Page 13 of Crushing Clover

Later, I woke again, not knowing why—other than feeling like the hardwood was digging into my ribs, or vice versa. My pussy felt bruised.

I lay there, listening to the silence, trying to figure out what had woken me this time. A toilet flushed. Someone groaned.

Without warning, the lights in the room flipped on, and I threw my arm over my eyes—or tried to. The flinging was pre-empted by the leather cord attaching me to the foot of the bed.

Was this what it felt like to be old? Everything hurt, and I only wanted to take a Tylenol and go back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, fuckers.” Saint John sounded angry. It was too early in the morning for angry.

“Good morning, sunshine,” someone grumbled. I had a feeling it was Rush, because I doubted Lucky would want to start the day with an argument.

Saint John crouched next to me, examining his handiwork.

“Oh, look. She didn’t even try to get away. Were you hoping for some dick, little girl?”

He dropped my wrist so that my hand thumped to the floor.

“I got dick in the middle of the night, thanks,” I grumbled. “I’m perfectly fine with being dickless for the rest of the day.”

His glare was nasty. “Who fucked you in the middle of the night? Everyone got laid last night except you.”

“I don’t know who it was, to be honest. You’re all interchangeable, especially in the dark.”

What the fuck? Why was I starting an argument first thing this morning? Why did he have to be such an asshole with no provocation?

“It wasn’t me,” said Lucky.

Rush scowled. “Wasn’t me.”

They looked at each other then directed their gazes at Saint John, who scoffed.

“As if I would.”

Were they fucking with me? Or were they fucking with each other?

All three of them were eyeing each other with suspicion, but then the subject was dropped as we began the day.

Or, as they began the day. I was left in my blankets for quite a while.

Lucky’s gaze drifted my way several times, but he said nothing about untying me.

Eventually, Saint John approached and crouched down. “Good girl, not asking to be untied.” He unknotted the leather on my wrist until it fell off, but left the other end attached to the leg of the bed, evidently for later.

Great.

At least I knew where I’d be sleeping tonight.

Rubbing at my freed wrist, I avoided his gaze.

“What do you say?”

I glanced up at him in disbelief but cleared my throat. “Thank you for untying me?”

He arched a black brow, his gaze hard. “Maybe you should try that again.”

Oh, right.

“Thank you for untying me, Saint.”

So ridiculous, but it seemed to satisfy him.

Kiss my ass, Saint.

Fuck you and your shitty attitude, Saint.

If I’d expected him to help me up, I would have been sitting there until I died of old age. He walked away, but not before his gaze drifted over my face and down to my neck. I almost expected him to do more, but he left me alone.

“Go clean yourself up and then come down for breakfast,” Rushton directed.

“Yes, sir.”

Lucky trailed me out of the room, a looming shadow.

“No one told you to watch me this time,” I pointed out as I automatically headed to his room.

“I’ll be watching you until Saint or Rush tell me to stop. Besides, watching you shower isn’t exactly a hardship.”

“Can I use the bathroom alone, at least?”

“Five minutes and then I’m coming in.”

“Men,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Hey, don’t be so grouchy. You’re getting a new wardrobe on someone else’s dime today.”

“I don’t even like shopping.”

His brows rose. “A woman who doesn’t like shopping? That’s got to be a first.”

“Have you talked to many women?”

“Talked?” He grinned. “I’m not a big talker.”

“Are you implying you’re a big fucker?”

“I’m average, at best.”

“Average? Ha. Tell that to my scrambled guts.”

I turned on the bathroom fan and hurried to make the most of my unsupervised time. As soon as I flushed, he burst into the room, looking suspicious.

“Did you come?”

“I had to poop, if you must know.”

He grinned. “More room in there for me later.”

Ugh. Why were men so gross?

I ignored him, hoping he was kidding.

Unlike the night before, I showered by myself as Lucky watched, not bothering to wash my hair.

“Hurry up. Breakfast’s ready.” He waved his phone at me, as though I’d be able to read the text he’d received from where I was drying off.

“What am I going to wear to go shopping?”

“You can wear your yellow dress.”

I groaned.

“What? Is it uncomfortable?”

“I look terrible in yellow.”

“No, you don’t. I doubt you’d look terrible in anything.”

Lucky gave me a clean T-shirt to wear to breakfast, since my dress was still in the dryer. When we got to the kitchen, Rush was plating our breakfast with fastidious, elegant movements. Such big hands shouldn’t be able to move with such grace.

“Took you long enough.”

“She had to shit.”

“Oh my god!” I snapped. “Does everyone in this house need to know everything?”

“Yes,” all three of them said in unison.

Cheeks burning, I took the seat Lucky pulled out for me at the kitchen table.

“Pets eat on the floor,” Saint John said.

Lucky paused. “Seriously, Saint?”

“Seriously, Luckface.”

I stood and tilted up my chin at Saint John. From the scowl he gave me, he didn’t like that at all.

“Where do you want me to sit?”

“Sit next to my chair for now.” He pointed to one at the head (or foot?) of the table.

“Yes, Saint.” I sank to the floor there, leaning on one hip and wishing I owned pants. The floor was freezing where it touched my bare legs.

Lucky served, but when he tried to hand me my plate, Saint John took it and put it on the table next to his.

Rush took his place at the other end of the large table, and Lucky sat somewhere along the middle.

