Rytsar obliged, handing Anthony back to Brie. He picked up Hope and twirled her in the air, inciting a string of delighted giggles.
“…the pilot averted near disaster when the American jet hit clear turbulence en route to Moscow…” emanated from the large TV.
Rytsar suddenly stopped and stared at the large screen while a video of the injured stewardess being wheeled on a gurney to a waiting ambulance popped on the screen.
The Russian turned to Sir, cocking his head. “Was that your flight, moy droog?”
When Sir failed to reply, Rytsar’s eyes narrowed. “Moy droog.”
“It was.”
Rytsar glanced at Brie, his expression changing as the reality of what almost happened washed over him. He shook his head, a bereft look on his face.
“It’s not important,” Sir stated emphatically. “We’re fine.”
“Not important?” Rytsar shouted.
“What’s going on?” Faelan muttered as he staggered into the room with Little Sparrow by his side. She wagged her tail when she spotted the new visitors.
Brie was disheartened to see that Faelan still looked gaunt, his face drawn and haunted.
Rytsar immediately picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “The Davis’s have come for a visit.”
Faelan glanced at Sir and nodded before turning his attention on Brie. The moment his gaze landed on the baby, all color drained from his face.
“I can’t…do this,” he muttered, heading toward the front door with Little Sparrow dutifully following behind him.
“Faelan,” Brie called out, but he didn’t even look back as he shut the door. She gave Rytsar a worried look. “I thought he was doing better.”
“The babe has thrown him. While he has moments of clarity, they are sporadic, radost moya. The boy needs more time.”
“I’m certain that seeing our infant only reminded Wallace of his loss,” Sir said with regret.
“It’s good for him to confront reality,” Rytsar assured him. “Speaking of reality…” His eyes narrowed again. “Why did you lie to me?”
Meeting his intense gaze, Sir stated, “I did not lie, old friend. I simply kept unnecessary details from you.”
“I almost lost you all!” the Russian growled. “When exactly did you plan on telling me?”
Sir inclined his head and shrugged. “Never.”
Rytsar snarled. “I’m not a babe that must be coddled.”
“But you have enough to worry about,” Brie explained.
Picking up on the sudden tension in the room, Hope looked up at Rytsar and began to cry.
Crushing her against his chest, Rytsar murmured gently, “No tears, moya solntse…” Kissing the top of her head, he choked out, “I could not have borne the loss.”
“Which is why I chose to say nothing,” Sir replied.
Rytsar stared at Sir and suddenly frowned. “You faced death again today, moy droog. Such an experience scars a man, even if he refuses to acknowledge it.”
He then turned to Brie. “And you stared death in the face, radost moya.”
She nodded, the reality of the near-fatal crash still too fresh for her to reconcile.
“I know what we need,” Rytsar declared.
Brie fully expected him to say vodka. Instead, he ordered, “Maxim, clear my schedule for the morning.”
“Already done, gospodin.”
“Excellent.” Rytsar handed Hope to him. “The three of us will be indisposed for the next hour.”
Understanding suddenly flooded through Brie, and she quickly swaddled Anthony before setting him in the infant carrier. “If he begins to fuss, just rock him in it. He loves to be rocked.”
Maxim nodded curtly.
Brie took the hand that Sir offered her and followed Rytsar as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom. This encounter wasn’t about sex—this was about connection. Something the three of them desperately needed.
Russian Love
Rytsar opened the double doors to his bedroom and gestured for them to enter. Brie immediately noticed that he had changed the décor from the last time she’d been here. The modern furniture was covered in rich black leather, and he’d added stylish accent lighting that shone against the walls in shades of yellow, blue, and purple. But, the piece that dominated the bedroom was the incredibly large four-poster bed.
“Wow,” she murmured in awe as she entered the room.
“I needed a change,” Rytsar stated matter-of-factly.
Sir nodded his approval as he looked at the unusual bed.
“I had it specially made to comfortably fit three active people,” he told them with a charming smirk.
Without warning, Rytsar picked Brie up and tossed her on the bed. She squealed in surprise, then laughed as she landed with a bounce on the springy bed.
Shutting the doors, the Russian turned to face her as he began to slowly strip off his clothing. “I had no idea when I woke up this morning that I would be introducing you to my new bed, radost moya.”
Glancing at Sir, he added, “Moy droog, pick a tool from the wall.”
Sir walked to Rytsar’s impressive set of BDSM tools. Grabbing a pair of leather cuffs, he tossed them to Rytsar, then took a riding crop from the wall. “Prepare her while I undress.”
Brie felt tingles of excitement as Rytsar ripped off the last of his clothing and joined her on the bed with the cuffs dangling from his hand. She experienced the exhilarating sense of being caught as he grabbed her right leg and pulled her toward him.
She squeaked as he positioned his naked body on top of her and forcefully lifted one wrist above her head.
With quick movements, he buckled the cuff to her wrist and then smiled in satisfaction when he grabbed the other one. “There is no point in resisting,” he growled teasingly.
Brie felt a gush of wetness between her legs when he finished securing her wrists and looked down at her. “How does it feel to be completely helpless with two men?”
She looked up into his lustful gaze and purred, “I love it.”
Sir joined her on the other side of the bed, asking Rytsar, “Why didn’t you undress her?”
The Russian’s eyes glinted mischievously. “It is by design, comrade.” With that, he grabbed her blouse with both hands and ripped it open. Brie gasped as buttons went flying everywhere.
His rough treatment was such a turn-on.
“I see a neck that needs my attention.” Pressing her cuffed wrists into the bed, Rytsar changed position and leaned down, his teeth grazing her skin.
Sir was playfully rough as well as he undid her pants and forcefully pulled them down to her ankles. Brie pretended to struggle when he slipped his hand under her panties and rubbed her clit.
“Fuck…” he growled, his voice low and possessive as he pressed his finger into her. “She’s wet.”
“Of course, she is,” Rytsar murmured ravenously, reaching under her bra to play with her breast. While he rolled her hard nipple between his fingers, Sir slipped two fingers inside her and began to tease her G-spot.
“You are our plaything,” Rytsar informed her.
“Yes…Rytsar,” she panted in enthusiastic agreement.