Page 145 of Crushing Clover

“My turn.” Lucky reclaimed the tattered plastic bag his gift was in and handed it to Rush. I got up to make room for him beside Rush, but he hovered rather than sitting.

“Are you going to sit on my lap while I open yours, too?” He dragged Lucky down onto him without waiting for an answer, and beer slopped over the side of Lucky’s glass. Saint took the glass before more beer was spilled and set it on the desk.

“Why am I sitting on you?”

“You’re so fucking cute,” Rush replied, pinching his cheek.

Saint made a gagging sound.

“Ignore him,” Rush recommended. “The metaphorical stick he has lodged up his ass is chafing today.”

I bit my lips together to stop from laughing. The last thing I wanted was for Saint to feel like he was the butt of the joke. He never appreciated being teased, although he could dish it out.

Saint didn’t reply, but he did come over to see what Rush was unwrapping.

We stood there watching as the two of them teased each other. Saint reached for something behind me, and I felt the tickling sensation of pieces of my hair being gently pulled. Was he playing with the ends of my hair?

Fuck, if him touching my hair was making my belly flutter, that was a bad sign.

Clover, don’t you fucking catch feelings for these men. Especially not for the one standing next to you.

From the bag, Rush pulled out an assortment of translucent, silky garments.

“Aww. Did he buy you sexy undies to wear for him?” Saint asked dryly, crossing his arms as though he’d realized he was touching my hair.

Rush raised a brow at Lucky. “Is this for you to wear?” he asked, grinning. He drew out the next piece and the next, and soon there was a multi-colored pile of suggestive lingerie on the empty seat of the couch.

“It’s so you can dress up Clover, then cut it off her.”

What?

He was kidding, right?

Rush’s gaze moved from Lucky to where I stood beside Saint. “You bought it specifically so I could ruin it?”

Lucky’s grin held fiendish anticipation. “I know what you like.”

Rush slid his hand into the back of Lucky’s hair and pulled him down for a searing kiss that made my toes curl even though I wasn’t involved.

Saint slid a glance my way. “I hope you’re not afraid of knives.”

“Are you serious?”

“Rush used to be pretty obsessed with knife play back when we were in college. Couldn’t get off without it.”

“I still have the first pair of jeans he shredded off me,” Lucky said reverently.

“Hold up, now. What exactly is happening with the knives?” I asked nervously.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Rush said with far too much glee for my mental wellbeing. “We dress you up, and then I do a few delicate alterations.” He slid his gaze over me.

Instinctively, I stepped behind Saint. It wasn’t like he would protect me from Rush, even if Rush decided to murder me, but still.

“If that’s going to happen, we should probably wait until everyone is sober, right?” My words came out faint rather than firm.

“Yeah, Rush. Playing with knives when you’re drunk isn’t safe, sane, or consensual.” Saint was smirking as he said it, which I knew without even looking at him.

“But it’s my birthday.”

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