The music was sultry and sexy.
The beat throbbed around them, turbocharging it with a storm of sensation that seemed to power the air itself. The heat was oppressive in the tight confines of the bar, and her skin was slick with it, her hair clinging in unfurling tendrils to her throat, her skin-tight dress hugged her in places she didn’t even want to think about—but she didn’t care.
Nothing mattered.
Sandwiched between Devon Jerome and Sawyer Bennett, Sascha Dubois was in her element.
If a person had more than one element, she’d found it.
Not only was she the stuffing in a genius sandwich, she was also on the dancefloor, wriggling, writhing, and generally strutting her stuff as they danced to a beat that was most definitely of their own making. Tango, of course, was not known for requiring three dance partners to move together. She and her guys had improvised and created something that made her feel like she was having sex on the dance floor.
Behind her, Sawyer bumped and ground into her. His hands were on her hips, and each time he rippled with a new move, stepping in a perfect rhythm with her and Devon that was years in the making, his cock dug deep into her butt. She loved that feeling. Loved it. Wanted to roll around in it like a kid intent on diving into a new mound of fresh snow, with snow angels at the top of their to-do list.
Devon moved like a pro.
She was the crappiest dancer among them, but being in the middle had its benefits. She didn’t have to move all that much, just had to roll her hips and sway and wriggle against them, letting her guys do the work.
The thought had laughter rippling from her, and she let her head fall back against Sawyer’s shoulders, not surprised when he leaned down to nip her ear and growl, “What are you laughing at?”
The ‘you’ came out more as a ‘yoo’ and the ‘are’ had such a roll on the letter ‘r’ that her pussy spasmed in response. His Scottish brogue felt like a sensory fireworks display on most days, but when they were so close to having sex? It was like the start of a detonation sequence that ended with her coming all over his face.
Because, Sascha knew, there was no way today was ending any way other than with her spit roasted between them.
Tango led to sex.
It was her incentive to remember the steps.
Devon had told her so.
Her lips curved in a smile at that particular memory; Devon’s incentivizing strategy had been born out of her inability to put the steps together. With his usual problem-solving brain, he’d decided that orgasms were the solution.
He hadn’t been wrong. Now, she could remember the steps, but she wasn’t any good at them.
Positive reinforcement didn’t a dancer make.
“I’m just thinking,” she half-shouted, loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Always dangerous,” Sawyer grumbled, but she heard the amusement in his tone.
She looked over at Devon whose focus was on her tits. Since they’d found out she was pregnant, he was monitoring the stages of pregnancy through her breasts—at least, that’s what she told herself.
Could she help it that they’d doubled?
Carrying her son, Valentin, had proven that! Now, Devon’s already bizarre hyper focus had been captured by her cleavage, which meant she was used to speaking to him with his eyes anywhere but on hers.
There was something sexy about his intensity though.
The way he looked at her made her feel primal and raw, and no matter how round she got, or how huge she felt, his desire for her never lessened. If anything, his sexual appetite seemed to increase.
And she wasn’t about to complain on that score.
Like her, his hair was mussed and sweaty. Though Glasgow was freezing—and boy, that was no understatement—inside the tango club it was sweltering hot, the temperature close to tropical. Which meant his face was as slick as hers, the cowlick that made her heart melt had wilted, and, though his hair was closely shorn, it had still slipped down to cover his forehead. His face, so beautiful with his firm lips, strong jaw, wide brow, and eyes so blue she felt she could dive into them, was set in stern lines as he split his focus between her breasts and the moves he’d learned years before—and still had to teach her from time to time.
He’d made the dance into some kind of math exercise. She had no idea how he did it, no idea how he’d used that to teach Sawyer the steps, but either way, she was monkey in the middle and she sucked at it. But she’d carry on sucking, just because it made him look at her like that.
He was leading them, making sure they moved in a pattern that followed the tango steps. He was the driving force behind the dance and when his mouth was set, his brow furrowed, and his eyes burned, Sascha could drop to her knees and just…
She groaned inwardly.
