Loved by Them: A Reverse Harem Romance (Quintessence Book 5) Page 4

  She gawked at him, but Kurt beat her to it. He groaned. “Goddammit, Devon, do you have to make a mess of everything?” He swore in German, which made her pat his chest in commiseration.

  Devon just shrugged. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings by being okay when she’s suffering,” he reasoned. “Although,” he continued, rubbing his chin again. “I don’t like how unhappy you are. Also, you smell, which isn’t good because you always smell great.”

  Sascha bit her lip to hide her grin. “You do realize you’re digging your own grave here, baby, don’t you?”

  Devon reared back. “I’m not dead. Why would I need a grave?” His eyes widened in distress.

  “Sarcasm, Devon,” she heaved out around a laugh.

  “The lowest form of wit,” he tapered off.

  “Yeah. Well, I’m the queen of the lowest form, then. But, anyway, I’m not mad. I’m used to you being offensive. And of course I’m not upset that you’re doing okay. I’m glad you are, but am also appreciative of the fact you aren’t happy when I’m unhappy.”

  Shit, that was a mouthful.

  He frowned, studying her. “Do you want some good news?”

  “There is some?”

  He shrugged. “You still look beautiful even though you haven’t washed your hair in three days.”

  Kurt let out another groan and he kicked out his foot to nail Devon in the shin. “Shut up while you’re ahead, idiot.”

  Sascha just shook her head. “What the hell have I gotten myself in to with you guys, huh?”

  It was a question she didn’t mind asking herself… a question she’d spend the rest of her life answering.

  If they let her.

  Chapter Three

  Sean jolted to a halt on the staircase, and behind him, Devon nearly toppled into him.

  “What’s wrong?” he complained, grunting at the impact and managing, barely, to keep Sean upright.

  “Sascha?” Sean asked, completely ignoring Devon as he strode into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

  Devon peered over at the stove where Sascha was standing, seeming semi-normal. Which he didn’t trust. One thing he loved about Sascha was the fact she wasn’t normal. The fact that she radiated a bland pleasantness that hid an inner core of snark.

  He decided to approach with caution.

  Sascha was…

  A breath of fresh air.

  That was the only way he knew how to describe her. She was everything they’d never really known they needed. But more than that, she was what Devon needed. Around her, he didn’t feel like a freak show.

  Kurt, Andrei, Sawyer, and Sean treated him like a brother, as well as the friend and confidante they all were to one another. Whenever they’d shared a lover in the past, Devon had usually been the one to bring the woman into the fold, but he’d always felt like some kind of experiment. As though they got off on his brain and his smarts but not the man himself. Sascha didn’t make him feel like that.

  She enjoyed his tongue… and not just for what he could do with it. But most of the time, for what he had to say.

  He didn’t anger her or irritate her. Sure, there were times when she did sigh over his lack of filter, but that was nothing. It hurt less than when Sawyer whacked him in the side.

  The worst that it got was that he exasperated her. But he could handle that. He thought she could too.

  “You don’t have to cook,” Sean was saying. “We could have ordered in again.”

  But Sascha was shaking her head. “No, it’s time things went back to normal.”

  There was that word again.

  Normal.

  Devon pursed his lips. “Is this a trick?”

  Sascha turned to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

  “I’m not sure.” He flashed through all the logical and rational explanations as to why she’d be standing here, looking her regular put-together self, when hours before, she’d been a ragged, scruffy mess on the sofa. She’d spoken to Kurt, but Kurt couldn’t organize a piss up in a brewery, never mind drag Sascha out of her hump with a pow-wow.

  There was no logical explanation, he realized, his eyes widening in terror at the prospect.

  She seemed to sense his panic however, because she froze, mid-sentence, and asked instead, “Devon? What’s wrong?”

  His throat felt tight as he bit off, “Nothing.”

  She shook her head. “You’re lying. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said softly, which had her scowling and shooting Sean a look.

  “Don’t understand what?”

