Page 35 of Crushing Clover

Never in my life had I wanted to work in a restaurant.

It had never been a thought of mine, let alone a dream, except to be grateful I didn’t need to memorize a menu or get yelled at by impatient customers.

Yet, here I was, still sulking in the office nights later, with novels piled up to either side of me and my crochet project waiting.

Months ago, I never would have dreamt that someday I might have more free time than I wanted.

Technically, my current jobs were satisfying the sexual desires of three men, and helping with the housework, but that wasn’t the same as having co-workers and my own money.

It also wasn’t the same as being out there talking to people and being part of something as cool as Cygnet.

My goal had been med school, and maybe a family practice after that. Now, there was only the daily struggle to get the house clean enough to satisfy Saint.

I snorted and shook my head.

Poor Clover—currently safe, warm, fed—not tied to a squalid mattress in a faraway brothel. I had things to entertain and amuse me, and time to recuperate between getting absolutely railed by three hot guys. So, what was the problem?

Was it the lack of choice?

Maybe it was the years of striving to get somewhere, only to find it all stripped away. I was a leaf floating along a rushing river without the ability to steer myself or reach dry land.

What was the word?

I tapped my fingers on a fantasy novel where the female hero on the cover brandished a sword and sat astride a war horse.

Agency . That was the word. I wanted to have agency in my life, and right now I had none, other than to do my best not to piss off the men who had me under their collective thumbs.

Six thumbs were a lot of thumbs, especially when none of them belonged to me.

I grumbled a series of unsatisfying expletives.

I read half a chapter, hoping to feel inspired, but being locked in an office didn’t make me feel all that noble.

Eventually, I would escape. It wouldn’t even be difficult at this point.

But now wasn’t the right time.

Even if I did, though…what then?

There were jobs I could get that would allow me to support myself.

It wouldn’t be the lifelong security I’d been hoping for, but now that I didn’t have Noah to take care of, maybe things would be easier.

The problem was, I had no ID. I also had no way to access my money from the resort, if there was any left.

I didn’t trust that Noah couldn’t get his hands on it.

Noah had also tanked my credit rating, so what were the chances of getting an apartment where the landlord wouldn’t check it?

School was so much further away now than it had been.

Sighing, I closed my eyes.

It was hard to focus on sorting out my uncertain future with thoughts of the night before like the hottest fucking porn replaying in my head.

I’d watched shamelessly.

Lucky had reached for me, twining our fingers.

Rush had pulled my hair, tugging me close to steal a clandestine kiss when no one was looking.

And Saint? I’d caught him watching me watch him. He’d moved differently. He’d put on a show.

Eventually they were going to pull me into that hot, writhing tangle on the bed.

Fuck, I was ready.

I fell back against the couch, and scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to banish the recurring intrusive thoughts.

Watching was fun—all that naked skin, all those hands and cocks and mouths—but there was also something terrifying about the possibility of being the center of all of that attention.

Even when I closed my eyes, I could hear the moans and gasps as they enjoyed each other while I sat watching.

They didn’t seem to care anymore that I was openly gawking.

Lucky and Rush had been showing off for me, their captive voyeur, since the beginning, and even trying to include me. And now Saint was caving.

I reopened my book and searched for where I’d left off. In my mind’s ears—if that was a thing—I heard Lucky’s sound of distressed pleasure. It was the one he made every time he came from being fucked in the ass. So fucking hot.

I strained my ears, listening for footsteps, but all I could hear was the clatter and hum of the kitchen down the hall.

At one point, I’d worried Saint might install a camera in the office to keep an eye on me, but since Lucky was mostly not using me during breaks, there hadn’t been much to see…

unless Saint had a kink for watching me read, crochet, and watch movies.

No. He was too busy in the kitchen to give me a second thought.

Closing my eyes, I thought of Lucky whimpering. I was obsessed with that sound. The other two weren’t shy about making noise either. Their groans and unguarded expressions, and the way they enjoyed each other, was so much hotter than stoicism.

Keeping a careful eye on the door, I slid my fingers into my underwear, trying not to pull up my skirt too high in case someone walked in.

