Hers to Keep (Quintessence #1-5)

by Serena Akeroyd

Dull weather, bland food… but the vibe? Jeez, nowhere compared. Especially London. It was a haven for all kinds of batshit craziness, and if anyone could embrace batshit, it was her.

Sascha had a fetish for all things vintage. She spent more time looking like she belonged on the set of Grease than the twenty-first century.

Though her tastes were unusual, she usually received interested looks, from both sexes, and not just because she dressed a little strangely, but because she rocked her outfits. It was all about having confidence, she’d found. It didn’t matter if her own insecurities were eating her up on the inside, as long as no one else knew, she was doing A-Okay.

Small waist, large boobs, long legs. She had curly auburn hair, bright green eyes, lips painted a cherry red, and cheekbones so high, Marilyn Monroe would have been jealous.

She was hot, and she knew it, but it wasn’t like she had a big head or anything. She took care with her appearance because she enjoyed dressing up. It was fun, and what was life if not a chance to have fun and explore the various amusements that came one’s way?

After spending an adolescence drowning in being Ms. Average, once college had come, she’d reinvented herself. Gone were the days where she was ashamed of her red hair or her too curvy body. Now, she embraced all the parts of her that weren’t right for a socie...

Sean Hayward’s degree was up there, framed, but so was that of a Sawyer Bennett, a Kurt Yeller, an Andrei Kirov, and a Devon Jerome.

A salon was a select gathering of intellectuals where ideas were discussed, and concepts explored. They were rare in these times, but Sean seemed like he was a rare man.

An infamously famous criminologist who solved the nastiest murder cases and yet wore no shoes for an interview with a prospective housekeeper… A guy who lived in the equivalent of a fancy-ass dorm house with his buds… Yeah, this was no regular man.

Really, Brits seemed to think Americans were morons.

It was an odd arrangement, to be sure. His mother, as well as Kurt’s and Andrei’s grandfather, were certain they were all gay and that it was a house of ill repute. But it wasn’t like that. Well, not for most of them.

Devon and Kurt on the other hand… their oddities were enough to make a prostitute’s brows rise.

“If you’re open to the experience, then you don’t know what the universe will allow you to attain.” “Not that Secret bollocks,” Sawyer snapped. “Look, positivity will get you so far, granted. But it’s not going to make a normal, everyday woman suddenly think it’s A-Okay to fuck five guys at the same time. While all the guys live in the same house, and as all five are fully in the know about who she’s spending the night with. It’s too weird.”

“Look, who said we wanted an everyday woman? I never said that,”

“Don’t frighten Sascha off, Devon. I know what you want… you tell us too frequently for us to bloody forget, and to varying degrees, we want it too, but even if she is mad enough to take us on—pushing her won’t endear her to our desires, will it? And I know you. You’ll push when you should tread softly.”

In this world, who didn’t have debts, and who didn’t money talk to?

Hell, even he, who had ample money for his needs, had moved to London for a job offer and displaced these bastards with him.

Everyone had a weakness, after all. For him, it was these four sitting before him, not pounds and pennies. Still, the...

Sascha peered over the bannister and whistled when she stood upright. “That’s a long way down,” she said to herself as she eyed the vestibule below her. Up in the attic, in her new swanky little pad, she had to admit she liked the cozy nature of her room. The stairs, however, were going to kill her if she kept on wearing stilettos.

First Sean, now this one? There must be something in the water, she thought. Did the guys have to be ridiculously handsome as well as insanely smart to live here? Jeez, she really hoped so. So much man candy would fuel her sessions with her Battery Operated Boyfriend, and make her one chilled chick.

He smiled at her, and boy, did a choir of angels just start singing around him? Christ, that smile packed a punch.

So, a little random, but it was kind of her thing. After settling into her new post, and unpacking her shit, she always celebrated with hot chocolate. Homemade, of course.

His eyes were hopeful, and she realized something… Devon was an innocent. It was a bizarre realization to come to when she was drooling over him, and half believing that he was flirting with her, but he was. Genuinely.

Like A Beautiful Mind kind of innocent. Russell Crowe had been a superstar genius extraordinaire, but it hadn’t stopped him from wanting to fuck Jennifer Connolly, had it? And hell, that character was based on a real guy, so that stuff happened in reality. Right?

Devon wasn’t as awkward, but there was just something off about him. Like the world worked at a different pace to...