  “Why you’re here. It doesn’t make sense.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Does it have to make sense?” she asked softly, her tone gentling. Did she understand his panic? Could she feel his concern as he stumbled around trying to figure out why she’d gone from one extreme to the other in hardly any time at all.

  “Y-yes,” he said, sounding choked. “Of course it has to make sense.”

  Sean’s hand appeared on Devon’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Devon.”

  “No, it’s not.” There had to be a reason.

  Logic had to explain this away. How could it not?

  If it didn’t, then that meant chaos could overshadow everything.

  And when chaos reigned, so did the blackness. It would overtake everything. Staining every aspect of his world, drowning and suffocating every beautiful thing.

  Sascha.

  What was more beautiful than Sascha?

  A hand slapped at his back. “Snap out of it,” Sawyer said gruffly, the force behind the slap shoving him forward a good two steps.

  The jolt had him sucking in a sharp breath. Staring at Sawyer like the lifeline he was, he murmured, “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” he heard Sascha ask in the background, but he wasn’t certain who she was talking to.

  Sean was close to him, but his mouth wasn’t moving. Sawyer was there, looking into his eyes, that impatient purse to his lips he recognized, though in his gaze was the love he knew Sawyer felt for him.

  Sawyer had been the first person to love him.

  His mom had been too terrified of his father to spare much attention for her gifted son. She’d had too many things to do to please her husband. Too many endless chores, tasks that had to be done just so to satisfy the man’s endless need to maintain control over his family.

  Only when Sawyer had appeared, had Devon known love. And even as it had warmed him, he’d felt the same panic as he experienced now. Love was chaos.

  But because of Sawyer, he could reason it away. Loving Sascha hadn’t brought this chaotic deluge of fears. But loving the others had, back when he’d been in his early days at college.

  “Devon, it’s okay. I told you before that women make no sense.” His bluntness had him sucking in a deep breath.

  Devon cast Sascha a glance. “Is he right?”

  The strain in his tone had Sascha stilling in place. There was the exasperation he was used to seeing, but it was aimed at Sawyer instead of Devon.

  He blinked at the sight. “Sascha?” he asked hoarsely.

  She gritted her teeth, mumbled under her breath, “I’ll get you back for that, Sawyer,” then to Devon murmured softly, “He’s right, sweetheart. Women don’t make sense.”

  Her words had him sagging with relief. If both Sawyer and Sascha said it was so, and the others were nodding—he realized Kurt and Andrei had made an appearance—then it had to be true.

  They wouldn’t lie to him.

  He almost fell into the seat at the dining table as he watched the others get into their regular dining routine.

  Sascha still had a cast on her arm so Kurt hovered around her, grabbing the heavy pots as she served up something that smelled like Shepherd’s Pie. But he wasn’t hungry. If anything, his stomach was still enduring the riotous calamity of panic.

  Another hand came to his shoulder and squeezed. Recognizing Sawyer’s scent,
he turned his head to the side to watch as his best friend ducked down, and asked, “You okay?”

  Devon blinked. “I’m better.”

  “What happened?” came the quiet question.

  “She went from being…” He frowned. “Well, how she was in the living room. To being normal again. But nothing has changed. There’s no reason for her to be back to normal.”

  Sawyer sighed. “I’ve told you, Devon. Humans aren’t like robots. Sometimes we just get over stuff.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re not a robot, but you’re a close descendant,” he teased, but Devon didn’t mind. He never did when Sawyer teased him. He only ever recognized the tone—the Scottish brogue turned into a rumbly burr when he was joking.

  “So, she’s okay?”

  Sawyer peered over at the woman who had taken over their home and their hearts. He studied her for a long while, then sighed. “I doubt it. She’s probably putting on a brave face.”

  Before Devon could feel the panic rise once more, Sawyer’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “But that’s what a lot of people do. It’s just a coping mechanism. Getting on with ordinary, everyday chores helps them get back into the swing of things. But don’t keep mentioning it. She already looks like she wants to castrate me.”

  Devon gulped. “You think she would.”

