Page 18 of Crushing Clover

It’s only pain.

There was no humiliation anymore when it came to being used by men. It was just unpleasantness to be endured.

It’ll be over soon. He can’t last indefinitely.

Then one more guy, and I’ll be done for a while. Maybe even for the day.

The men on the island had been jeering and far more violent. This room was silent, other than my quiet sounds of discomfort and his grunts of exertion.

He gasped, swore, and his cock jerked inside me, followed by the stinging burn of his release. I felt bruised and abraded inside.

I opened my eyes to slits and found him inspecting my face.

“Did that hurt?”

Hesitantly, I nodded.

“Good.”

He jerked out of me, and I gasped, not caring that tears were tracking from the corners of my eyes into my hair.

“Is it her?” Saint John demanded.

“No, it’s not her, but we can treat her like she is.” There was evil in his chuckle. He let go of my thighs and slapped one of them, like I’d seen guys do with cars they’d enjoyed driving. Without another glance at me, he stood, pulling up his jeans and zipping them.

I rolled onto my side, clenching my thighs together. My pussy felt like it needed a sling.

Panting, I lay there, trying to direct my mind to anything other than the next guy who’d be taking his turn. My clit itched, and my body tried to remind me that Lucky had started off by going down on me, and it had felt amazing.

No. The last thing I wanted was to let myself get turned on again, but my lower belly was still aching with the need to orgasm.

“Your turn next?” Lucky asked after a few drawn-out moments.

“I have no desire to fuck our ex.”

“She’s not Arabella.” Lucky helped me to my feet, and cum immediately started coursing down my thighs.

“She might as well be.” Saint John went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He cracked it open then turned back to us, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t care if that pussy is magic, I still don’t want her here.”

“So, you’re going to throw away everything we’ve been building?” Rush’s orgasm seemed to have mellowed his hatred for me. “You miss the food truck that much?”

Saint John let out a string of creative swearwords.

“We can babysit her for six months to make it work.”

I pulled away from Lucky. “Bathroom?” I whispered, gathering my clothing with hands that shook.

He pointed and I slunk down the hall he’d indicated, clenching my inner muscles to avoid leaving a cum trail on the polished stone floor.

Maybe if I escaped, I could hide somehow, but I had nothing. No ID. No money.

I cleaned up the best I could without taking a shower. At least I was used to being left needy.

Still feeling dirty, I started to dress, only to realize my panties were missing. Ugh. I’d have to hunt them down—hopefully without making it too obvious.

Tentatively, I opened the bathroom door and found Rush standing there. He offered me my panties. I accepted them, my cheeks hot under his scrutiny. I tried not to care, but I still wasn’t used to this kind of work—hell, I wasn’t even used to having sex with anyone other than Noah.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as I went back into the bathroom. With annoyance, I cleaned up the fresh cum that had squeezed out of me and slid on my panties.

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