Page 78 of Crushing Clover

“You should hate this, but your pussy is dripping for me.” He sank two fingers into me with an impatient shove, and I gave a helpless sound of denial.

No, this wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a man who would treat me right and respect me.

This was so wrong. Maybe that was why it was so hot?

My ability to be introspective right then was fleeting, replaced with the wriggle and twist of my hips as my body struggled to accept the invasion of his fingers.

“You get fucked so often there’s no reason for you to be this tight.” He didn’t sound as disapproving as his words might suggest. “Quit whining about two fingers. You’re so wet you should be able to take four.”

My mouth was crushed against his boot, and I sobbed against the leather, trying to angle my hips the right way to make his fingers less uncomfortable.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “This ass is so fucking unbelievable. How can you still be so distracting? You should be boring by now.” He spanked me with his hand, and I breathed in the scent of leather under my cheek.

The fingers worked their way in and out of me, spreading every time they were inside, loosening me up. He wasn’t really going to fuck me though, was he?

“Did I tell you to stop?” he rasped.

“No, Saint.” I gave his boot another cursory lick, but I was hyperventilating. I tried to calm the wild thundering of my heart, but it wouldn’t listen to me. This felt taboo, like a secret, but here we were in the middle of the main room, out in the open where the others might walk in and see.

He pulled his fingers from my pussy, and I wasn’t happy about it until he tugged down my panties, and I was made graphically aware of the delicious hardness of his erection. I froze in place, wanting it, but knowing better than to take charge. If this was going to happen, I wasn’t taking responsibility for it. This would be his decision, not mine.

When he pushed into me, it was so very slowly I thought he would change his mind and pull out again, but he didn’t stop until he was lodged deep inside me. He held still, his big cock throbbing, my heart doing the same.

He made a rumbling, satisfied sound—as if he was exactly where he was supposed to be—and it made me whimper with need.

“Such an impatient little thing,” he whispered. “You need to wait.”

Fuck—this man had been making me wait for weeks! It was hard to convince my body to be patient. What if he changed his mind, pulled out, and walked away to find Lucky?

Without warning, he stretched the hand covering my ass and ran his thumb over my back hole, making me gasp and shift, trying to get him away from there. He was gentle, but the pad of his thumb gave me no peace as we stayed there, locked together as deep as I could take him, his thumb tracing circles over the most sensitive, private part of me. I wasn’t a prude, but I hadn’t been touched there much. I whimpered and flinched at the contact, and my embarrassment grew, but I didn’t dare try to crawl away.

“Fuuuck. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.” He chuckled darkly. “What if I pulled out and made you finish your chores?”

As soon as he said it, I was sure that was what he was going to do. I stilled beneath him but couldn’t help the way my body shivered and twitched.

“You’re not used to having your asshole played with. Adorable. I love the way it’s making your pussy massage my cock.”

It didn’t feel adorable. My brain felt like it was melting.

He stirred his hips, and my lips parted at the sensation. If only I could be blasé about it, but my brain knew he was the one who controlled my orgasms, and he had enough dick to make it hurt just right.

“Why is this pussy so good every goddamned time?” he muttered to himself. He withdrew slowly, and pushed back in at the same speed, then pushed so deep I winced. The low growl in his throat sounded so satisfied that I shivered. “Greedy little cunt. You didn’t even realize it was me fucking you, did you? I had the other two accusing each other. I hate how much you make me want this.”

Those times in the middle of the night? Those were Saint?

The hard hand on my mouth, the hard dick in my pussy—those were him? It didn’t seem possible that this wasn’t our first time, but as he picked up the pace, my body remembered him—the feel of him, his scent, the way he moved. I wanted to ask him why he’d kept it a secret, but it had to have been his pride. He probably hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that he was using the gift Warren had given him.

He hadn’t been able to resist. It was a weirdly powerful feeling.

I arched back to meet him, hating myself for wanting him, too.

He grazed his hand over my hip, then trailed down to my pussy, where his index finger found my clit with an accuracy I might have expected from him, if I’d ever thought he’d care to give me pleasure.

Did he realize what he was doing? Did he mean to make this good for me, or was his brain switched off?

His fingers were callused from work, and their roughness was so intense I needed to grit my teeth to stop myself from moaning. My body was greedy for the orgasm his fingers promised. I was all too aware of how close I was to finishing, as though it were a race I could win if I kept my focus. If I didn’t finish fast enough, the opportunity would be gone again.

Eager, focused, I chased my orgasm. He trembled over me, curled around my body, his control starting to slip. His finger vibrated on my clit in exactly the right spot, and I shut my eyes tight, afraid he would finish first. The moment hung, heavy and low in my belly, quivering like a harp string. My orgasm grew, building to a harsh, bitter tension—too tight and aggressive, torture with sweet euphoric undertones.

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