Andrei (Quintessence Book 7) Page 9

  He thrust into her a few times, then moved down to her clit. When he gave it an open-mouthed kiss, she wanted to die, and then, she stopped wanting that, preferring to live if he could just carry on making her feel this way.

  “Come on, Sascha, sweetheart. You can come now.” His gravelly voice, the words so husky and so close to her cunt, made a delicious vibration. As he sucked down on her clit once more, she felt the wonder come over her, wash through her very veins as it seemed to cleanse her of any and all negativity in her body.

  The reasons she hadn’t been able to sleep?

  They disappeared.

  The stress of having to pack up the house for the next few months?

  Gone.

  All she could think about was him. His mouth. His lips. Her clit. Her orgasm.

  She fisted her hands into the sheet and moaned through the climax. It was powerful, enough to make her feet tug at the bonds holding her in place, but it was beautiful, too.

  Colors seemed to flash before her eyes, and electric tingles bounced down her spine in a kind of merry jig that had her clenching her ass once more.

  When he moved away, she blew out a tired breath, but though she was exhausted, more than she would have been if he’d just fucked her, she protested when he began to unknot the ties from her ankles. “What are you doing?” she asked, aware that she sounded sleepy rather than sexy.

  He hushed her, though, as he released her, tossing the ties on the floor, she assumed, by the sounds of the silk pieces whispering against each other as they tumbled to the carpet. Then, he climbed onto the bed beside her and carefully dragged the duvet out from under her. When he covered her with it, he shuffled close. For a second, she was unsure what he was doing, then she released a sigh and turned into him.

  Pressing a hand to his belly, low down where she could feel the heaviness of his cock, she murmured, “What about you?”

  “Not tonight.” He kissed her forehead. “We have many nights ahead of us to play.”

  Her eyelids flickered at that.

  To play?

  Well, didn’t that just fill her with glee?

  Lips curving as she pressed her mouth to the side of his arm, she closed her eyes and, for what felt like the first time in months, actively welcomed sleep.

  The minute she stepped into the house, Sascha knew Jane was there.

  She could smell the perfume, and after the crisp air of an early December morning, the vanilla overtones made Sascha wonder if she’d stepped into a cupcake factory or her foyer.

  Okay, so that was catty, and she’d tried to like Jane. She really had. But Sascha had seen the way the other woman looked at Andrei, and was weary of it. She didn’t mind a few ogles. Hell, she really liked Becca at Rossi’s café in Soho, and she invariably gaped at whichever of her men Sascha brought along.

  She wasn’t jealous by nature. Not really. But when something became blatant? Yeah. It put her on edge, and that pissed her off, considering how floaty she’d been feeling these past couple of days.

  It was ironic, perhaps, that today was the first day she hadn’t felt the strain in her thighs after Sean had tied her up. She’d liked feeling that. Had liked seeing his bite mark in the mirror, and was grateful the remnants of that were still there, even if it was covered up by the sweaters winter weather necessitated.

  A part of her knew she liked the physical mark because it was a claiming she couldn’t otherwise have.

  She’d never, all those years ago, realized how irritating it was not being able to lay claim to her men, and have them do the same to her.

  She was in a kind of vacuum. No one, unless they’d seen Andrei, actually knew who Tin’s father was. Sascha was aware that the small social circle she had—pathetically small, really, consisting of a few moms from the mother and toddler group she attended with Tin—simply believed that her men were actually friends.

  Unable to marry them, unable to even state they were much more than her partner—which could mean anything in this day and age—created a lack of equilibrium that was heightened when it came down to other women who poached on her turf.

  And in her own goddamn house, no less.

  A shrill laugh echoed down the stairs, and she grunted as she slipped out of her jacket and hooked it in the hall cupboard. It was damp from a light shower outside, but she’d liked the brisk weather as she’d headed to the local corner shop for some extra milk. Tin loved the stuff, and she wasn’t about to stop him from drinking it just because she’d run out.

