Page 37 of Crushing Clover

I awoke with the first light of dawn fingering the edges of the curtains.

Why was I awake?

It wasn’t Lucky’s snoring, which I enjoyed, strangely enough. It wasn’t Rush, although he was cuddling me in his sleep. He was probably only holding me because he was used to holding Lucky, but it still made me feel like maybe I was important to him, too.

Lucky had held me in bed when we got home from Cygnet the night before. Rush and Saint had stayed up shouting, then eventually talking. When I’d tried to eavesdrop, Lucky had turned up the volume on the TV, drowning them out.

At least I’d been exhausted.

I searched the dim light and found Saint lying next to me. He was the bane of my existence, and far too sexy for my own good. Maybe if he’d been asleep, it would have made this feel less awkward. Instead, he was wide awake and staring, his face inches from mine.

“Is something wrong?” I whispered.

“Go to sleep, bootlicker,” he said shortly.

I closed my eyes obediently but could feel him still looking at me. “I can’t sleep if I know you’re watching me.”

“I don’t think you can have performance anxiety about sleeping.”

“You’d be surprised.” I opened my eyes again and raised a brow. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“You’re in my bed.”

“Rush gave you other options.” It was nice getting back to this friendly animosity again. I could almost relax. Every time I looked at him panic reared its head, but it was easier to feel brave with Lucky and Rush in the room. “You had to know Rush was going to take pity on me eventually.”

“You make me sound like such an asshole.”

The only reason I managed not to laugh was because I was still half asleep. This felt like a weird dream.

“It’s not a big deal that you ended up sleeping next to me, you know.”

“Careful, Saint. You keep saying romantic things like that and I might fall in love with you.”

“I haven’t given you much reason to.”

Was that regret? From Saint? Doubtful.

“Is that what’s keeping you up? Guilt?” I asked wryly.

“I’m sorry for being so rough with you last night. That was fucked up. Are you okay?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re not okay. I made you bleed, and I scared the shit out of you.”

“I’ll live,” I whispered even more quietly. “I…I’m sorry I pissed you off.”

“You didn’t. It wasn’t about you, which makes what I did to you even more fucked up.”

“Oh.”

We stared at each other for a few heartbeats, and he grimaced.

“Arabella’s supper club won a stupid award and got a full spread in a fancy-ass magazine.”

I blinked, assimilating the information.

Arabella was a chef, too?

Suddenly, I felt like even more of an outsider.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He blew out a breath and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Awards are bullshit, even if they come with free publicity.”

“Then why were you so angry?”

He rolled back toward me. “Because the last thing I want is for that woman to get what she wants in life.”

“That kind of anger sounds exhausting to carry around.”

“Okay, Saint Clover. Tell me you wouldn’t like to see Noah miserable.”

“Why would I?” What the fuck, though? He remembered the name of my ex?

“I own a small business—I have to be good with names,” he said, as though reading my mind. “Never mind about him, or about her. What are we going to do with you?”

“What do you mean?” Maybe it was the dimness of the room, but he looked genuinely concerned.

“We need a plan. Or do you want to be our whore forever?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“My plan was to give you back to Warren,” he said.

“Is that still the plan?” I asked hesitantly.

Maybe we weren’t on the best terms, but I thought he might hesitate to send me back now.

I’d hoped the idea of condemning me to death in a brothel was a bit much, even if he didn’t particularly like me as a person.

But asking him to take care of me for life wasn’t a simple request, either.

“You can’t be happy going from aiming for med school to spreading your legs for room and board. Not indefinitely.”

“There isn’t a way for me to become a doctor anymore. For a while, there was hope when it looked like I might get the scholarship from the resort, but I ended up with only half of what I’d need. Noah has probably spent most of that if he figured out how to get into my bank account.”

He sighed. “What a fucking mess.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you want for yourself, then?”

“Being alive is good enough for now. Maybe I’ll become a famous but anonymous crochet artist.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement, but he didn’t follow my statement up with a cutting remark, like I’d expected. “How long had you wanted to be a doctor?”

“Since I found out how much money they make,” I answered honestly, maybe for the first time.

