded even huskier when he repeated it.

  “Yes,” she said on a breathy moan.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tiding myself over.”

  He snorted at that, but it was Devon who said, “Are you sure those folic acid pills aren’t actually Viagra?”

  “Viagra doesn’t work on women,” she told him drily.

  “Well, the female equivalent then,” he said, sounding perplexed.

  “Is that a complaint?” she gasped as she strummed her clit with one hand and slid two fingers from her other into her pussy.

  “No, not at all, I just… I’m concerned for you.”

  She was touched, but she was too horny to care. “You can’t expect to dance with me for hours, have your cocks nudging into me the whole time, and not think I’m going to want to screw your brains out, Devon.”

  He clucked his tongue. “You had sex with both of us this morning. And then again with Sawyer before we left.”

  “Can’t keep up with me?” she jibed, but a breathy laugh escaped her at that. Her men were always hard for her.

  Always.

  Even when she’d been eight and a half months pregnant with Tin, they’d wanted her.

  And God, she’d wanted them.

  She’d always thought it was bullshit made up in stories that a woman could be horny when she was pregnant. How could anyone feel sexy when they were carrying around a bowling ball that constantly sat on your bladder, took away your ability to give yourself a pedi, and made your back ache like you’d been driven over by a truck?

  And yet, she’d felt sexy.

  And needy.

  And hungry.

  God, the hunger.

  It was fucking with her again. She hated it and loved it equally.

  Especially when she had five men who fed that love.

  Sawyer had taught her a phrase yesterday: happier than a pig in shit.

  It was fucking gross beyond compare, but hell. She totally got it. She was that pig. In shit.

  Yeah, ew, but so true.

  She plunged two fingers deep into her core and bit back a moan as the slender digits didn’t even come close to soothing the agony of being so empty.

  Devon gritted out, "Pull over, Sawyer."

  Yes!

  Devon's voice was husky with need and so damn deep she wanted to dive in it.

  "I can't, man," was their Scot's retort. He sounded grumpy about it too. "Look around you. Where the fuck can I pull over?"

  She wrinkled her nose, seeing his point. They were deep in the city, no parking on either side that wouldn't catch the police’s attention because all the spaces were signposted as ‘no waiting.’ Plus, there were street lamps everywhere, and it wasn't exactly a quiet part of town.

  She scissored her fingers and rolled her hips down. The pleasure that zigzagged through her had her blurting out, "Oh fuck!"

  "She's killing me," Devon murmured, and she almost congratulated him on that—he was finally understanding the concept of saying something without meaning it.

  It had just taken forty years to accomplish it, she thought on an eye roll that was interrupted by a wave of pleasure that had her closing her eyelids mid-roll and relishing the sparks of pleasure igniting within her belly.

  "Oh God, please," she pleaded, her words a chant as she said them over and over again.

  "Fuck," Sawyer bit off, sounding utterly harassed.

  With her eyes closed, she felt the sudden change in brightness. Before, there'd been the faint glow of the street lighting that had disturbed the intense darkness outside. Now? No. It was gone.

  She blinked her eyes open, and saw the lights were spaced further out as they headed away from the city, deeper into a more rural part near where Jacinta and Hamish lived.

  The farther they went—at quite a pace too considering Sawyer was intent on breaking land speed records—the asphalt roads with shops at either side morphed into ones lined with hand-built walls. The thick stones were craggy and green with tufted moss that seemed like they had been there since the time of Hadrian.

  With her other hand, she rubbed her clit the moment she spotted a tiny rest area—success. "There," she whispered.

  "Yeah. There." Devon was starting to sound desperate.

  Sawyer grunted. "If we get in trouble for soliciting, I'm blaming you. And you can be the ones to call my Ma and explain why she needs to get us out of jail."

  "Why would we be arrested for soliciting? Sascha isn't a prostitute."

  She blinked. "No, I'm damn well not!" Her cheeks turned pink as she pulled her fingers from her sex and slapped Sawyer's arm with it. "Why would they think I'm a prostitute? What kind of hookers do you know who turn tricks when they've a belly a few months away from being bigger than a basketball?"

  Sawyer didn't answer, but he grabbed her wrist and dragged her fingers to his nose. She swallowed when he sucked in a sharp breath and hummed. "You smell delicious."

  "She tastes better," Devon purred.

  She loved the way they desired her. It ramped her up, made her feel so fucking powerful because this need was mutual.

  And she wouldn't have it any other way.

  The car braked to a halt with a squeal, and within a second, Sascha had the door open. She groaned as she tried to climb out of
the deep bucket seat by herself, but life wasn't being kind to her. Her baby bump was just too big for the angle of the seat, which made lowdown seem waist-height.

  Grumbling, she turned her legs out and waited for one of them to help her. Sawyer was laughing as he walked around the hood. He stopped a foot away, just far enough out of reach for her to pout.

  "Need some help there, lass?"

  "Yes," she snapped. "Your spawn seriously get in the way of my sex life."

  "Only frogs have spawn," Devon told her from the backseat.

  "Exactly. You're all frogs. Even the ones in London."

  "That’s not fair," Devon argued.

  "No? Well, neither is not being able to climb out of the damn car by myself because I'm too big to move in my second trimester."

  Sawyer's nostrils flared as he finally stopped laughing—but they were proof that he wasn't taking her seriously. "What will change the spawn back to a beautiful baby?"

  She pouted. "Sucking my clit."

  He flung back his head and laughed. But it was Devon who spoke first, "You're a brat, Sascha."

  "You carry a baby, and see if you’re not a brat."

  "Men aren't capable of carrying babies. That's not a fair comparison."

  She rolled her eyes. "No shit, Devon. Sometimes, men just don't have it fair, do they?"

  "You're not wrong actually. There's a serious lack of balance in certain aspects of society..."

  Sawyer grunted. "Dev, shut the fuck up, lad. Our Sascha doesnae want a lecture on the sociological aspects of the male versus female imbalance. She wants to be fucked. By us."

  Sascha started nodding, her eagerness making Sawyer's lips curve wider—and he'd started talking with a really thick Scottish accent. That made her ears very happy bunnies.

  She held out her hands. "Please," she pleaded.

  He cocked a brow at her. "Now, that's a nice word. What more are you capable of?"

  The sudden drop in his pitch set fire to her belly. Any nerves or agitation were lost in the inferno that his inference meant.

  Sawyer was... well, it was difficult to say. She wasn't sure what he was. Was he dominant? Was he just a bossy Alpha? She thought it was both, but...

  Gah, none of her men fit a label, so why should they sexually?