Page 68 of Crushing Clover

“I despise having you living under our roof. If you survive the entire six months until I pay off the restaurant it will be a goddamn miracle.”

“It’s a big house. You could ignore me, but you choose not to.” I tried to shake him off. He didn’t allow it, and his breath was hot against the back of my neck, almost as though he were leaning in far more closely than he needed to.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His quiet, venom-filled words made me quiver with a mix of fear and excitement.

“You don’t need to tie me to the foot of the bed, or supervise me in the shower, or bring me to work. You could lock me in one of the bedrooms—hell, you could even lock me in the basement, and yet you’re choosing to drag me around like a little kid with his favorite blankie.”

He buried his free hand in my hair, pressing me even more firmly against the tiles. I tried to hold the rest of my body away from the chilly dampness, but there was no way to keep my nipples from the cold. I arched back, wanting to get away from the unpleasant sensation and ended up with his hard dick sliding against my spine.

I sucked in a breath. Was he angry at me, or was he horny? Was it possible to be both this intensely?

“I can’t wait to give you back so Warren can sell you to one of his friends,” he hissed. “If I ever think of you after that, it’ll be as I smile myself to sleep knowing you’re being fucked to death in some dark, squalid little room.”

Fear and desperation prickled behind my eyes, making them swim with unshed tears.

“Why are you so hateful? What did I ever do to you?”

“Sweetheart, I was hateful long before we ever met, but it doesn’t stop me from daydreaming about you being murdered.”

Frankly, being murdered sounded a hell of a lot better than being sold to some monster.

“If you were as bad as you think you are, you would murder me yourself instead of being a coward.”

I’d rather die here and now than be scared for the rest of my life.

He crushed me against the tiles, his big body covering mine, touching at every point. His cock felt like a hot brand against my lower back, scalding its imprint into my flesh.

“I don’t care about you enough to go to jail for what I want to do to you.” He trembled against my back, seeming barely in control. “I lie in bed fantasizing about taking one of Rush’s knives and plunging it into this soft little body over and over again—fucking you in every hole I make until you’re screaming and begging me for mercy, then slitting your throat and watching the life drain from your beautiful eyes.” He was breathing hard, and his cock twitched where it was pressed between us. A little more, and he might lose his fucking mind and kill me right here on the spot.

“That’s a lot of emotion for a man who pretends he doesn’t care.”

“You fucking bitch,” he snarled then bit the spot between my neck and shoulder hard enough that the pain made stars burstbehind my eyes. I’d never felt pain like this—sharp, sensual, and personal.

Fuck, he hated me. Was it because of Arabella, or was it because Warren had transplanted me here and not given him a choice?

Saint shuddered and warmth bloomed up my back only to slide back down again to drip and plop at our feet.

Had he come on me while talking about murdering me? Holy shit, this guy was fucked up.

I whimpered, my mind having latched on to the visual of him stabbing me and fucking the hole. The subtle slide of his cock against my spine as it finished emptying made me grit my teeth in revulsion, but worse—so much worse—I was weirdly, humiliatingly, turned on.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

What the fuck was wrong with us?

He pulled away from me and let go of my hair. I couldn’t say when he had let go of my neck, but his hand wasn’t there anymore. I felt like I should speak, but both of us had gone silent. Maybe that was for the best. The last thing I wanted to do was acknowledge what had just happened between us.

If I ever got to go back to the real world, I was going to need a decade of therapy.

Humiliated, I washed and conditioned my hair and got out. He wasn’t far behind me, and didn’t say a word as we toweled off.

“Go find Lucky and stay out of trouble.”

He shoved me out of the bathroom and shut the door so quickly I almost fell. What the fuck? Irritable and upset, I padded through the hall to the living room.

I hated that man. He’d been talking about murdering me and we’d both gotten off on it? What in the actual fuck? I couldn’t believe he was so unfazed by what had happened that he wasgoing to ignore the whole thing and move his bowels. Men and their stupid regular bodily functions.

Chapter 15

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