  Another laugh, followed by an, ‘Oh, Andrei, you’re so funny,’ had her pulling a face at the hall mirror. When she did, she jolted in surprise as Devon asked, “Why are you making faces at yourself?”

  Pressing her hand to her heart, she grumbled, “You startled me.”

  Devon tilted his head to the side. “I usually do.”

  His tone was rather dry. For Devon, anyway. Her lips curled at that, and she murmured, “I wasn’t making faces at myself.”

  “You were. You were looking in the mirror.”

  She jerked her thumb at the upstairs landing. “I was making faces at that.” Right on cue, Jane laughed.

  God, Sascha loved Andrei, but he wasn’t a fucking comedian. Especially not in work mode. Jeez, her sexy Slav could make paint drying look interesting when he went on about ‘quantitative’ this and ‘statistical’ that.

  “At the landing?”

  She hissed. “Do you have to be so goddamn literal all the time, Devon?” She glowered at him a second before she stomped forward, grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the last few stairs to the hall. Then, she carried on dragging him until they hit Sean’s office. She barged in, nodding at Sean whose eyes flashed up to catch sight of them.

  She ignored the fact he leapt to his feet and turned the whiteboards around. Because she knew what was on them, she didn’t want the nasty details—Sean hadn’t gotten that wrong. She knew, point blank, that was more than she could handle at the moment.

  “Why would the landing piss me off?” she growled at Devon, even as she placed the milk bottle on the dresser beside the door. “She was pissing me off. Laughing like Andrei’s Eddie goddamn Murphy or something.” Sascha huffed. “It’s sickening.”

  Sean snorted. “Sascha, there’s no need to be jealous.”

  “I never said there was a need for it. I just said I was annoyed by how much she laughed.”

  Then, as she heard the words back, she grimaced at how irrational that sounded. A fact that was confirmed when Devon eyed her like he’d eye the Statue of Liberty if she’d wandered into Sean’s office behind them.

  “Should she laugh less?” he asked, apparently considering her question.

  “Yes. It’s false laughter,” she explained. “Women do that shit all the time. It’s to make a guy think that the woman believes they walk on fucking water.”

  He pursed his lips. “Is that a good thing?”

  “What?” She scowled at him.

  “To walk on water?”

  For a second, she just had to gape at him, then she pressed her hand to her forehead and stepped closer to the fire. Tumbling into Devon’s armchair, she stared at him, then cut Sean a look. “You deal with this one, Sean. Pretty please?”

  From behind his desk, Sean rocked in his chair. He looked like some kind of oligarch who ruled a province from that very seat, but the twinkle in his eye that was for them alone always made her feel gooey inside.

  How such a serious man could look like that, she wasn’t certain, but she knew that though those looks were rare, they were precious nonetheless.

  “It’s time for a ‘birds and the bees’ conversation, Devon,” he joked, making Sascha laugh even though she had to grit her teeth halfway through as yet another of Jane’s cackles seemed to pound through the ceiling, ripe to attack her eardrums. Even Sean looked up, and he shot her a glance as he murmured, “She does laugh a lot, doesn’t she?”

  His tone was musing, enough so that she had to giggle. “I’m
glad you noticed.”

  “Not until you mentioned it.” He shrugged away the topic as though it was of no interest. “Devon, Jesus walked on water.”

  “How did he do that?” Devon frowned. “I can’t walk on water.”

  “You’re not the son of God.”

  “You’re big-headed enough to think you’re a god, though,” Sascha grumbled, but her lips twitched.

  “A math god,” Devon agreed, and she did laugh this time because sometimes, and it felt as rare as digging up a diamond in their backyard, he did get jokes.

  As she turned to look at Sean, curious where he was going with this conversation—his takes on these matters with Devon were always amusing to her—a picture on the back of his whiteboard caught her eye.

