Page 8 of Crushing Clover

I woke on something soft, not sure where I was. It took a few solid minutes for my brain to come back online. My body ached, and my limbs felt heavy. I’d need more sleep before long.

“Come on,” Lucky said, patting my shoulder.

“Get her to change into something else while you’re at it. That yellow dress is giving me a migraine,” came a grumble. Saint John, of course.

I frowned and pushed myself into a sitting position. Someone had taken me off the high stool and put me on the couch where Lucky had given Saint John the blowjob. Had it been kindness, or not wanting to deal with the inevitable headwound I’d get when I fell off the stool?

“This dress is hideous,” I agreed. “They didn’t let me keep any of my old stuff.”

I’d never had the money to keep up with fashion anyway, so it wasn’t as though my wardrobe was a big loss.

“Nothing?” he asked with his customary irritation, even though we’d had this discussion when we were leaving Warren’s.

I shook my head.

“Take a shower, and Lucky will find you something to wear until he can take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Why do I have to take her shopping?” Lucky frowned. “I didn’t ask for her.”

“Neither did I.”

“Well, that’s between you and Warren. Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Because now she’s our problem, and your schedule is more flexible than ours. Deal with it.”

“Fine. Give me money and I’ll deal with it.”

Swearing, Saint John strode off to the entryway table and grabbed his wallet out of the decorative bowl.

He tugged some bills free and slapped them on the wooden surface.

It was a lot of bills to someone like me, but it might be for them, too.

They were well off compared to me, but they weren’t rich.

“Don’t forget to keep an eye on her.”

“We’re not leaving the house yet.”

“We have to watch her in the house, too.”

Lucky glared at him. “You seriously want me to sit outside the bathroom door? She’s not going anywhere.”

“No. I want you to go into the bathroom and wait.”

“What the fuck?”

“What if she crawls out the window?”

I groaned. “Can’t one of you stand outside the window? I don’t need supervision in the bathroom—I haven’t since I was a toddler.”

“We were told to keep an eye on you,” Saint John mumbled, “so I guess we need to keep an eye on you.”

I didn’t want to make a fuss, but this was ludicrous. “Trust me—I have nowhere else to go. There’s no point in me trying to escape.”

He waved a hand, shooing us away. “Lucky, you heard me.”

“Lucky and Clover?” Rush snorted. “I just realized how ridiculous that sounds.”

Yeah. He wasn’t wrong.

I followed Lucky upstairs. We went through a bedroom that looked unused, and into its bathroom, as I admired his powerful frame. He could snap me like a breadstick if the mood struck him.

“I don’t know what the fuck he expects me to dress you in.” He scanned me up and down. “Get in the shower.”

“Can I please have some privacy for a few minutes? I need to pee, and I don’t need supervision for that.”

“You heard the man.” He shrugged helplessly, but his slight grin said he was enjoying this.

“I won’t be able to pee with you watching. I guess I’ll hang on until I piss myself. Hopefully, it doesn’t happen somewhere awkward.”

He stripped me naked for the second time today and sat me on the toilet. “Go pee.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“No. I have no interest in fucking dogs.”

“Come on. Like, two minutes of privacy?”

“I think we’re past the need for privacy.” He opened a drawer in the vanity. “An hour ago, my tongue was in your pussy. You’ve also watched me blowing Saint.”

His gaze met mine and held it. Was this a kink of his?

As I peed, though, he busied himself gathering things from the vanity drawers. When I’d flushed, he started the shower.

“I just want to go to bed,” I grumbled.

“No such luck. We have to go to work, which means I need to clean you up.”

“Work?” I frowned. “You’re bringing me to the restaurant?”

“You should pray Saint doesn’t make you wash dishes.”

He picked me up and deposited me in the shower. Before I could protest, he’d stripped, too, and was following me in.

“Why are you in here?” I asked, trying not to admire his body.

“Safety. I can keep a better eye on you in here. Besides I need to shower before work. For some strange reason, I smell like sex.”

“I won’t try to escape.” The water was tepid, so I cranked it hotter.

“Jesus, woman,” he grimaced and flinched back. “Are you trying to boil us alive?”

I groaned at the feel of the hot spray on my sore muscles.