The back wall was covered in photo frames of Devon and another hunk. He had shaggy red hair, pale skin, and crystal green eyes. She could imagine him in a kilt, of all things. Standing on top of a heather-covered moor letting out a bellowing war cry to stop the English from invading his territory.

Be still her ovaries. What was it with these guys? Were they sent from hell to torment her with their astonishing good looks?

Sean had implied they were intelligent—but a Nobel prize? Sweet Lord!

Devon was unusual. And she loved unusual.

As she bustled around, she felt his eyes on her. It was a bizarre sensation. She was used to being looked at; it came as part and parcel of wearing what she did. Not that she wore it for anyone else. But her tight pencil skirts, and Rita Hayworth hair always attracted attention.

This one was also tall, also freakishly handsome, but blond. Very, very blond.

Holy smokes, his accent? Sweet Jesus. They were trying to attack her from the waist down. It made her think of cold Russian winters, and steamy nights spent in bed. She wished.

“Ja, das weiss Ich schoen, aber willst du Sascha kennenlernen?”

Sawyer was better in the flesh than he was in photos, which should have been an impossibility but wasn’t.

How had their college coped having these five hotties on campus? She imagined their bedroom doors had revolved over the years.

“You have a very nice arse, Sascha,” Devon told her, his tone earnest. “It would be a shame to ignore it.”

“Do you have special dietary requirements?” Sean clicked his fingers. “That reminds me. I’ve got a dossier on all our little quirks. There’s nothing major; just likes and dislikes.”

Sawyer studied her with an intensity that had her shivering as he murmured, “I don’t eat anything processed. Devon doesn’t either.” “So, if I make chocolate cupcakes, they’ll be wasted on you.” Kurt snorted. “They’ll be devoured in minutes. If you make them, they’ll eat them. They just don’t eat anything from the store.”

“Kurt cooks for us when we’re without help.” “I slave away in this bloody kitchen because you’re all too finicky to eat anything normal,” he complained, suddenly sounding very Ger...

“I bake. Sometimes,” Andrei pointed out with a scowl. “Twice. In twenty years,” Kurt retorted, holding up two fingers that were more ‘fuck off’ than anything else. “It will b...

“With Devon roaming around, it’s a wonder you don’t NDA the cleaning ladies.” He grimaced, confessed, “We do. We didn’t until a few years ago, when we realized he was discussing higher order math with our Polish cleaner. She didn’t speak a word of English, mind, but that was more by luck than management.”

“I warned Devon off. I told him not to broach the topic, but I could see today you were charmed by him, and even though he’s incredibly blind when it comes to some things, he isn’t where a beautiful woman is concerned.”

“The truth will set you free. Another truth: he’ll see you’re as attracted to us as we are to you, and whether I leash him or not, he’ll talk to you about it. The idea of you being all of ours will be natural to him.”

“I’m just a man. You’re hot, Sascha. We both know that. From that little dimple in your cheek to the curve of your ass in those slinky skirts you wear. But, knowing Devon, you’ll have a Fibonacci spiral somewhere and he’ll adore you until the end of time because of it.”

“How many times have you done this?” “Successfully?” Sean blinked. “And by that, I mean, excluding Janna?” At her nod, he said, “Three times. The first time, she had to move to the States, ironically enough. Our lives will always be here.”

“Didn’t you fall for one another?” “In a sense, and when she left, we missed her, but she’d outgrown us. You must bear in mind, to a lot of people, this is almost like a sex game. They want to do it, check it off the list, and that’s it. It isn’t like that for us. The ladies with whom we shared a similar arrangement treated us that way.” He jerked a shoulder. “That affects our responses to them.”

“What if I fell in love with you?” His eyes widened. “You think that would be possible?” He loved the hectic color that stained her cheeks as she mumbl...

“Then,” he told her easily, knowing he spoke the whole truth, “we’d fall for you.” “You can’t guarantee that,” she said huskily. “Of course not, but you know that phrase… ‘treat others how you wish to be treated yourself?” Her nod had him con...

Not that he hadn’t let out some doozies. Like when she’d taken a seat at the dining table—she sat at one head with Sean at the other—and he’d asked her if she had her period. Because, get this, her color was high, and she’d flinched when a cupboard door had opened too quickly and swung into her chest.

Not even her previous boyfriend of three years had realized she got sensitive boobs during her period. And Devon? The man who wasn’t sure what cinnamon was, had figured it out in a matter of minutes.