Thoughts of tasting his cock, of having Sawyer’s in her fist, plagued her. Yes, plagued, because there was no way, when he still looked so focused, that they were getting out of here any time soon.
“You getting wet, lass?”
The words were a rumble along her nerve endings, an added sensation she didn’t need in her already overwhelmed system. She’d thought she’d hidden her groan, but she must have made a sound. Sometimes, being the center of their attention was a nuisance.
They missed nothing, because her men were, in every way, shape, and form, unlike the rest of the male population.
She cut her hair? They noticed, and would demand she account for every lost inch—not because they were controlling, but because most of them had a ‘thing’ about her bright auburn locks. Devon especially. He liked it when she wrapped it around his cock as she sucked him off. She couldn’t do that after a haircut. And Devon didn’t accept ‘split ends’ as a justifiable excuse. Even Kurt, the most chilled of her men, would stare at the shorter length with disappointment in his gaze—reminding her of Tin when she informed him it was time for bed.
Sawyer’s chin scraped against hers, nudging her thoughts to the issue at hand, and she licked her lips as his words hit home. Was she wet? Yes! She tilted her face to slide her sweaty forehead against Sawyer’s equally slick throat. She felt the faint burn as the tender skin of her temple rubbed lightly over his five o’clock shadow, but she didn’t stop. The sensation grounded her, and she seriously needed to be grounded.
“Yes,” she whispered, softly enough she couldn’t be heard over the music.
Still, he laughed, the sound so cocksure and satisfied she wanted to throat punch him then kiss it better. He rocked his pelvis forward, nudging her with his thickness again—God, they were all so big. It drove her fucking wild. “No chance we’re getting out of here for another hour, at least,” Sawyer said directly into her ear, having read Devon’s intent look with an accuracy that made her want to groan because it confirmed her own. “Torture.”
Licking her lips again, she tried to speak but words failed her, so she just nodded.
“Unless…” His statement trailed off and her eyes flared wide as he reached up, moving his hands from her waist to curve them over her tits. She moaned a little, their sensitivity making her freeze in Devon’s grasp. Her sudden lack of motion had broken that hyper focus of his, or given it a new target—Sascha figured that was more accurate.
His head tilted to the side, and his brow puckered. “What’s wrong?”
His voice was barely audible over the music. A sudden guitar solo pierced the dark nightclub. It was close to pitch black with only a rosy red light shimmering over the packed floor. Dancers were crammed together, uncaring of the close quarters, just loving the opportunity to revel in the freedom that came with this sexy tangle of arms and legs, the vibrant delight of being in a lover’s arms.
The wraparound dress she wore was skin-tight, hugging her belly and her ass, cupping her breasts in a firm hold. She felt sassy and sultry, but under Devon’s deep stare?
She felt like a Queen.
He made her feel like that.
This man. This brilliant, gifted man, who could and had solved mathematical mysteries that had confounded a whole generation of mathematicians, looked at her as though she were his be-all and end-all.
As if without her in his life, he had no reason to live.
Under that heady appraisal, she was about to speak when Sawyer leaned forward, pushing Sascha with him, and urging her closer to Devon’s chest where her tits connected with his pecs. The move brought him closer to his best friend of three decades, as he’d sandwiched her even more deeply between them, and he hollered, “Sascha’s ready for bed.”
She had to hide a grin at that clever wording—you had to be smart where Devon was concerned. He had the brain of a lawyer with the disinterest of a zit-pocked adolescent in doing chores. So, sure, she was ready for bed. Just not for sleep.
“You are? What’s wrong?” It was like Sawyer hadn’t spoken, his focus on her was absolute.
“Just ready to get off my feet,” she said, aiming for airy, and unsure if she hit the target. At her back, she could feel Sawyer shake with laughter, but he grabbed her elbow before she could nudge him in his belly.
Devon scowled. “I knew we shouldn’t have taken her dancing,” he grumbled, scowling at Sawyer. “But you said she’d be fine.”
