Andrei (Quintessence Book 7) Page 7

  “Why?” Sascha asked, well used to the ways of the English monarchy where the Queen had little power over the government anymore.

  “Because that’s how it works over there.” Andrei shrugged. “I think I’m a pet project of Xavier’s. He’s the Duke of Ansian and Lorrena.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because Xavier pretty much told me that whatever theories or agendas we come up with, we’ll have to sell them.”

  That had Devon grumbling in the background as he poured himself some milk.

  “They won’t be cool enough yet,” she murmured, cutting him a look as he eyed the molten treats.

  “And you shouldn’t be having any anyway. Not this close to dinner,” Sawyer chided.

  Devon just huffed. “Who died and made you king of the kitchen?”

  Sascha lifted her brows. “Devon, was that a joke?”

  Just as Tin had done moments before, his chest puffed out. “It was. It was good too, wasn’t it?”

  “Sounded like it belonged in a Christmas cracker,” Sawyer groused.

  “Speaking of, what will we be doing for Christmas? Will it be here or will we go early to have it in Madela?”

  Andrei cut her a look. “I’d love it if we could have it in Moscow.”

  That had her jolting in surprise. “Really?”

  “Da,” he said with a grimace. “Because Devon was naughty that was Vasily’s payment for him cleaning his slate.”

  Sascha’s eyes widened again, even as she took a look at Devon who was hiding his face behind a big cookie—his cheeks were still bright red, though. Good. They should be, dammit.

  When Devon had been arrested, and words like ‘aggravated assault’ had been bandied around at the police station, she’d been terrified at the prospect of him being locked away from her. And, the worst part was?

  He probably would have been if some very expensive attorneys hadn’t gotten involved.

  She really hated that money talked, but equally, was glad it had.

  And yeah, she knew that made her elitist scum.

  “How did he clean that up?” she asked, her voice wary.

  Andrei just shot her a look. “Best not to ask that particular question, Sascha.”

  She grimaced—knowing he spoke the truth. Jesus, Vasily’s powers, and from such a distance, were unbelievable. It was frightening what he could do from Moscow.

  “Guess that means you have two flights in your future, Devon,” Sawyer said cheerily, and she just knew he was getting a kick out of Devon’s suffering.

  The man in question just reached for another cookie.

  It was for the best.

  That was the only place he’d find any comfort—Sascha wasn’t peddling any on this particular topic.

  Not when his arrest had scared the hell out of her.

  She didn’t even like to think back to that morning, and while it was the height of unfairness that Devon was free as a bird when he’d done what he had, she could only feel relief that it wouldn’t affect their future.

  Thank God for expensive lawyers.

  The prospect of him being imprisoned had given her nightmares at a time when sleeping had been arduous anyway. So, nope, no comfort was coming his way Sascha-style. He’d just have to deal with the two flights and a rushed schedule without any interference from her.

  “Thank you for making this so painless.”

  Sascha snorted while she rifled through the rack of bikinis. As she bowed her head, the harsh overhead lighting in the store made her hair gleam, while darkening some tones to black. Even as he studied her, she was intent on finding something she liked.

  “Hardly painless.”

  “Well, more so than Devon. The man’s a big baby when it comes to flying.” His grumble had her grinning.

  “And you’re not when it comes down to seagulls?”

  He grunted. “That was one seagull. One time. Blyad, you’d think I started weeping whenever I saw them.”

  “Don’t you?” she laughed, and danced out of the way when he growled and came for her. She hid behind a stack of bikinis that would have Devon’s heart stiffening, never mind his cock. “You can guess again if you think I’m wearing that,” Sascha immediately retorted, dancing out from behind that stack of bikinis and onto another one. “I need melon smugglers for these babies now.”

  He grunted. “You won’t hear any of us complaining about the melons.”

  “No. Just me and my back.”

  “I’d like to offer my services as a bra.”

  That had laughter pealing from her. “Oh, for what purpose? General, everyday support or sports?”

  “I’ll gladly take on both challenges.”

  “You’re too kind,” she teased, and then picked up another low-cut blue bikini that matched Sean’s eyes. Even as she did so, she eyed the pile and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve talked me into a bikini.”

  “Technically, Devon did that.”

  She sighed. “I know. What that man can do with his eyes. Thank God, he doesn’t realize it.”

  Andrei hid a smile—Devon had realized it a while back. He only used the technique for important matters like bikinis and larger portions for dessert.

  “You look gorgeous in a bikini.”

  “I don’t feel gorgeous,” she groused, but it was mumbled more under her breath.

  “Why would I lie?” he retorted easily, and the ease of his words had her peering at him, then shaking her head.

  “I swear, you have some kind of filter where I’m concerned. It’s like an ophthalmic Photoshop.” She shrugged. “Who am I to complain?”

  He smirked. “Exactly. Just enjoy the benefits,” he murmured as he sneaked behind her, pressed his hand to her belly, and jerked his dick into the soft swell of her ass.

  She snickered. “Perv.”

  “Hardly,” he chided. “Fucking you in changing rooms is Sean’s vice.”