  Laughter hung heavy in Sawyer’s eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  When Devon cupped himself, Sawyer hooted out a laugh. “It’s okay, buddy. Yours are safe.”

  “What’s safe?” Andrei asked, cocking a brow at them. “Or don’t I want to know?”

  Devon swallowed. “Sawyer thinks Sascha might castrate us.”

  A silence fell heavily over the table.

  “I doubt my daughter’s that brave, considering she knows it’s against the law.”

  Devon shot Henry a look over his shoulder. “Sawyer said she would. Sawyer doesn’t lie.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how you put up with him,” he grumbled as he approached the counter where Sascha was working.

  Laughter, as it had with Sawyer’s comment, was brimming on her lips, and she shrugged at her father’s words. “You get used to it.”

  “I’m a him. Not an it,” Devon complained.

  “You’re a mixture of both,” Kurt retorted, taking a seat opposite him, and winking as he did.

  Devon never understood why a wink was supposed to take the bite away from a joke, but they all did it, which meant, as usual, he was the odd one out. Still, he placed his attention back on Sascha, watching as her father eyed her a second. She tilted her head to the side, presenting her cheek, and Henry kissed it.

  “Take a seat at the table,” she directed him and her father obeyed. Taking the additional seat next to Devon’s right, because he always had Sascha on his left.

  Always.

  “Andrei? Could you grab the dish of vegetables?” Sascha asked, her accented voice still having the power to strip Devon bare. Even if it only involved her asking his friend to bring a dish of food to the table.

  He watched as she moved away from the stove, her cheeks flushed from a mixture of the heat and exertion from cooking, as well as amusement at the conversation she’d just been a part of. He knew the latter was the truth because her eyes were sparking merrily as they hadn’t done in days.

  Thinking about what had her so depressed only hours before, he shoved thoughts aside and tried to focus on the P vs NP problem that was going to further cement his and Sawyer’s names in the annals of math history.

  The money didn’t matter, neither did the status. But a man’s reputation never died. It was one way to stay truly immortal, and though Devon didn’t want to live forever, he wanted his surname to live on. His mother’s maiden name. What he’d reverted to after he’d been of legal age. Cutting all ties with his bastard father. The one way he could truly snub him, and do so forever, was to shine a light on his poor, weak mother’s name and completely disintegrate his father’s legacy into dust.

  Thoughts of that nature settled him somewhat, as did the calculation he ran through as he watched Sascha dish out the meal. He’d been right. It was Shepherd’s Pie. And though he’d loathed the concoction at school, he wasn’t sure how she did it, but it was one of his favorite meals now. Rich and buttery potatoes, and well-seasoned, rich and juicy beef, with vegetables so crisp yet perfectly tender, he loved when she prepared it.

  Eagerly waiting for his portion, he grabbed the dish from her hand, which startled her into laughing.

  “You never said you liked Shepherd’s Pie, Devon. It wasn’t on that little guidebook to y’all that you gave me at the start. If it was, I’d make it more often than I do,” she commented softly as she took a seat, running her hands down her luscious ass to smooth out her skirt before she did so.

  “I didn’t tell you?” He was sure he had. But then, sometimes, he was sure he’d said something but actually hadn’t.

  There were whole conversations with Sascha that had never been uttered aloud, arguments with Andrei and Sawyer that would never hear the light of day but had been fully fleshed out in his mind.

  He scratched his forehead. “I meant to.”

  She smiled. “You’re too cute.”

  His nose wrinkled. “Thanks.”

  Her smile morphed into laughter. “You’re welcome.” As she reached for the wine Kurt had poured mere moments ago, she took a sip and murmured, “I wanted to thank you all for being so patient with me.”

  Though the knives and forks continued scraping against the porcelain—the whole house grateful Sascha was cooking again and they didn’t have to endure more takeout—they all focused on her as they ate.

  “We weren’t being patient with you,” Sean reasoned. “It isn’t about being patient.”