“She is fine, ain’t you, lass?” Sawyer purred, and the double entendre had her snickering.
Finally, Devon seemed to get with the program. “What’s going on?” he demanded, pulling away to plant his hands on his hips.
She reached for him with a welcoming smile, then when he neared, she slipped her hand down his front. The black tee was stuck to him, clinging to his taut abs in a way that let her feel his muscles, before she reached his cock and cupped him over his jeans. “I’m hungry,” she told him, looking up into his eyes, wishing she could see the true blue of them, but in this light it was impossible.
He clucked his tongue. “First you’re sleepy, now you’re hungry? Make up your mind, Sascha.”
“How about she’s horny?” Sawyer grunted, his patience gone now.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Devon groused in return, and just like that, he grabbed the hand that was holding his cock, and tugged her off the dancefloor.
One thing that could be said for tunnel vision, it moved mountains.
Within seconds, she was away from the writhing bodies who were making a frantic kind of love to the rhythmic Hispanic beats, and was heading for the exit.
Sawyer disappeared at her back, and she knew he was heading for the seats they’d claimed as their own a while ago. Whether their coats would still be hanging on the backs of their chairs, she wasn’t sure, but she hoped so. It was going to be freezing outside, or as Sawyer’s mom, Jacinta, called it, “A wee bit nippy.”
“Nippy, my ass,” she grumbled under her breath.
Nippy?
Definitely nipply. Her tits felt bright pink from the cold, and her nipples were beaded to a prominence that bordered on the ridiculous—another sin to lay at Valentin’s door. Her tits had never been the same after breastfeeding him.
This was the kind of cold that made your bones freeze.
Yet Jacinta considered these temperatures to be quite mild. And considering there was no snow, Sascha guessed she wasn’t wrong.
Thankfully, they’d yet to stay in Scotland when the weather was so inclement, and if she had her way, she would live without that particular experience.
It certainly wasn’t on her bucket list. Glasgow rocked, but if they could just raise the temperature a few degrees? She’d be happier than a camel on Wednesday.
She clenched her fingers around Devon’s as he moved them toward the vestibule. This was her surprise; they’d only arrived last night, and she’d spent most of the day sleeping because this baby made her want to live during the night and pass out through the day. This was her witching hour, and the first thing they’d done was bring her here.
It was a new club, Devon had told her. Looking proud as punch to have used the wonderful invention that was something called ‘Google.’ He’d told her about the new search engine, declaring it would change the world.
Like it hadn’t been around for a decade or more.
Yeah, living with Devon presented certain issues.
Certain she’d seen Devon on the internet, and even surer he’d had to have used it at some point to search for something, she’d asked Sawyer about Devon’s sudden discovery of Google, and Sawyer had merely said, “Bing.”
Like no further words were required.
Which took her into a labyrinth of questions like exactly how Devon had avoided Google for so long? She knew for a fact he didn’t live in a cave…
Seriously, though, what woman had the time to figure out why her savant partner worked the way he did?
So, while the man could recite complex economical and mathematical theories in his sleep, he barely remembered to brush his teeth and hair without setting alarms for everything on his phone—or Sawyer setting those alarms. Even she’d started doing it.
Shit, it was the only way to get anything done where Devon was concerned, and even then, if he was totally focused on work, there was no guarantee he’d even hear the alarm.
That’s why she’d started setting five or six at a time.
A woman had to have some wiles on her side, didn’t she?
When a hand cupped her shoulder, she smiled up at Sawyer. He’d shoved their coats at Devon while holding onto hers. Wrapping the quilted down around her, he tucked her up tight then draped her scarf across her shoulders. After Devon gave Sawyer his jacket, they both dressed against the cold weather and pulled on gloves. She found a pair of her own in her pocket.
The slinky black dress certainly hadn’t been made for the Scottish midwinter, even if the peacoat Devon had bought for her at the same time was cozier than a quilt.