  “True that,” she said on a sigh that seemed reminiscent of the amount of fun she’d had in changing rooms over the years.

  Shaking his head, Andrei murmured, “If you prefer a one-piece, go for that. You know Devon is just happy when the number of clothes you’re wearing is less than two.”

  “He and Kurt should have been switched at birth. I swear, Devon is more German than Kurt.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked on a hum, as he perused a particularly nice gold and brown one-piece that would make Sascha’s hair pop.

  “The fact that Devon is a born naturist. Only the fact that he knows Tin will start doing it, too, makes him control himself. I can’t cope with Tin pulling that crap on me as well. Can you imagine if he tried to do it when we were out?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I made Devon promise to always wear clothes when Tin’s awake.”

  “That’s why I haven’t seen too much of his cock of late, then,” he mused.

  “Yes. That’s why.” Her prim tone made his lips twitch. “Tin already mimics Devon’s every move, I’d like to try to avoid the worst of his habits until he can understand the repercussions of his actions.”

  Andrei decided it was prudent to change the topic. “You’ve got a busy couple of months ahead of you.”

  “I know.” She winced. “It will be okay, though.”

  “Will it?” He cocked a brow at her. “You sure you’re ready?”

  “I was born ready,” she teased, but her eyes were soft as she glanced back at him. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart, but no, I promise, I’ll be fine.”

  “Moscow for Christmas, Madela for the next four months minimum, and then at some point, you’re going to Germany with Kurt, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Just for a week or two in late January, though. The production team wants to meet with him once their base is set up there.”

  “You don’t sound too excited.”

  She shrugged. “What’s to be excited about?”

  “A Hollywood movie? Stars of the golden screen?”

  Th
at had her rolling her eyes. “Dreyford’s a creep, Masterson, the director, probably picked Jennifer Houghton because of her tits, and that cat, I swear, drooled over Kurt more because he was taken.”

  “They certainly made an impression,” he commented drily.

  “Oh, that they did.” She glowered at the one piece in her hand. “I mean, what’s with that anyway? What kind of tramp goes after a guy she knows is taken?”

  “Some women get their kicks like that, katyonok.”

  “Well, it’s just wrong.” She huffed.

  “She probably thinks she’ll be able to twist Kurt around her finger. Get perks, or something.”

  Sascha narrowed her eyes at him. “You could be right. She was bitching about not having enough lines.”

  “There you are then,” he said. “She’d like to make him want her so that she can abuse his good nature.”

  “But I was there. Why would she think I’d allow that to happen?”

  “Not all women are like you. Not all men are as faithful, either.”

  “Why am I different?”

  “Because you are.” His smile was gentle. “Kurt said it all the other night. You’re our everything.” Her brow puckered at his words, and he reached up to rub his thumb across her forehead. “There’s no need to frown. You need feel no pressure.”

  She blew out a breath at his words. “How can I not? You make it sound like you can’t live without me. That’s a lot to handle when you have five men and a kid, Andrei.” The last she muttered on a whisper as she peered over the stalls around them.

  They were in a department store where different designers held different sectionals. At the moment, they were in the swimwear area, and their sectional was demure, with lots of browns, blues, and muted shades. Beside them, there were neon colors, and another held things like flowy kaftans and wraps. He’d never imagined himself standing amid such feminine fripperies, but for Sascha, he’d walk through the makeup stands, too.

  That was the power she had over him.

  “It need not be. Just be aware of how much we love you, and what we’ll do to protect you.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “How do you know how to protect me when I don’t?”

  “That’s a funny question.”

  She shrugged, but her eyes darted up to his and back down. “Maybe.”

  He reached over and tilted her chin up, so she was looking directly at him. “Explain, Sascha.”

  “I-I don’t know what I’m saying,” she grumbled, tugging her chin free from his gentle grasp.

  Now why did he think that was a lie?

  “I want to meet Margritte.”

  Andrei cocked a brow at her. “Have you asked Kurt?” He already knew the answer. Any mention of his mother’s name had Kurt hiding his woes in Sauerkraut, and as far as he was aware, the house had been blessedly empty of the noxious stuff.

  “No.” She pursed her lips. “I think it’s time. Don’t you? In fact, I want to meet everyone’s family. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Sascha jerked her chin up. “I think it’s time they recognized that.”

  He smirked. “This means war?”

  Her eyes sparked fire. “So be it.”

  It probably would be, truth be told, if Margritte and Sascha were in the same room for long.

  “I’ll talk to Kurt about it.”

  She smiled at him, and he knew that was the answer she’d been hoping for. The little witch had just wrapped him around her finger.

  Good thing that was the only place he wanted to be, he thought drily.

  When his cellphone buzzed and he saw his grandfather’s name on the Caller ID, trepidation flared to life. He reached down and bussed her temple. “I need to take this. You okay?”

  She winked. “Da.”

  “I’ll make a Russian out of you yet,” he joked, laughing when she shooed him away. The minute he was at the other side of the sectional, he connected the call and greeted Vasily. “Everything okay, Grandfather?”

  “When isn’t it?”

