Page 58 of Crushing Clover

“Please,” I kept begging, barely coherent. I hung on the edge of a precipice I was desperate to fall over. He was going to let me come. It was too late to go back now. He wasn’t cruel like Saint, and that asshole wasn’t here to stop us.

When he pulled his fingers away again, my whine of disbelief and desperation rang in my ears. If we had been trying not to bring attention to the truck, we would have failed miserably, but luckily no one seemed to be around to hear us. I slid down to sit on his lap and seized his wrist again, bringing his hand back to where I needed it.

He leaned close to my ear, whispering like he was telling me a secret. “You didn’t tell me what you want, sweet thing. It’s not fair that you’re making me guess.”

“Please, let me come,” I forced out between sobs. “Please, sir. I need your fingers.” I expected him to laugh in my face, but instead he shoved his hand into the waistband of my panties so fast it made my breath catch.

“Good girl. Is this what you want?” He pushed two fingers back into me, the digits feeling even colder than they’d been when he’d pulled them out.

I opened my mouth to thank him, but he added a third finger to my pussy, stuffing me too full, then slid his thumb over my clit with the perfect amount of friction and pressure.

I choked on my words. My hips bucked—ears ringing, teeth clenched, hurtling toward the edge with such violent velocity that I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. My orgasm hung just inches past the edge of the precipice, and the first contraction of it hit hard, frozen in time, my heart seizing.

When the first spasm let go, and the next hit, it was so violent that I shrieked, fully aware I had probably broken both of our eardrums, but it was too good, too perfect. I couldn’t help the sounds I made or the way I choked on my own tongue. I couldn’t care about how I looked, or even that we were in a public place. I’d ugly cried before, but I’d never had an ugly orgasm until that moment.

By the time I collapsed on top of his big body, I felt like half of my brain cells had been liquified and ended up in my panties. At least they’d died for a good cause.

“Holy shit,” Rush mumbled, chuckling slightly.

At first, I assumed he was making fun of me, but when he didn’t follow that up with a cutting observation, I pulled myself together enough to sit back and look at him. His hand was still on my pussy, holding me there with two of his fingers hooked into me like I was his prized bowling ball.

“Sorry,” I breathed.

“I’m not.” His mouth tipped up in a devastating smile. “I know Saint likes orgasm denial, but sometimes he takes things too far.”

I would have replied with sarcasm if I’d been able to, but all I could do was stare at him and try not to drool on myself. My entire body felt like an overcooked noodle.

With obvious reluctance, he withdrew his fingers, then moved me back into my own seat, making me grumble in disapproval.

He reached for the glove compartment and opened it. After grabbing a few restaurant napkins and grimacing at me in amusement, he leaned in and kissed me with an appreciative groan.

“You’re so hot when you come,” he said. “But don’t tell Saint, or it’s going to start shit.” His blue eyes twinkled, and I bit my lip, suddenly embarrassed. “He’s not above me in the pecking order, but he likes things done his way.”

“I doubt that was hot for you. I probably looked like I was having an exorcism performed on me.”

“If that’s what an exorcism is like, I regret my chosen vocation.” He sucked his fingers clean. It felt like a compliment.

His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile, but I couldn’t understand why until he unzipped his pants and started to clean off his cock and underwear with the napkins I’d assumed were for his fingers.

“Look what you did, woman.”

“Oh, my god!” I stifled a laugh. “Did you seriously—”

“If you’re hoping I’m embarrassed that I enjoyed getting you off, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing. I just can’t believe I was that…inspiring.”

“You’d think I get laid enough that this couldn’t scientifically happen.” He chuckled and kept wiping. “This hasn’t happened to me since I was what? Fourteen?”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, but I was blushing hotly and had enough presence of mind to realize I was staring.

“Thank you for taking pity on me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live without an orgasm.”

“Anytime you can’t handle it anymore, let me know, and we’ll figure it out. I wouldn’t recommend telling me in front of Saint. He might lose his mind.”

I nodded, glad to have a second ally in the house.

“He hates me.”

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