They began to eat. For a few minutes, I thought Saint John was going to make me beg for food or make me wait to eat until they were done, but he eventually offered me a forkful of food that looked like egg with something green folded in the middle.

I stared at it for a dreadful moment, then took it in my mouth. They were talking, so they didn’t notice the way I tried to swallow fast, so I wouldn’t need to chew. So gross. What the fuck was in the eggs?

“What’s wrong with you?” Saint John demanded when he tried to give me a second bite. I hadn’t meant to jerk my head back, but the damage was done.

“Nothing, Saint.” I took the second bite, and the flavor exploded on my tongue.

Yuuuck.

It tasted like the color green, but weirder than asparagus, which I also hated, and was too poor to buy anyway.

I swallowed it quickly, trying not to gag.

Now all three of them were staring at me. Shit.

I smiled at Rush, hoping he wasn’t offended. “I don’t have a very sophisticated palate. What is this called?”

“It’s a fiddlehead and bacon omelet. Nothing fancy.” He shrugged. “Gruyere cheese and chives.”

There was bacon in there? I couldn’t taste it past the weird stuff.

Saint John offered me another forkful, and I waved a staying hand. “Oh, I think that’s enough for me. I’m not very hungry.”

“She hates it!” Lucky crowed.

The other two frowned, as though I’d insulted their mothers.

“If you’re going to live under this roof, you’re going to learn to like things other than…what the fuck do you eat at home?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” I hazarded.

“Peanut butter and jam?” Saint John sneered. What was it about him that made me want to smack him when he was like this? Infuriating man.

“What? It’s good!”

“Are you five?”

“It’s cheap and quick. Eating it also doesn’t make you feel like you’re better than other people,” I said hotly. “Not everyone is a food snob.”

He grabbed my arm and shook me. “Open your fucking mouth or I’ll open it for you.”

“Saint, if she doesn’t want to eat hers, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. She needs to learn her place.” He stabbed the fork toward my face. “She eats what we feed her.”

Panicking, I broke his hold and crab-walked backward. He rose from the table and came at me as I turned and launched to my feet. I ran upstairs—stupid move—but the only safe place I could think of in the house was Lucky’s room.

“Saint!” Rush barked, but the man in question didn’t stop.

He chased me up the stairs and down the hall as a shriek of fear and distress escaped me.

I made it to the doorway of Lucky’s bedroom before he caught me, but considering how much longer his legs were, him catching me had been inevitable.

He grabbed me by the arm and swung me around to smash me face first against the hallway wall.

Something hit the wall next to my head, and when I glanced over, I saw the fork he’d been feeding me with was stabbed into the drywall, inches from my face.

He crushed me there, his body hot and flush with mine.

We were both panting each other’s air, and the adrenaline singing through my veins wouldn’t let me stop fighting.

He got me under control—arms wrapped around me, one hand on my throat and the other hooked between my legs, pushing the hem of the shirt I wore against my pussy.

A few of his fingertips brushed my bare skin there, and I huffed out a startled breath.

His body curled around mine so he could speak directly into my ear.

“Women like you think you can do whatever you want, but you’re ours now.

We fucking own you.” His voice was low and lethal, and I had no control over how my stupid body was reacting to it.

“You do what we say, when we say. Fucking immediately. If I tell you to eat literal dog shit, you will fucking eat it. Am I clear?”

“Please,” I whimpered, afraid of him, but even more scared of how I was reacting to him. He made me so angry it was hard to think, but he was the one who controlled whether I could have an orgasm. What was I supposed to do with that?

“What the fuck are you even begging for?” he growled. “You want PB and J that bad?”

My hips flexed of their own accord, but I managed not to squirm against his hand. If he curled his fingers a little, he could slide one or two of them inside me. I was bare under the shirt, and he was mashing my labia with that hand to keep me still.

“She probably wants to come,” Rush pointed out. When had he reached us? “She’s so hot that I doubt she’s ever had to abstain for long.”

Saint John let go of my pussy and examined his now slightly slick fingers. “For fuck’s sake. Open your mouth.”

Unhappily, I obeyed.

“Stick out your tongue.” When I complied, he cleaned his fingers off on my tongue as though it were a napkin.

He grunted at me and strode away. I closed my mouth, humiliated.

Rush sighed. “Come on, kid. I want to finish my breakfast before it’s cold.” He yanked the fork out of the wall and held out his other hand to me.

I took his hand. “I’m sorry about ruining your breakfast. I haven’t tried much fancy food.”

“Some things are an acquired taste,” he said kindly.

“You don’t need to make anything fancy for me. A box of Pop-Tarts is more my speed.”

He gave a pained chuckle. “If I still had a suspicion that you might be Arabella, that statement would have killed it.”

“Pop-Tarts?” I asked hopefully.

“Saint would burn this house to the ground before he allowed a box of Pop-Tarts in his kitchen.”

“Isn’t it your kitchen, too?”

“Well, yes.”

“So don’t you get a say?”

He arched a blond brow at me and grinned behind his shaggy beard. “Are you trying to make me complicit in planning a mutiny?” He led me down the hall.

“So, he’s your captain? I wouldn’t have thought you’d let him boss you around.”

“Watch yourself, brat.” It was a warning, but his tone was sexy rather than threatening.

“Yes, sir.”

When we got back to the table, Saint John had disappeared.