  The last thing she’d wanted was for anything on that horrible thing to catch her attention. But the white-blond hair did. Despite herself, she got to her feet and slipped behind the whiteboards to look at that one image.

  As she did, her heart dropped to her stomach, because this had to be the boy that had triggered Sean’s drinking binge all those months ago. The reason why he’d driven to Glasgow, his need to see Tin a dull ache in his soul.

  The boy had died because, according to Sean, the sooner the parents appealed to the killer, the quicker the bastard disposed of the child.

  She gnawed at her lip as she took in the bright blue eyes that were like Tin’s, the mop of white-gold hair. She could see the resemblance, could even see why, in a dark moment, Sean would suddenly feel the need to snatch Tin up, hold him tight in his arms, and never let him go.

  “Sascha? I don’t think—”

  Hearing the wheels of Sean’s desk chair scrape against the floor, she murmured, “It’s okay, Sean. I can look away if I need to.”

  But she didn’t.

  There wasn’t anything gruesome on the board, not like she’d half-feared. The prospect of murder scene photographs had always filled her with dread because that was always what the cops displayed in the procedural shows. But here, there was none of that.

  In fact, she was surprised that she was surprised at all.

  This was Sean, after all.

  One of her men.

  Incapable of doing anything the regular way.

  The whiteboards were four feet by six feet, and there were three of them drilled together on hinges that meant they could curl up into a nest. As she stared at nearly twenty-feet of evidence Sean considered important, she got a glimpse into his working mind that stunned her.

  She’d always known what he did for a living. Had, on the periphery, seen the strain it added to his features, and had always done her best to ease that for him. But as she looked at the workings of his brain?

  Sascha found herself floored.

  It was like some kind of mind map. But this was leagues beyond that.

  He wrote in a type of code, too. Maybe only shorthand, but it meant she couldn’t understand everything. She figured that was for both her and Tin’s benefit. Although, knowing Tin and his burgeoning talents with numbers, he’d probably take such a code and consider it a challenge to best his old man.

  Even though her lips twitched at the thought, she didn’t allow a smile. That would have been barbaric considering what she was looking at.

  There were pictures of four boys.

  There was no visible link between them. They were all different races, had different hair and eye color.

  “Should there be a pattern in why they’re chosen?” she asked, her voice husky as she stared up at the whiteboard.

  “Yes.”

  “But there isn’t, is there?”

  Sean’s voice was heavy as he murmured, “No.” It was also closer than it had been before. She wasn’t altogether shocked to see him step around the board to look at her. “Come away, Sascha. I don’t want you to see this.”

  “Does he abuse them?”

  Something flickered in Sean’s eyes. “No.” He wasn’t lying. She could read him well enough to know that.

  “Why does he take them then?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  That was a lie.

  “I want to help.” The burning ache had appeared from out of nowhere.

  “You can’t.”

  “Maybe I can.” Suddenly, the need for a purpose consumed her. She needed to help. “How old are they?”

  “About Tin’s age. Not close enough to represent a pattern, though.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s taken four now, hasn’t he? Or are there more that aren’t on here?”

  Sean swallowed. “Yes. Four.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the board and into his arms. “Please, Sascha. Please. Let this drop. I-I don’t want you connected with it.”

  The plea in his voice annihilated her. She let out a sigh and turned her face away from the smiling boys and into his throat. “Okay, Sean. Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of it.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered on a shaky sigh, sounding more vulnerable than she’d heard him in years.

  She reached up to run her fingers through the slight curls at the top of his neck. “It’s okay. I think you were explaining something to Devon.”

  Feeling his cheek against her own hitch in a smile, she settled into him, trying to imbue him with a sense of calm that she wasn’t really feeling. It was important to him that she didn’t get involved, but the truth was, she wanted to help him.

  Even if she knew this wasn’t where her particular talents would come in handy.

  Having a degree in Event Planning and Hotel Administration didn’t exactly make her Agatha Christie, did it?

