Page 45 of Crushing Clover

“What is this?” I asked. The space was freshly drywalled and painted, and one side wall was covered with mirrors. He put the bags down inside the entrance.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” I said again, not caring that I sounded like a nervous teenage girl.

“Saint and Rush stick me with the jobs they don’t want to do. The understanding is I’ll find a way to make it worth my time.”

“Worth your time?” I parroted. My tired brain didn’t catch on to what he meant until he took me by the shoulders. I thought he would kiss me, but he pushed me to my knees hard and fast.

“What are you—” The last word in my sentence didn’t have a chance to come out, because he filled my mouth with dick. Eyes wide, I struggled to adapt as he pushed deeper, not giving me time to think about how to make it good for him. He grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth, his dick piercings clacking against my teeth and bumping against my tongue. They were warm, but as I did my best to suck and accommodate him, I kept worrying one of them would come loose and I’d either swallow or inhale it.

“Fuck. That’s right. I’ve been thinking of this ever since we left the house.”

I tried to pull back to point out that someone might walk in, but he absolutely wasn’t having it. He held my hair tighter and choked me on his dick, making it impossible to breathe. Instinctively, I tried to fight for air, but he only adjusted his stance, knocking me backward and getting more violent. I was drooling, choking as he took his pleasure, and when I looked up at him, the sadistic, feral gleam in his yellow eyes made me suddenly wonder if I’d gotten him all wrong. This was the Lucky who had fucked me so hard my cervix felt bruised even the next day, not the guy I’d been joking around with earlier.

He pushed deep into my throat, and I struggled to push him away, struggled to get air, hating him, sure I would die.

He snarled something else, but I didn’t catch what he said, and a moment later he spilled hot cum down my throat, bypassing my gag reflex entirely. I didn’t even taste anything. As he pulled back and released my hair, I fell back, gasping and coughing. Mythroat felt raw, and my jaws hurt and my nose was running as hard as my eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

What the fuck?

I twisted to look behind me, my bare thighs sliding on the cold tile floor.

An older man in work clothes was standing by the door with a nasty grin. “Can’t say I didn’t enjoy the show, though.”

“Fuck off, man.” Lucky left me on the floor and gathered our shopping bags.

“You let me have a piece of her, and I’ll forget any of this ever happened,” the construction worker drawled. “If not, I guess I’m going have to call security.” He thumbed the radio on his hip and Lucky looked from it, to me, then back at the man.

“How about you step aside, and I won’t kick your ass.”

The guy inflated his chest. “You think I’m afraid of some stupid surfer?”

“I think you’d better be, if you don’t want to be smiling out of your throat.” He didn’t take his eyes off the guy. “Come on.”

I scrambled to my feet and slunk over to him, not looking the man in the eyes.

The guy spat on the floor and started to follow us as we headed for the door. “Hey little thing, I’ll give you some—”

Lucky punched him in the mouth but didn’t put his weight behind it. The guy was startled enough to shut up.

“You don’t look at her, and you don’t fucking talk to her.” He pushed me out the door and shut it behind me, staying in the construction zone with the stranger and our shopping bags. I swiped my forearm across my face, trying to dry some of the spit and snot. My eyes were leaking. I kept my head down and waited, hoping like hell no one would pay attention to one bedraggled girl.

From the other side of the door, I could hear scuffling. Lucky came out alone.

“What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He hefted the shopping bags and took my hand in his free one. I couldn’t help but notice his bloody knuckles. “You didn’t leave,” he observed calmly, as though getting in fights was no big deal for him.

“Where would I go?”

“I don’t know. Paris? Somewhere to start a new life.”

“I have nowhere to go—no money, no passport.”

“You do have a hot mouth. Your hair’s a fucking mess right now though.” He combed his fingers through my hair before reclaiming my hand. “Do you know what we still need to buy you? Toothpaste and a hairbrush.”

He seemed to find that pretty funny.

---