“She’ll freeze her tatties off,” Jacinta had declared earlier after giving her the once over.
Devon had sniffed and tucked her into the rather marvelous down-stuffed coat he’d also bought her.
“That’s more like it,” Jacinta had told him, her approval evident, then she’d beamed at her. “You look bonnier than I can tell ye, Sascha.”
Now, surrounded by the enveloping folds, she wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by him. Them. Screw the coat.
A wicked thought came to her as they walked out into the cold night air. Lips curving, she asked, “Know what I want to do now?”
Sawyer choked out a laugh. “Go to McDonald’s like last night?”
She snorted. “I was desperate and pregnant. What’s a girl to do?”
“Wait the twenty minute ride to Jacinta’s house?” Devon asked, his tone caustic.
Since they’d found out she was pregnant again, he’d turned into a health nut. Two in the house were way too many.
“I was starving,” she grumbled. “And no, this has nothing to do with French fries.” Although, the more she thought about it, the more she actually did want a burger.
Fuck.
Ooh, and fries to dip into a chocolate milkshake.
Epic.
Scrunching her nose as she nixed the idea, she mumbled, “You just spoiled my suggestion.”
Sawyer tugged her into his side and he curled his arm over her shoulder. He nipped at her ear. “Spit it out, lass.”
But she pouted. “No. You spoiled it.”
Sawyer stilled. “Wait a minute. Was it a sex thing?”
“It totally was.”
He groaned. “But you’re always hungry at this time.”
“Well, I was hungry for something else.”
Devon, brows high and his expression hopeful under the amber streetlamps, asked, “For cock?”
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 drop 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?
But still, she wished she knew, because it would prepare her for the times when they stunned the hell out of her by pulling another set of magic tricks out of their version of Pandora's box.
"I-I don't know. What do you want?" She hated that she was almost mewling, but it was that tone of voice. It triggered it in her.
"I think you should suck my cock. Don't you agree, Devon?"
"I don't want to suck your cock."
Sawyer gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean for you to do it, arsehole. I meant for Sascha to."
"Oh. Yes. I think she should," he agreed.
Sawyer just huffed. "Glad we're on the same page."
Sascha licked her lips as need overwhelmed her. She changed the angle of her fingers, changed them into a 'beckoning' motion. "Gimme," she said, and it was her turn to purr now.
"I don't know, Sascha. I think you should ask kindly for it."
Her eyes widened. "Ask kindly?"
"Aye." He smiled at her, and it reminded her of the kind of smile a principal at school gave to parents at a PTA meeting.
It was bland and empty.
Not loaded with the need he'd stirred in her, not burning with the heat she knew he had to be feeling.
Damnit.
It was too dark out. She couldn't see his bulge. Not in the faint light from the dash, and the car's interior light had turned off after being inactive for so long.
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Please, Sawyer. I want to taste you."
"There's that word again." Sawyer smirked. "Please. A powerful word, lass."
"Please, please," she begged, her voice getting breathy now. "I want your cock in my mouth. I want to make you feel on fire."
"That doesn't sound very pleasant."
Sascha almost screamed at Devon's pedestrian tone.
"Just you wait," she grumbled under her breath. Devon was a different kind of lover. They played, and there was no better way of describing it.
Sure, she usually lost. But really, there was no losing when you had multiple orgasms, was there?
Deciding to fight dirty, she tugged down the sharp V-neck of her dress and moved her hand into the gap she'd just made. Cupping a breast and shifting her fingers to fondle one of her nipples, she slid the other between her legs. When she released a breathy moan, Sawyer demanded, "What are you doing?"
"I need you," she said softly. "Need you so badly."
He made an explosive noise and took the step toward her she'd wanted him to make. The minute he was close enough, she wasted no time. He was the kind of prick who'd take a step back just to make her wait, and that wasn't what she needed right now.
Fuck no.
She grabbed a hold of his fly, lowered it, and then moaned when the thick bulbous tip popped out. She could scent the pre-cum, could scent his need for her, and it set her alight.