“You should probably stop making sounds like that if we’re going to get out of here on time.” His golden eyes grew hooded, and his gaze traveled down over my wet skin. Sighing, he traced a runnel of water from my collarbone on down. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Had he looked in a mirror recently?

“I guess it helps that I look like a woman you all had feelings for.”

His eyes grew more serious. “It’s hard to remember you’re not her. It’s really going to fuck with Saint’s head.”

The spray from the shower dotted his skin, golden where it wasn’t covered with black tattoo ink.

He had so many tattoos, it was hard to take them all in.

The muscles underneath were pretty, too.

An octopus on his thigh caught my attention, but my gaze soon shifted to the piercings in his dick, then away again.

I didn’t want to be rude. Covertly, I checked out his face instead.

He had wide cheekbones and full lips, and eyes that seemed as though they liked to laugh.

“The way I look doesn’t fuck with your head?”

He shrugged, pushing me back until the shower soaked my hair. When it was good and wet, he pulled me forward again, then lathered it with shampoo.

“I forgive people more easily than he does. I also appreciate not being the only one in the house who gets bossed around.”

“They boss you around? You do realize they’re not bigger than you.”

“No, but they are meaner.” He winked at me then pumped a handful of body wash and rubbed it between his hands before spreading it over my skin.

“Rush doesn’t seem as grumpy as Saint, now that he knows I’m not Arabella.”

“Rushton may not be as grumpy, but he’s just as much of a sadist. Don’t let the pretty smile fool you.”

He washed me with reverent precision, like a man scrubbing down a treasured car.

When he got between my thighs, I had to hang on to his shoulders.

I had visions of pissing fire after he got soap where it didn’t belong, but the man knew what he was doing.

By the time he was done, I was scrupulously clean, and my nipples were hard enough to use as drill bits.

I watched as he impersonally washed himself, as though he couldn’t tell I wanted him. We switched places as he rinsed off. The tattoo on one of his shoulder blades made me laugh to myself—live fast, cum hard. Was the tattoo a rash decision or a life motto? Maybe a dare?

“I know we left you horny earlier, but we did you a favor.”

“I’m okay. I don’t need anything.”

Looking amused, he pulled me against his hard body. He was warm, and his wet skin sliding against mine made a whimper lodge at the back of my throat.

He leaned down to speak against my ear. “For now, the only orgasms you get are from him. Understand? If I catch you touching yourself, you’ll be punished.”

“But why?” My voice was embarrassingly distressed.

“Because orgasm denial is good for the soul, and because Rush said so.” With his hand on my lower back, he pressed me closer, until our bodies were flush against each other.

“Can a girl die from blueballs?”

“I’m not sure.” He rested his chin on the top of my head, and I let myself melt against him. It felt good to have a man’s arms wrapped around me. “If I think of a way you can seduce him, I’ll let you know. He’s pretty immune to most people’s charms.”

“Thank you.”

“Where will they send you after the six months is over?”

I tried to swallow down the anxiety that came with so much uncertainty.

“Sell me again, I guess. The women I was auctioned off with all hoped they wouldn’t end up in one of those brothels where they work girls to death,” I whispered.

Despite the warmth of the water and Lucky’s body heat, I shuddered.

“Sounds melodramatic.”

“I don’t think he’d hesitate.”

“Saint John? He’s heartless, but he’s not a monster.”

“Not him. Warren.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past Warren.”

Reaching behind him, he shut off the water. The whir of the bathroom’s exhaust fan filled the silence.

“You’ll figure Saint out.”

“He hates me, and it’s not even my fault.”

“He’ll get over it.” He reached for a towel and wrapped it around me, then grabbed another and used it to scrunch my hair. “Pretty fucked up for Warren to send you here because you look so much like her, but I can’t say I regret it.”

“Because you want to get even with Arabella?”

“Absolutely.”

He smacked my butt under the short towel I was wearing and grabbed another for himself. I used his distraction to study his dick piercing.

When he wrapped the towel around his waist, I realized he’d caught me staring.

“First pierced dick?”

“That obvious?”

“I’m not just a pierced dick, you know. I love nothing better than making a woman scream with my tongue.” He flashed me a grin. “Come on, dirty girl. We need to find you something to wear.”

