Page 102 of Crushing Clover

“I don’t know.” My nose started to run, and I checked to make sure it wasn’t bleeding again.

He pulled away and took a better look at my face. “Jesus, sweetheart.” He got tissues out of the box on the desk and dampened them in his water. He did a more thorough job of cleaning me up, then wrapped a few ice cubes in a stray cloth napkin and held the bundle to my face.

“Did he fucking hit you?” he demanded, his voice full of rage.

“He’s hit me before. Why do you care now?”

“There’s a difference between punishing a submissive and beating one. Punching is one of my hard limits, and he knows that.”

“You two have hard limits about me?”

“Of course we do!”

I considered lying to get even with Saint, but what would be the point?

“He put a pillow over my face. I don’t think he meant to do it so hard.”

His expression was grim. “If you ever need me, even if it’s to protect you from Saint, you need to scream like hell, understand me?”

I nodded miserably.

“I’m not going to make excuses for him. This is fucked up.”

The worst part had been how I felt, and how angry he’d been, more than anything he’d really done. There would be no lasting damage.

“Did he hurt you anywhere else?” His brows drew down in concern.

“I’m bleeding a bit, but it’s not that bad.”

“Your pussy or your ass?” His point-blank question made my face heat.

“My pussy. I don’t think it needs ice.” I gave a weak laugh, and he dabbed at the few tears that had rolled down my face since the last time he’d dried it.

He sat on the couch and pulled me into his lap.

“You shouldn’t,” I objected, trying to push my way off.

He held me in place and tucked my head under his chin. My hair immediately tangled in his beard, but I didn’t care about that.

“I’m going to get blood on your uniform.”

“Not your problem.”

“It’s going to be my problem tonight when I have to clean it!”

He huffed. “You’re not cleaning anything when we get home. You’re going straight to bed.”

“Straight to floor, you mean?” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

“I said what I said.”

My heart gave a weird little flip. “He’s not going to like it.”

“Then he can fucking sleep alone. You can sleep in my bed with me and Lucky. This shit has gone on long enough. The man needs some fucking therapy.”

He wouldn’t hear me arguing about that, but I didn’t say so.

“But what about Cygnet? If you’re in here and Saint is gone, who’s head chef?”

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