She reached into the folds and held his shaft at the base, after carefully pulling it out from between the tines of the zipper. When he was free, she dragged the tip around the curve of her lips, painting his pre-cum over the Cupid's bow like it was an expensive lip gloss.
He sucked down a sharp breath. "You're a canny lass," he told her, his voice rumbling with his need.
"I try," she murmured, then she slipped the tip in and sucked. Hard.
He let out a wild cry that sent shockwaves through her, and stumbled forward until he used the roof of the car to prop him up. She heard the dull thud of his fists hitting the expensive curved metal and had to hide her grin—if she smiled during a BJ, he'd fuck her so hard she'd scream.
Then, she thought about that.
Really thought about that.
And grinned.
A growl sounded from overhead, and it thrilled her to think that he was standing outside the car, his eyes looking out into the distance of his homeland, all while she was sucking him off. In the back of the car, she could hear the slow whap-whap as Devon jacked off. She wasn't sure how he could see, just knew he could and what he was looking at turned him the fuck on.
The car was overloaded with their pheromones. Theirs and hers. The cocktail was potent and the need rampaging around her system was enough to make her want to throw back her head with the glory of it.
Except, if she did that, then she'd be screwing herself, because that meant no more Sawyer between her lips.
She began to suck him off in earnest at that thought. Needing him to be riled up enough to take her, needing him to fuck her until she did scream.
She felt the saliva gathering about her lips and spilling down her chin. It gathered in strings that she collected with her fingers and used to lubricate the jacking motion she made with her hand.
He grunted at the dual touch of tongue and hand, and she loved it.
She fucking loved it.
He muttered, "No more. I need in you, lass."
She whimpered in agreement. He pulled back, reached down, then bridged his fingers with hers. Tugging her up and onto her feet, with a gentleness that surprised her because his need had literally just been in her mouth, tears pricked her eyes. The care he showed her as he made sure she didn't feel dizzy or lightheaded at the sudden change in position was proof positive of his love for her.
He supported her against his body for a second, and as she settled into him, she pressed her forehead against his chest. "I love you, Sawyer."
"I love you, lass," he rumbled out, the brogue thicker, denser in contrast to the soft words.
God, this man.
These men.
She shivered, then pressed her lips to his shirt-clad pec. "Fuck me, please?"
He laughed. "Because you asked so nicely, aye, lass. I will."
Was she surprised when he hauled her up, his hands clutching her ass as he hefted her the two steps toward the hood?
Not really.
Was it fucking freezing out here?
Yes.
And did she give a damn?
No.
She'd have frostbitten nipples for the night if it meant having him inside her at last.
A moan escaped her as the heat from the hood warmed her butt when he dropped her on there. It was surprisingly pleasant, and she'd forgotten about that little fact in her dazed state. Grateful for the source of heat, she grabbed his shirt front and dragged him toward her.
"In. Me."
He grinned. "Aye, lass." He cupped her chin, tilted her head to the side, and whispered, "You want to live dangerously?"
Her eyes flared wide. "As long as you're there to catch me, I'm safe."
He let out a shaky breath. "Thank you, lass."
And that was it. The remnants of his control seemed to have been blown apart as he reached for the skirt of her dress and tugged it up. He slid his palms along her inner thighs until he hit pay dirt. She moaned as he used his thumb to drag the taut fabric over her pussy, and her hips rocked, need careening through her as he scraped it over her clit too.
She sucked down a sharp breath. "Now, Sawyer. Please, baby."
His chuckle was devious. "I thought you wanted me to suck your clit?"
"Later," she said impatiently, forgetting everything that had happened inside the car. What was going down now was all that counted.
He nudged her clit again. But this time, he'd stepped deeper between her spread legs. She moaned, knowing it was his cock that touched her clit. She fell back on her elbows. There was a dull thud as the sharp-edged joint connected with the hood, but she didn't even have it in her for her funny bones to protest. She was focused on him and her. Them.