He led me back into the bedroom that didn’t look lived in, where he rummaged through the closet. He threw a black dress shirt on the bed, along with a black leather belt.

“Put that on.”

“But I don’t have a clean bra—or another pair of underwear.”

He opened a drawer and moved a few things around before finally pulling out a pair of lace panties. He tossed them to me.

“Are these yours?” I held up the tiny scrap of lace and looked at him speculatively.

He shrugged. “They’re a keepsake.”

“Uhh…”

“They’ve been washed. It’s the best I’ve got until we go shopping.”

Feeling weird about it, I stepped into the panties and pulled them up as he watched a little too avidly.

“Let me guess—these belonged to Arabella?”

He didn’t answer but chose more black clothing from the closet. Before putting them on, he pulled on some boxer briefs with tropical fish on them. The man could be an underwear model. Covering his beautiful body with dress clothes should have been a crime, not that he didn’t look good in them.

“You need to get dressed, too, or we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bra at the back of your drawer, too?”

“Those don’t need anything.” Staring hungrily at my tits, he prowled closer, and I couldn’t help but back away.

“Didn’t you say we were in a hurry?”

He grabbed my waist and lifted me against the wall, until my tits were mouth-height for him.

With a groan, he nipped one. When I squealed and struggled to get down, he latched onto the one he’d hurt, sucking and biting until I found myself clinging to his shoulders.

He switched to my other breast and bit the side of it hard before latching onto my nipple and torturing that one, too.

When I was dying of frustration, he slid me down his body and took a step back.

“But—” Jeez, I sounded like I was about to throw a tantrum. The panties he’d lent me were soaked. A few rubs of his thumb on my throbbing clit—hell, a moderate wind on my aching, itching nipples—and I’d explode. “Please?”

He groaned. “No. We’re going to be late.”

Guiltily, I realized I’d never been this fucking horny in my life, and I’d been in a committed relationship for years.

I stood sullenly beside the bed as he put one of his dress-shirts on me. It almost reached my knees, and once he’d buttoned it and put the belt on me, it looked enough like a dress to pass as one. I’d worn shorter dresses, but knowing what it really was made it feel scandalous.

“Can you see my nipples through the fabric?”

His gaze dropped to my breasts, and he shook his head. “No. You look downright modest.” With that, he unbuttoned two of the buttons at my neckline and slipped his hand into my cleavage to squeeze my breast. The friction of his palm on my nipple made me gasp. “Now it’s perfect.”

He slid his hand back out with a regretful sigh.

“The only shoes I have are my ridiculous heels.”

“They’ll be fine for today. You won’t really be working in the kitchen.”

I followed him downstairs.

“You two missed lunch,” Rush commented. “You’ve got your phone?”

“Shit.” Lucky bolted back up the stairs, leaving me looking at Rush. He was dressed in a black kitchen uniform which looked weirdly amazing on him. Maybe I was simply excited to be around men who had jobs.

“It’s so weird having you in the house. It’s like seeing a ghost.”

Wow. These guys were really fucked up about their ex.

“No. It would be like seeing a ghost if the bitch was dead,” Saint John growled, stalking into the room, “which, unfortunately, she isn’t.” The man was a storm cloud. Dressed in the black uniform, he looked lethal. He didn’t even glance my way.

“Stop being so fucking grumpy,” Rush growled back.

“Who’s going to stop me? You?”

“I’m not fighting with you about this right now. We’re going to be late.”

Lucky barreled down the stairs, phone in hand.

“Come on, girly. Let the big bad men fuck each other up in peace.” He grabbed a wallet and keys from the bowl at the door, and I followed him out.

“Aren’t they going to the same place?”

“We take separate vehicles a lot. None of us like the way the others drive. Besides, being a passenger sucks.”

“I’d rather be a passenger than take the bus.”

“You don’t like driving?”

“I have no idea.” I laughed. “I don’t know how to drive.”

Lucky ushered me into the passenger seat of his black sportscar.

“You like?” he asked.

“I don’t know shit about cars, but it looks cool.”

He shook his head. “What do you do for fun if you don’t even like cars? Do you surf?” he asked hopefully.

“Surf? I’m from Ohio.”

“Ohio isn’t that far from the ocean.”

“It is if you can’t drive.”