Page 85 of Crushing Clover

What the fuck? Was he really that upset about a bit of teasing?

Or was this about Ran?

I tried to think of anything other than the ache in my knees, but the pain made me clench my jaw. Eventually, sweat broke out along the back of my neck. I didn’t know if he was still in the room, but I had the suspicion he wouldn’t appreciate me peeking over my shoulder to check.

When the alarm rang, he hauled me up roughly by my arm. I was so grateful to be off my knees I didn’t care about the fingertip bruises he was probably leaving.

He turned me toward him. I glanced up into his cold, dark eyes then let my gaze slide to the floor.

“How should this girl speak to me?”

“Respectfully?” I hazarded.

“Respectfully, if you need to speak at all. If we’re in public, you’re forbidden to speak to anyone except us. You seem to keep forgetting that.”

“But not talking to people is weird and suspicious.” Rehashing this argument was getting old.

“You let us worry about that. You can either ignore them or pretend you can’t hear them. Those are the only two options you have, understand?”

“Yes, Saint.”

Still holding my arm, he reached down to brush clinging rice from my knees. “Not fun, is it?”

I shook my head. “No, Saint.”

“That was only five minutes. Next time—if you’re stupid enough to let there be a next time—it’ll be longer.”

“Where did you even get the idea to use that as a punishment? It’s diabolical.”

“It was one of my father’s favorite ways to discipline me as a kid.”

I had the urge to ask how that made him feel about his father, then thought better of it. Saint didn’t give a rat’s ass whether I liked him, so he’d punish me any way he saw fit.

He walked me to the couch and sat down, then pulled me facedown over his lap. As though he did this all the time, he swept up the back of my dress, leaving the skirt fabric draped over my back.

He wasn’t really going to—

The crack of his palm hitting my ass made me gasp. It stung so much I involuntarily kicked my feet in protest.

“If you can’t learn how to speak to me respectfully, you won’t be speaking to anyone else at all. Not even Rush or Lucky.”

The idea of not being permitted to speak at all was terrifying. I couldn’t imagine such a lonely life.

He slapped my ass so many times in a row I was breathless and struggling to blink back tears. My butt felt like it was on fire. For some reason it was worse than the belt—probably because it felt more personal, and less dignified.

Did he really want me to be a quiet little mouse? What kind of man would find that interesting or appealing?

A jerk like Saint, that was who.

Eventually, he stopped, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he’d decided I’d been sufficiently punished, or because he was bored.

He stood me between his knees and brushed down the hem of my dress. I swallowed several times, trying to get the knot in my throat to go away. I hoped he wasn’t expecting me to speak to him because I wasn’t sure I had control of my voice.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

I managed not to sniffle, but my voice still quavered. “I’m sorry for having a smart mouth.”

He stared at me so that I could feel his gaze burning my skin even though I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face.

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