Page 38 of Crushing Clover

There was bacon in there? I couldn’t taste it past the weird stuff.

Saint John offered me another forkful, and I waved a staying hand. “Oh, I think that’s enough for me. I’m not very hungry.”

“She hates it!” Lucky crowed.

The other two frowned, as though I’d insulted their mothers.

“If you’re going to live under this roof, you’re going to learn to like things other than…what the fuck do you eat at home?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” I hazarded.

“Peanut butter and jam?” Saint John sneered. What was it about him that made me want to smack him when he was like this? Infuriating man.

“What? It’s good!”

“Are you five?”

“It’s cheap and quick. Eating it also doesn’t make you feel like you’re better than other people,” I said hotly. “Not everyone is a food snob.”

He grabbed my arm and shook me. “Open your fucking mouth or I’ll open it for you.”

“Saint, if she doesn’t want to eat hers, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. She needs to learn her place.” He stabbed the fork toward my face. “She eats what we feed her.”

Panicking, I broke his hold and crab-walked backward. He rose from the table and came at me as I turned and launched to my feet. I ran upstairs—stupid move—but the only safe place I could think of in the house was Lucky’s room.

“Saint!” Rush barked, but the man in question didn’t stop.

He chased me up the stairs and down the hall as a shriek of fear and distress escaped me.

I made it to the doorway of Lucky’s bedroom before he caught me, but considering how much longer his legs were, him catching me had been inevitable. He grabbed me by the arm and swung me around to smash me face first against the hallway wall. Something hit the wall next to my head, and when I glancedover, I saw the fork he’d been feeding me with was stabbed into the drywall, inches from my face.

He crushed me there, his body hot and flush with mine. We were both panting each other’s air, and the adrenaline singing through my veins wouldn’t let me stop fighting. He got me under control—arms wrapped around me, one hand on my throat and the other hooked between my legs, pushing the hem of the shirt I wore against my pussy. A few of his fingertips brushed my bare skin there, and I huffed out a startled breath.

His body curled around mine so he could speak directly into my ear. “Women like you think you can do whatever you want, but you’re ours now. We fuckingownyou.” His voice was low and lethal, and I had no control over how my stupid body was reacting to it. “You do what we say, when we say. Fucking immediately. If I tell you to eat literal dog shit, you will fucking eat it. Am I clear?”

“Please,” I whimpered, afraid of him, but even more scared of how I was reacting to him. He made me so angry it was hard to think, but he was the one who controlled whether I could have an orgasm. What was I supposed to do with that?

“What the fuck are you even begging for?” he growled. “You want PB and J that bad?”

My hips flexed of their own accord, but I managed not to squirm against his hand. If he curled his fingers a little, he could slide one or two of them inside me. I was bare under the shirt, and he was mashing my labia with that hand to keep me still.

“She probably wants to come,” Rush pointed out. When had he reached us? “She’s so hot that I doubt she’s ever had to abstain for long.”

Saint John let go of my pussy and examined his now slightly slick fingers. “For fuck’s sake. Open your mouth.”

Unhappily, I obeyed.

“Stick out your tongue.” When I complied, he cleaned his fingers off on my tongue as though it were a napkin.

He grunted at me and strode away. I closed my mouth, humiliated.

Rush sighed. “Come on, kid. I want to finish my breakfast before it’s cold.” He yanked the fork out of the wall and held out his other hand to me.

I took his hand. “I’m sorry about ruining your breakfast. I haven’t tried much fancy food.”

“Some things are an acquired taste,” he said kindly.

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