  She bit her bottom lip in that way she had which made Devon want to slip his tongue along the curve to soothe the ache. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. But it isn’t necessary,” Sean immediately replied. Shooting her a warning glance, he continued, “Gratitude isn’t necessary. You’ve been through a lot these past two months.”

  She let out a sigh and slumped against the chair. As she did, he saw her blouse, tight fitting and clinging to her curves, gape open, revealing the pouting flesh of one of her tits.

  His mouth salivated at the sight. And it had nothing to do with buttery mashed potatoes and rich beef gravy.

  Though she’d been more relaxed since her accident, he’d grown accustomed to seeing her in the tight pencil skirts she favored and the close-fitting blouses that somehow managed to hide and show everything in equal parts.

  “Has it really only been eight weeks?” she asked no one in particular.

  “Technically, closer to seven,” Devon murmured softly, watching as she hid behind the fall of auburn hair she let cascade over her face.

  He loved her hair. It was straight, but she did something to it that made it wave around her shoulders and reminded him of the black and white movies he’d watched with his grandparents back in the day.

  In fact, everything about Sascha screamed old world Hollywood glamor. He could picture her back then, with the pillbox hats and stocky heels. She wore the retro look so well that he often wasn’t sure if there was a Hollywood star dining with them.

  Sawyer elbowed him, a sign he knew to mean ‘shut up.’ Devon rolled his eyes, used to the silent reprimand.

  “Dad, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  The table froze, well, apart from him. He watched as all the knives and forks were held in place for a good five seconds as the occupants processed her words.

  Devon shot her a look, saw a resolution on her face that had him tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

  “You do?” Henry asked cautiously, placing his cutlery on the plate as though preparing himself for a heavy blow.

  Sascha gulped, then whispered, “You’re not going to like it, but it’s my choice and my decision. I
can do anything I want to with my life, and…” She clenched her eyes closed, admitting, “Sean isn’t my only boyfriend.”

  Devon had to admit, he hadn’t been expecting that.

  Kurt let out a shaky sigh beside him, and Sawyer looked as though he’d eaten a brick.

  “What do you mean?” Henry asked softly, but Devon got the feeling he was relieved. Like he’d been expecting her to say something else, but as she hadn’t, he could breathe easier.

  “They’re not just my bosses,” she whispered, eyes popping open. From shy timidity to glaring self-righteousness, she was a ferocious tigress that got him so hard, his cock ached.

  Fuck, the zipper on his fly would tear his dick in two if she didn’t stop with the sexy ferocity.

  “You’re…” Henry clenched his jaw. “…seeing all of them?”

  She nodded, gritting her jaw too. “Yes. And if you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

  Sean cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary, Sascha.”

  “Yes,” she snapped, her gaze ensnaring Sean’s in the tempestuous fire flickering around her irises. “It is. You’re mine. All of you are. I refuse to be ashamed of it. God only knows if it will leak to the press, and if it does, it does, but if by some miracle, we sneak through, then I want him to know. You’re the most important people in the world to me. The only ones who matter. You love me, and I love you. I refuse to be ashamed about that when it comes to him.”

  Silence throbbed at her declaration, and Devon, unable to help himself, reached for the hand she had fisted beside her knife and covered it with his own.

  He shot Henry a look and asked, “Really, it makes perfect sense, Henry.”

  Sascha’s father eyed him. “What does?”

  “Sascha’s a very strong woman. A facet of her nature you helped create by raising her the way you did. But, she’s still a woman.”

  Sascha narrowed her eyes at him. “Be very careful what you say, Devon.”

  He blinked at her. “What? It’s true. We’re all really busy. We all have careers that take over our lives, and we can’t all be with you when you need us. This way, you’re safe. You’re always with one of us, unless you can be with us as a group like this.” He shrugged. “I’ve never understood why people make such a fuss about it. It makes sense for our household. We’d make a woman miserable if we dated her the regular way. But Sascha’s happy. Very happy, aren’t you?” he asked her, noticing the exasperation tightening her eyes.