Page 24 of Crushing Clover

“First pierced dick?”

“That obvious?”

“I’m not just a pierced dick, you know. I love nothing better than making a woman scream with my tongue.” He flashed me a grin. “Come on, dirty girl. We need to find you something to wear.”

He led me back into the bedroom that didn’t look lived in, where he rummaged through the closet. He threw a black dress shirt on the bed, along with a black leather belt.

“Put that on.”

“But I don’t have a clean bra—or another pair of underwear.”

He opened a drawer and moved a few things around before finally pulling out a pair of lace panties. He tossed them to me.

“Are these yours?” I held up the tiny scrap of lace and looked at him speculatively.

He shrugged. “They’re a keepsake.”

“Uhh…”

“They’ve been washed. It’s the best I’ve got until we go shopping.”

Feeling weird about it, I stepped into the panties and pulled them up as he watched a little too avidly.

“Let me guess—these belonged to Arabella?”

He didn’t answer but chose more black clothing from the closet. Before putting them on, he pulled on some boxer briefs with tropical fish on them. The man could be an underwear model. Covering his beautiful body with dress clothes should have been a crime, not that he didn’t look good in them.

“You need to get dressed, too, or we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bra at the back of your drawer, too?”

“Those don’t need anything.” Staring hungrily at my tits, he prowled closer, and I couldn’t help but back away.

“Didn’t you say we were in a hurry?”

He grabbed my waist and lifted me against the wall, until my tits were mouth-height for him. With a groan, he nipped one. When I squealed and struggled to get down, he latched onto the one he’d hurt, sucking and biting until I found myself clinging to his shoulders. He switched to my other breast and bit the side of it hard before latching onto my nipple and torturing that one, too.

When I was dying of frustration, he slid me down his body and took a step back.

“But—” Jeez, I sounded like I was about to throw a tantrum. The panties he’d lent me were soaked. A few rubs of his thumb on my throbbing clit—hell, a moderate wind on my aching, itching nipples—and I’d explode. “Please?”

He groaned. “No. We’re going to be late.”

Guiltily, I realized I’d never been this fucking horny in my life, and I’d been in a committed relationship for years.

I stood sullenly beside the bed as he put one of his dress-shirts on me. It almost reached my knees, and once he’d buttoned it and put the belt on me, it looked enough like a dress to pass as one. I’d worn shorter dresses, but knowing what it really was made it feel scandalous.

“Can you see my nipples through the fabric?”

His gaze dropped to my breasts, and he shook his head. “No. You look downright modest.” With that, he unbuttoned two of the buttons at my neckline and slipped his hand into my cleavage to squeeze my breast. The friction of his palm on my nipple made me gasp. “Now it’s perfect.”

He slid his hand back out with a regretful sigh.

“The only shoes I have are my ridiculous heels.”

“They’ll be fine for today. You won’t really be working in the kitchen.”

I followed him downstairs.