He barked a laugh that was loud enough that both Rush and Lucky stirred in their sleep.

“So much for the altruistic soul I thought you had in there.” He tapped a finger over my heart, making me feel shy.

“There’s a bit of that, too. Taking care of people sounded satisfying, you know?

But was I passionate enough about it to deal with years of schooling, plus the added stress and lack of sleep?

In retrospect, maybe not. That being said, poverty is really intense motivation to find a reliable way to pay bills and buy food, if you can. ”

“Makes sense.”

“I had someone to take care of, too. He depended on me.”

“You were a sucker. You let him use you.”

Even now, with some space, I had trouble admitting it. It was true, but it still felt disloyal to say out loud.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I knew it at the time, too, but I felt responsible. A drowning man will grab onto the person who can swim. You can’t blame him for wanting to stay alive.”

“You’ve made peace with it, but that doesn’t mean it was okay.”

“Oh? And what the three of you do to me is okay?”

He frowned.

What the fuck had I just said? This man’s charity was what was going to keep me alive.

“Never mind. I didn’t mean that.”

“I might be worried that you really thought that, except I don’t care. Both of us also know you’re covering for the fact that—aside from last night—you actually enjoy it.”

“I do not!”

“Do so.” I couldn’t tell if the glint in his eyes was teasing or mockery. Knowing him, it was likely both.

“You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” I couldn’t help but say, even though it would make more sense for me to stroke his ego and agree. So much for believing I had a better sense of self-preservation than most people.

Saint’s quiet chuckle of derision riled me up, but not in the way I would have preferred. Why couldn’t I hate him in an uncomplicated, non-sexual way?

“I love watching you struggle with the fact that you can’t stand us, but you need us, and you’re unbearably attracted to us.” He slid his fingertips under the bottom edge of my tank top, and ran them slowly over my quivering stomach, to trace beneath my breast.

I tried my best to control the unauthorized arousal he was causing, but every inch his fingers rose made my heart beat harder. He could roll on top of me and take what he wanted, but the anticipation of what he might do made my breathing erratic.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured. “Your body is used to being fucked in the middle of your sleep cycle.”

“Don’t bother offering. I don’t want anything from you.” In horror, I realized I was lying. My body was anticipating what he might do to me.

“No? Nothing?” I was melting under his dark gaze.

The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him, but it was taking everything I had to not arch against his fingers, begging silently for him to keep touching me.

My nipple was so close to his fingers my skin felt like goosebumps on top of goosebumps.

He must have heard my shallow intake of breath, because he smiled the way an evil scientist in a movie might to warn the audience about what was coming.

“Shh. We had a long night. The last thing you want to do is wake them up and become the entertainment.”

I swallowed, trying to soothe my suddenly dry throat. He skated his thumb over my aching nipple, and I sucked in an involuntary breath.

“Quiet, now,” he murmured.

He took my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it. It felt almost too good, and I whined nearly silently with the impossibility of keeping quiet.

“Such a simple request, but you never manage to behave yourself.”

He crushed my nipple between his fingers, and his black eyes glittered with avid fascination as he watched the way my mouth opened in pained disbelief.

I squeezed my eyes shut, experiencing the pain as colors bursting behind my lids.

Lust spiked downward to my bruised pussy, preparing my body for what he would inevitably do to me.

“Poor little kitten. You make such adorable noises when you’re needy. Such a spoiled girl.”

I was whimpering but couldn’t stop myself anymore. He scooped me toward him and ignored my whine of objection.

“You’re going to wake them,” I tried to argue, but he settled me on top of his body, my legs to either side of his hips and the hard bar of his cock pressed against my clit. Hadn’t I gone to sleep with panties on?

I blinked at him, aware of how deliciously bare we were against each other.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. He pulled at my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth, obeying the silent command.

Unfortunately, he took the opportunity to stuff my missing panties in.

I tried to spit them out, but he gave his head a warning shake.

“You don’t take those out until I want them out, understand?”

I nodded, looking down at him with distress as saliva started pooling in my mouth. It would serve him right if I drooled on his face. Beneath me, he rolled his hips, and I gasped at the delicious pleasure as the hard ridges of his cock rubbed against my eager clit.