She shuddered as he grabbed the gusset and tugged it aside. When his cock touched her bare pussy, at fucking last, she shuddered again, her head falling back, her neck totally unable to sustain its weight.
"Oh God, that feels so good," she said on a whimper as he repeated the same path his thumb had made—his cock sliding through her folds, touching all the good spots, but leaving the emptiest of them all weeping for him.
When he finally notched the tip in her entrance, her eyes clenched down so hard, they started to ache. But she didn't really notice. He lodged the glans inside, spreading her wider apart as he began to thrust his thick shaft into her. She shivered as he sparked every nerve ending in her pussy to life, and only when he was home, could she breathe properly.
It was always unnerving having them thrust into her. She'd not only hit the jackpot with her sexy geniuses’ character and smarts-wise. She'd hit it looks and cock-wise too!
She was a supremely lucky chick.
A moan escaped her as he pumped his cock into her, nudging deep in her core where her G-spot was centered. He had the faintest curve and that always worked against her, drove her to a height that was unique to him.
She heard the sound of a door opening, and knew it was Devon climbing out of the vehicle. On any other stretch of land, she'd have been frozen with fear of being caught, but they were in the middle of the frigid nowhere. No one in their right mind would be out in this.
Except a very horny pregnant woman with her two delicious lovers, that is.
"Devon, grab my purse," she managed to bite off, before Sawyer loomed over her. With her head still flung back, he had perfect access to her throat, and he nibbled and bit, teasing her every inch of the way.
"Why do you want your purse?" Sawyer growled in her ear as his cock sped up. "If you can think about your purse, then I'm not doing that grand a job, lass."
She whimpered. "No. It's perfect. You're perfect. Lube," she whimpered. "Lube."
Like that said it all.
He snorted, stopping his hard thrusts as the snort morphed into a laugh. "Devon, it seems we're that sure of a game, she brought lube with her."
Devon wasn't amused. He was deadly serious. "Sascha is always prepared for every eventuality."
The faith imbued in that statement didn't go unnoticed. Even as Sawyer was eight inches deep inside her.
Devon's faith was a terrifying thing. It was a burden in a way. She feared there might be a day she let him down, but knew she'd do everything in her power to make sure that never happened. Still, she was no angel—angels couldn’t handle as much cock as she had in her life.
But now wasn't the time to think of such matters. They'd been together nearly four years. She hadn't let him down in all that time and she would never tag on the word yet.
It was asking for disaster to strike.
She heard the pop of a button being opened and then a squeezing sound, liquid falling, and knew he was prepping his cock.
The very idea of being fucked out here, in the middle of nowhere, out in the fucking freezing night, shouldn't have thrilled her. But it did.
They were both going to take her, and she couldn't damn well wait.
She felt herself being gathered against Sawyer's chest as he hauled her up. Her knees were against his hips and his hands cupped her hips to balance them both. With her in that position, gravity worked a number on her and she felt his cock impaling her. Sliding impossibly deeper.
Her cunt rippled around him in waves that had him groaning with delight. "I love how you milk my cock, lass," he whispered, making her smile as she tucked her face in his throat. He was thick anyway, but in this position? It was a lot to process.
Breathing through the change in position and angle, she just let him rearrange her how he wanted. When she felt him settle against the hood, she had to bite back a laugh when he jerked upward. "Shit, that's hot."
"It is if you put your bare arse on it," Devon told him drily. "Here." He must have shoved something underneath Sawyer because their Scot mumbled:
"Cheers, mate."
Despite herself, she laughed. "My ass must be made of tougher stuff than yours."
"I think it's more like your new coat and the dress saved you," Devon told her, his tone studious.
She rolled her eyes, then murmured, "Do I get to ride you now?"
"No. I get to fuck you." The satisfaction lacing Devon's tone made a purr rumble deep inside her.
God, he got her. He knew what to say, even the simplest of things, to make her melt for him.
Sometimes, it wasn't the words but the timing, and that was Devon's power.
