Page 22 of Crushing Clover

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 Ipleasehave 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 areyouin 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.”

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