  She reached up and turned her face to kiss his cheek. “It’s okay,” she repeated, then pulling away from him, she walked him to the desk, which he rounded while she perched her ass on the front of it.

  Devon was eying them both with that usual way of his—like he’d just walked in on his parents’ having sex. Goggle-eyed but not goggle-brained, he said, “You are right.”

  “About what?”

  “Jane does laugh too much.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Andrei looked over at Sawyer. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  He frowned at the large screen TV opposite Andrei’s desk. “Making a schedule.”

  “Brownie points to you,” Andrei retorted, rolling his eyes.

  “Why, though? Thought that was what Jane was for.”

  “She has her uses. But this. …” He shook his head. “Sascha wouldn’t like it.”

  Sawyer snorted. “Pussy whipped.”

  “Like you aren’t.” Andrei cocked a brow at him. “You and I both know Sascha’s intensely private about these matters. No way would she allow Jane to have a key for the house or know all of our travel plans.”

  Sawyer folded his arms across his chest. “Would be a damn sight easier if she didn’t mind.” He pursed his lips. “Think she’s jealous?”

  “Who? Jane?” Andrei asked, tone absentminded.

  “No. Sascha.” Sawyer grunted. “And she says I’m blind.”

  “Why would she be jealous?”

  “Because Jane isn’t exactly plain.” Sawyer scowled at the thought, then shoved his hands into his pockets, so he could hunch his shoulders forward—the big, burly Scot couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he’d tried. “And I’ve noticed the way she looks at you.”

  Andrei’s mouth dropped open. “The way who looks at me? Jane?”

  Sawyer snickered. “Your face. I swear. But yeah. Jane. She’s got the hots for you.”

  “Where the hell is this conversation coming from?” Andrei demanded, sitting straighter in his chair.

  “Because something got Sascha’s knickers in a twist yesterday.”

  “‘Sascha’s knickers in a twist’?” Andrei repeated, feeling somewhat dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious.” He grimaced. “I mean, I’m not blind.
Jane’s pretty. She’s no Sascha, but she’s attractive. I didn’t think anything of it until Devon asked me why Jane kept staring at you. And laughing at you. He went on about Jesus and water, but I tuned out by that point.”

  Andrei shook his head. “Devon noticed that?”

  “Yeah. That tells you how blatant she is. If Sascha noticed, you know she can be a cat.”

  That had Andrei laughing a little. “Amazing, isn’t it? She has us wrapped into a more intricate knot than the Gordian variety, and she’s worried about my PA.”

  “Does she have reason to worry?”

  The question was phrased cautiously, as it damn well should have been. He sat up and glowered at Sawyer. “What the fuck are you insinuating?”

  He raised his hands. “Nothing. I just. …” Sawyer shrugged. “Wanted to make sure that it was one-sided.”

  “Why would you even question that?” he ground out.

  “Because things have been difficult of late. Stuff happens in these kinds of situations.”

  “And, what? Because I’m from Bratva stock, I can’t keep my cock in my pants?” He stormed to his feet and slammed his hands on his desk. “Until you mentioned it, Jane was a walking, talking laptop to me. I tell her shit, she spits out data. That’s it. I’m about as interested in her as I am in that TV screen over there.

  “Did I realize she had a crush on me? No. Because that would be like thinking the TV had taken a liking to me, and as far as I’m aware, we don’t have to worry about AI for quite a while yet.”

  “I never meant to imply that it was because you’re Bratva, mon,” Sawyer retorted, but his tone was grumbly. Andrei knew he’d made the other man uncomfortable, and good. Sawyer damn well should be.

  Blyad, Andrei’s interest in Jane went no further than what she could do for him.

  And he wasn’t talking about sexually, dammit.

  He’d only taken to having a PA because the situation with the Veronian government had added a bit of pressure to his schedule that he wasn’t able to maintain on top of his other responsibilities.