Page 149 of Crushing Clover

There was something hot about a man wanting permission to do fucked-up things to me.

Rush selected a knife from his terrifying array. I was glad I couldn’t see the blades from where I was positioned, but I had watched him work often enough to remember the gleaming stainless steel sharpened for lethal accuracy. He’d always been too good with them, as though it was both a skill and a passion.

Now I knew it was more than that—it was a kink.

The heat in his eyes reflected the steel of his knife. How far did this kink go?

He skimmed his blade down my body, starting at my chin and dragging all the way down to my toes. For a moment, I wondered if I would curl like the ribbon on a birthday gift, but although my body trembled, I didn’t allow myself to so much as breathe.

When he lifted away the knife, I drew a deep breath, dizzy with relief I knew would be temporary.

“Hold her down,” he commanded. Firm hands circled my wrists and ankles, pulling me taut against the wood, arms extended so far over my head I felt like I was being stretched on a rack.

“She’s so fucking edible,” Lucky murmured.

My breaths heaved, but I only realized it was making my breasts jiggle when their gazes all slid down to watch.

Rush skimmed his knife over the tip of one of my breasts then the other, with slow, aching precision. His gaze filled with hot menace, anticipating what he would do to me.

He plucked my nipples through the veil of the negligee, pinching and twisting them with his free hand, until they were hard little peaks. I gasped and arched my back against the wood, my breath coming in short, panting bursts.

“I’m going to make a little cut here,” he said, tweaking my nipple harder.

“No,” I whined, aware I sounded pathetic but unable to fix it.

“A little cut of the fabric. Not you—not yet.”

I gave a pathetic moan of assent, and felt the blade effortlessly split the fabric. Somehow, he’d sliced the fabric and not the skin beneath—a man with far too intimate a knowledge of his tools. The fabric fell aside, gossamer soft, leaving the naked bud of my nipple poking rudely through the gap he’d made.

“Look at how flushed her neck is,” Saint murmured. “She’s enjoying this.”

“I am not!” I objected.

When I glanced up at him, his gaze was fastened to my mouth—maybe at the trembling of my lips.

“No, of course not. You’re taking this for Rush’s sake,” he teased. “You couldn’t possibly like it.”

I intended to reply, but I was still struggling to organize my thoughts when he lowered his mouth to my still-covered breast. He sucked at it, dampening its covering of fabric, making me squirm. It was almost as good as having a mouth directly on me, but more frustrating because of the flimsy barrier between us. When he pulled away, I arched my back to follow his mouth, and his chuckle of amusement exhaled cold air over the spot he’d made so warm moments before.

“Please!” I whispered, sounding embarrassingly desperate.

“I told you she was already turned on,” he said smugly.

“I wasn’t!” But maybe he’d been right all along. I frowned, annoyed he might know me better than I knew myself.

“Let me help you out.” Rush’s voice was a warm rumble. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but he sliced the fabric over the nipple closest to Saint with a speed that made me inhale in alarm.

“Be careful!” I meant to say more, but my words became a gasp as Saint’s tongue infiltrated the slit in the fabric, and he explored what he could reach.

Lucky pushed my legs apart.

“What are you doing?”

Without warning, Saint and Lucky wrapped leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, using the attached leather thongs to tie me down to the bar.

“How?” I demanded. Lucky must have planned this ahead of time.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve defiled this bar,” Rush admitted. “Every worker who’s polished it has asked about the rings screwed under the edge, but no one has ever gotten a straight answer.”

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