  Andrei sighed, relief powering through him with such intensity that he pressed his hand to the wall to prop himself upright. “You found something.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Of course.” Vasily sniffed. “My one impediment was the delay. It’s harder to grease palms when the courts are in motion, but I have my ways.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  That had him raising a brow. “You didn’t?”

  “No. I did it for Sascha. I have no doubt that Devon thinks he’d be okay in a jail cell so long as they gave him a scientific calculator, but Sascha?” he grunted. “She’s been through enough.”

  That was probably about as much as Vasily would ever admit to knowing about their unusual arrangement.

  “Regardless, thank you. You’ve taken a weight off my mind. We visited with his attorney the other day, and they said a custodial sentence was likely.”

  “Yes. It was,” Vasily murmured. “Aren’t you grateful I keep my fingers on the pulse?”

  “The pulse of what?” he asked warily.

  A cackle escaped his grandfather. “People in authority shouldn’t sleep with hookers. No matter how high-class they are, there’s always a pimp who can be bought.”

  Andrei wanted to groan, but how could he when his grandfather had yielded the result they needed?

  “I don’t need to know anymore,” he grumbled.

  “Prude,” Vasily retorted, then he softened his tone, and stated, “Make the boy suffer. Don’t tell him he’s free and clear just yet, lest he takes it into his head that he’s Rambo.”

  “I don’t think that’s a concern. He insists the man he attacked was stalking him.”

  Silence rang down the line. “Stalking him? As in following him around?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. I’d prefer not to think he has a stalker, but the man, Horowich, had no justifiable reason for being in Peckham. At least, not according to the police reports.”

  Vasily hummed under his breath, and Andrei, recognizing what that meant, didn’t bother to even wince when Vasily said, “Leave it to me.”

  Then, he cut the call.

  Andrei didn’t have it in him to be too peeved. Devon was free, Sascha wouldn’t have to worry, and Andrei would be able to take his resident Brainiac to Veronia without any issues at Border Control. Throw in the fact that Vasily might discover something the police hadn’t, and could shed light on the darkest corners of this unusual situation, in his eyes, it was a definite win-win situation.

  As Sascha stared straight up at the ceiling, she took advantage of the space in the bed.

  Not that she appreciated the space, of course, but it was nice to spread out and starfish. She wiggled her feet, then wiggled her hands, and then she told each extremity to sleep.

  She tried to make her calves and forearms do the same, but that was where she struggled with the meditation technique. Relaxing was hard.

  Hard enough that she could empathize with Devon.

  Since the accident, it had been tougher to catch some Zzzs.

  When she stared at the ceiling for the next ten minutes, she rolled onto her side and picked up her kindle. She was in the middle of another Bratva romance, and this one had some scenes in it that made her edgy.

  As she dove into the book, into the forbidden love story between the daughter of a police commissioner and a Brigadier in the Bratva brotherhood in Brooklyn Beach, she felt her pussy grow wet when the hero started spanking the heroine.

  She knew what that felt like, after all.

  Sascha had often felt the sting of Sean’s palm against her ass. All her men were a bit kinky. All of them liked their pleasure with an edge. Sawyer had whooped her butt with a spoon once, and before she’d announced she was pregnant, Andrei had started to. …

  She swallowed at the memory and reached up to cup her
throat. He’d cupped her there as he’d done today. When she’d been in the swimwear section of Harvey Nichols, he’d grabbed her chin, then lowered his palm to hold her throat.

  His grasp had been firm. Strong. Unmovable.

  And the memory had sent shockwaves through her pussy.

  It wasn’t the first time since the accident that she’d felt the stirrings of arousal. But it was the first time she acted upon it. The memory of what he’d done to her, combined with the sensual scene she was reading, had her sliding her hand over her belly and dipping under her pajamas to find some semblance of relief.

  A part of her was content to move on, but another part felt guilty. The former held more power though as the need for release swirled deep in her belly. The ache was insistent. Too persistent to ignore. She’d loved the feel of his hand around her throat, and knew, from her books, that it wasn’t too odd.

  The notion of his being in control, of controlling even that–the oxygen she breathed–ignited fireworks in her bloodstream.

  As she found her clit, she wasn’t altogether surprised to realize how wet she was. She’d only read part of the scene, but thinking of the pressure of his fingers at her throat as he fucked into her, had done most of the work.

  With the heel of her hand, she rotated her wrist to rub her clit with the heel of her hand while she explored her sex with her fingers. The liquid was slick and made it easy to slide two digits inside her pussy. As she pumped her hand, she closed her eyes and let the insidious feelings work against her.

  With her other hand, she lifted her arm and covered her eyes with the back of her wrist. The move squished her head into the pillow, so when the door opened, she didn’t hear the gentle click over the heavy sounds of her breathing.

  What she did hear was the slight squeak of the bed as the mattress dipped under another’s weight.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or turned on. It wasn’t the first time she’d masturbated in front of her guys—Kurt, especially, loved watching her do that—but it was the first time they’d caught her in the act.

  She turned her head and lowered her arm and found Sean there, his hand on her kindle as he perused the glowing screen. She watched him as he read, but didn’t move her fingers away from her clit.