Page 76 of Crushing Clover

“You’re not going anywhere until you do a better job with the baseboards,” Saint snapped, materializing as if out of nowhere.

I startled so hard that water sloshed out of the bucket. “I already cleaned the baseboards. Those scuffs won’t come off.”

“Get them off, or you’ll be scrubbing them with your toothbrush next.”

“Lucky and Rush might object to that, since they kiss me.”

He grunted. As I inspected the scuffs he’d objected to, wondering how to remove them, he dumped his stupid black boots next to me, getting dust on my clean floor.

“Polish these when you’re done.”

“I polished them three days ago.”

“They’re dusty again.”

I pasted on my sweetest smile. “If you stopped wearing them outside, they’d stop getting dusty.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Do a good job this time, or you’ll be cleaning them with your tongue.”

“Why do you have such a weird obsession with my mouth today?”

He snapped his fingers over his shoulder. “Lucky, get me the girl’s gag.”

“I’ll gag her with something more interesting, if you’d like.”

“Not this time. She needs to get some fucking work done. Lazy cunt.”

Lucky got up and left the room, following orders like he usually did, even if he didn’t agree.

I spat on one of Saint John’s boots and rage filled his face right before I started rubbing it off with a clean cloth I’d had tucked into my pocket.

“What? Spit shining is an effective way to clean leather.”

He crouched down and grabbed me by the hair, giving me a half-hearted shake. “You think you’re funny?”

“No, Saint.” Despite my words, I couldn’t keep the hint of amusement from my eyes. Why pissing him off made me laugh sometimes, I had no idea. Maybe I had a death wish?

He forced my face down until my nose was almost touching the boot I’d spat on. “Clean them.”

“I am!” I protested, trying to pry his hand from my hair.

“Tongue out. Now.” He gave me a shake.

Where the fuck were Lucky and Rush?

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Do it now or we’ll be dropping you off at Warren’s today.”

His words were chilling, but even so, I weighed my options. If I kept letting him steamroll me, where would it end? I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life subjected to worsening humiliations.

He got down behind me, fist tightening in my hair, vile threats on his tongue. Something in my brain buzzed, making my breathing choppy.

“Please, Saint. I don’t want to.” My brain scrambled for my safeword, but I hesitated to use it. Would it make matters with him worse?

“Of course you don’t. That’s exactly why I’m insisting on it.” He sounded so grimly pleased with himself I was struggling to stay angry and not get turned on.

Why, brain, why?

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