For a man who could be so oblivious, it astonished her he was capable of such attention to detail. But, it also made her feel privileged. Because this crazy genius of hers thought she was worthy of being the center of his focus.
"Oh, she likes that, Dev," Sawyer informed them both. "Her pussy just did the salsa on my cock."
Dev hummed. "I like the sound of that too." The sound of his feet crunching on frozen grass came loud and clear as he approached them. She felt hands cup her ass and smooth over the curves. Another sound of immense satisfaction erupted from him as he sighed with delight... a sigh he followed up by kissing the creamy skin of her butt.
"Please, Dev," she said with a little mewl. Sawyer wasn't moving, and he was so damn thick she wasn't sure if she could stand him just being in there, so deep inside her, without any relief at all.
He hummed again, damn his hide, and she moaned as finally, she felt the slick kiss of his cock against her skin. It was lube, but she knew it was also pre-cum. No way he'd been jacking off for as long as he had without feeling the effects of arousal.
Pressing her forehead against Sawyer's throat, she began to rock her hips in nervous agitation. The move did nothing to relieve the sensation of fullness she felt deep inside, but she just had to be patient. That was all.
Not a lot to ask, was it?
Yeah. It was every-fucking-thing.
Devon was a tease. She wasn't even sure if he meant to be, he just was. He seemed to have perfected it over the years too. Making the simplest of things so complex, that his calculations seemed ripe with promise now.
He was calculating something at that moment.
She just knew it.
She didn't know what, but that didn't matter. She rarely knew where his mind went.
"I think I want a tattoo."
Okay, so that was out there.
Sawyer heaved a breath. "Another time, Dev? When her pussy isn't strangling my cock?"
Another hum. "Sorry." Then, with that apology having been uttered, he pressed the thick tip to her rosette, and began to spear home.
She was used to anal sex now. Used to it, and loved it. It was the one way to make her body detonate, and she craved it as much as she did regular sex. But when two of her men took her?
Nothing compared.
Seriously. Nothing. And they were surprisingly stingy with their little forays into this kink. She wasn't sure whether that was to keep her on her toes or what.
Then, she remembered why these two didn't do this often.
"I can feel your balls, Dev," Sawyer gritted out.
Devon just huffed. "What do you want me to do with them? Chop them off?"
Sascha groaned. "Not this again." She blew out a breath as she reared up a little to glower down at Sawyer. The huff of air had her hair blowing an inch or two off her forehead. "How many times do we have to go over this? Just because they touch you, doesn't mean anything."
"I don't like it."
"Then, I'm not doing something right," she countered as he had and did her damnedest to make him forget about another's man's meat and two veg being anywhere near him. She clenched her muscles around him and he let out a satisfyingly hoarse shout. "Sweet Jesus."
The words seemed to echo around the tiny rest area, and they fueled her, lit her up with the huge break in his control. She pulsed the muscles, focusing on teasing him out of his funk, and then, behind her, she heard Devon growl.
Ha.
Talk about 'buy one, get one.'
They both seemed to take her movements as a declaration of war because after that, it was game over for her.
They fucked her. There was no kinder way to phrase it, and she loved every minute of it.
For those moments, they forgot about her delicate condition, they forgot she was their baby maker, and forgot she was anything other than theirs. Their woman. Their sexy lover who could take them to the moon and back while they took her to the stars.
She loved that she could make them forget, and she loved how their groans and grunts filled the air around her just as powerfully as their scents.
She was surrounded by them, and she knew there was nowhere else she could ever want to be.
Devon was harder, faster. He worked her over like a pro. Sawyer could only lift his hips, but it was enough to create a delicious amount of friction. And then she felt fingers delving in between them, felt the tips seeking out and finding her clit.
And boom.
Like that, she was done for.
Out for the count.
They hit a home run as the sparks of sensation fired through her veins, imploding and exploding in equal turns as they reminded her, for the millionth time since the first time Andrei had claimed her on all their behalf, that she was irrevocably theirs.