Page 33 of Crushing Clover

“It’s not her fault she got dumped here. She got sold to pay for her ex-boyfriend’s debts. She’s here because of that, and because of Warren’s twisted sense of humor.”

“Whatever. I’m not sleeping in bed with that. She could have fucking fleas, for all I know.”

“If she had fleas, I probably would have noticed by now,” Lucky pointed out.

Saint John got in his face. “Everyone in this room knows who the real bitch is in this house, Lucky. If it were up to you, wewould have gone crawling to her, groveling for her to take us back.”

“She isn’t Arabella,” Lucky snapped. “You’ve got the two of them tangled in your fucking head.” His aggressively set jaw made both Saint John and Rush raise their eyebrows.

“If I want your input, I’ll beat it out of you,” Saint John grumbled. “Where’s the ankle cuff?”

“I left it in the office.” Rush grimaced.

“Just fucking great.”

“I didn’t think we’d need it here.”

Thank goodness for small mercies. My ankle still had a red mark from the unforgiving metal. Sleeping with it on all night would have been really uncomfortable.

Saint John went into the bedside table and grabbed a leather cuff from one of the drawers.

“I don’t think that’s going to fit her, Saint,” Rush said.

“Give me your wrist.”

I held my arm out to him, and he tried to fasten the leather cuff on me, but it was so big I could slip out of it without much effort.

“Of fucking course.” He rolled his eyes. “Someone order a set of girly-sized cuffs tomorrow.” He barked out the order the way I imagined he commanded the kitchen at the restaurant, with every expectation of being obeyed.

Rushton grunted.

He tossed the leather cuff aside and fastened a long leather thong around my wrist with a series of intricate knots. Its tail end dragged on the floor.

I was momentarily distracted by the sight of the other two stripping out of their boxer briefs. So much hardness covered with smooth, naked skin.

Saint John made sort of a bed roll for me with the blankets at the foot of the bed.

“If you’re a good girl maybe we’ll get a mattress for the floor.” He lowered his dark brows. “In the morning, if it looks like you’ve tampered with my knots, your sleeping arrangements are going to get a lot less comfortable, understand?”

I nodded, lowering my gaze. I wanted nothing more than to tell him where he could shove his knots, but I wasn’t stupid. For the foreseeable future, I’d have to take whatever this asshole wanted to dish out.

“Two more things, girl. First, if you ever tell anyone about what happens in this room, I will slit your throat without hesitation. To be honest, I’m looking forward to it. This area seems to keep getting more close-minded, and we can’t afford to lose business. Second, if you get yourself off and I find out about it? What I did to you in the office is going to seem like a child’s punishment.”

I nodded.

“The girl will say, ‘Yes, Saint,’” he prompted me.

“Yes, Saint,” I repeated dutifully.

He gave me a condescending pat on the head, then fastened the other end of the leather tie on my wrist to the foot of the bed. It was far more comfortable than the metal ankle cuff. Now I had to choose whether to use the blankets he’d given me for padding or to stay warm. The hardwood was unforgiving, but at least it was better than the stone in the main room.

Why was he warning me about orgasms anyway? Because I was finally going to have a moment of pseudo-privacy when they turned out the lights?

I settled into my little nest of blankets, feeling like I was having a sleepover but without a friend to talk to. Instead, the boys we might have gossiped about were all in the room with me—three of them. All assholes in their own way.

I rolled my eyes then closed them. My tied arm felt like it was at an odd angle no matter how I positioned myself.

When the lights didn’t get shut off right away, I opened my eyes again. They were crawling into bed.

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