I thought of the three of them together—the tanned muscle and strong hands.

They weren’t gentle but they also weren’t so violent that Lucky didn’t get to enjoy himself.

It was nothing like the rough use I got later, in the dark of the night—the hand over my mouth, the hard thrusts, the nearly silent gasps.

I ran my finger lightly over my clit, making myself shiver and squirm.

Sometimes I was so turned on from watching them that mini-orgasms spasmed through me without any help.

Maybe someday Saint would fuck me in the light, and face-up so I could see him enjoying my body. I could almost imagine his sigh of pleasure as he sank into me—the way his dark eyes would become hooded, the parting of his lips.

I tried to silence the small mewl that escaped me.

What were the chances they’d hear me over the din of the kitchen anyway? I could probably edge myself until I screamed and they would never hear a sound.

Fuck, how was I already so turned on? My life was so much about sex now it felt like an orgasm was always building, twisting inside my lower stomach until it cramped. Hell, I could get myself off in here every night. Saint never had to know.

Maybe he wouldn’t even be angry. He was looking at me differently lately. He was still a dick, but I suspected he liked me, at least a little. I was a person, instead of the spectre of his ex-girlfriend.

I was out of practice, but my fingers remembered what to do, making me sigh with the building, anticipated pleasure.

I settled in and tried to focus on one of my old fantasies, but one I’d thought about for so many years wasn’t doing anything for me tonight.

The scenario of me blowing my old science teacher under his desk while people met with him to discuss their marks or the upcoming staff meeting had lost its allure.

My mind scrambled around, trying to find a different source of inspiration, but the fear of Saint walking in and catching me kept me focussed on the door. I tried to let myself enjoy this, but the harder I pushed away thoughts of Saint’s angry face, the harder the thought rebounded.

So what? What would he do if he walked in and caught me?

Ugh.

I would be in so much trouble.

He would storm in, and his dark eyes would flash with anger. The way he glared made me feel small and vulnerable. He really hated the thought of me finding pleasure.

But why? I tried to be good.

I’d always hated being in trouble, but there was something about his growling, masculine animosity. I hated the way he loomed over me and tried his best to intimidate me. He hurt and humiliated me anytime he even noticed me. He’d used his fucking belt on me. He’d made me lick his boots.

So much bullying.

So many unforgivable cruelties.

The slash of his dark brows, his hard, cruel hands.

He just used me.

Abused me.

His cruel hand in my hair, my name on his lips. I shattered, my hips bucking up to meet my fingers harder—meaner.

Something banged into the door, but my head was such a mess it took me a moment to realize what was happening. Almost too late, I yanked my hand from my panties.

The door was flung open, and he stood there in the doorway, a monster. An apparition.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was asleep,” I croaked. “You startled me.”

With his face a mask of fury, he slammed the door closed behind him, cutting us off from everyone else. Worse, he locked it.

“What’s wrong?” I tried to demand, but my voice came out weak and croaky.

“You know what’s wrong!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked stupidly. It wasn’t hard to look half asleep when my mind was still scrambling to catch up, but I wasn’t sure if he was buying my attempt to look innocent.

“You think you’re so fucking untouchable,” he seethed, jabbing a finger in my direction. Considering his mood, I was glad that finger wasn’t loaded. “One of these days, life is going to fuck you in the ass, and I’ll be there to gloat when it does.”

“What?” Now I was really confused. What on earth was he talking about? I could see him being angry about catching me masturbating, but his eyes weren’t right. He was here, but he wasn’t seeing me. Not the real me, anyway.

“Saint, what’s wrong?” I ask quietly, hoping he would snap out of this. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, you’d love hearing me say it out loud, wouldn’t you? You conniving, striving little bitch. You’ve probably sprained your arm patting yourself on the back since you found out—dislocated your fucking shoulder.”

He was standing over me now, wild-eyed and terrifying. When he was in full control of himself, he was fun to fuck with. But when he lost his temper like this? Real fear sang through my veins. I curled into a ball, sure he was going to start hitting me.