Page 91 of Crushing Clover

The tension in me tightened like an elastic band twisted too far, then too far again, and then I made a pitiful, needy sound.

“Oh shit,” he whispered breathlessly in my ear. “Oh fuck.”

He covered my back with his chest, hips flexing, hitting an interesting angle that sent me plunging over the edge. My whine of complaint turned into a silent cry of release. I resented the orgasm I hadn’t wanted, but was helpless to stop the pleasure fluttering through me, despite the sharp ache of too much use. He gasped, his fingers digging into my skin as they convulsed. His last few thrusts were erratic and wild, and his groan of bliss made me melt. He bit my shoulder where Saint had, and I couldn’t do anything except close my eyes against the terrible, lovely torture of it.

His soft kisses along the side of my face made me sigh with happiness as his cock twitched inside me. My pussy shuddered around him, and he gasped, pushing deeper, still not limp yet.

When he finally pulled out, he held a finger to his lips to silence me. Far more polite than putting his hand over my mouth.

He tucked his still partially hard cock away despite it glistening with enough cum to make it look shellacked. As soon as he adjusted his shirt, he flipped me over on the couch, putting me in a sitting position as I struggled to catch my breath. He tossed my underwear to me and the door burst open. I had only enough time to ball them in my fist before Saint strode back in.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Luckface? Rush needs a hand.”

“I was making sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all you were doing,” he said sardonically. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, we have a restaurant to run, remember?”

“Yes, Saint,” he said, rather than voice the retort I could tell was hovering.

“You may not be at the bottom of the food chain anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can start mouthing off.”

“No, Saint.”

Lucky left the room without giving me a backward glance, which was probably for the best, considering we’d probably give ourselves away. My orgasm was still treating me to aftershocks that stole my breath.

I thought Saint would follow him out, but he lingered in the doorway, clutching the doorknob. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you have a permanent place in our household. As soon as we pay off the debt, you’re fucking history.”

“Yes, Saint,” I said quietly. His rejection wasn’t unexpected, so why did I want to cry?

It was hard to maintain a professional detachment from them. Even though they were a little evil, Lucky and Rush also made me giddy. And Saint? I should hate him, but I wanted to unravel the anger and hurt I could see in him, and bring a bit of sunshine to his tense, miserable life.

On top of all that, the uncertainty of my future made me sick to my stomach. I needed to change Saint’s mind before I ended up somewhere terrible, but how was I supposed to help him get past the fact that he hated the sight of my face?

When I didn’t say anything else, he nodded to himself and left, closing the door behind him. I put my underwear back on, wishing I could sneak off to the bathroom to clean up. If I didn’t get a UTI at this rate, it was going to be a miracle. But that was a problem for another day.

Saint

Warren wasn’t home.

Small mercies, and all that.

I left the envelope of money on his desk and wrote my name on it so he’d know it was from me. So much money passed through this office that leaving it unmarked wasn’t an option.

Four more payments and we’d be free.

Free of my father.

Free of the girl.

I climbed the stairs to my old room for the first time in a few years and was unsurprised to find it completely changed. In place of my tasteful bedroom furniture and school awards, there was a guest bed and dresser, as well as vague modern art that didn’t make me feel anything.

Lucky’s parents hadn’t touched his room after he moved out. There were probably still a few old joints hidden in the space under his bottom dresser drawer. The old posters were still on the wall.

Here, I’d been erased the moment I’d walked out. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made me jealous of the family Lucky had. They were my family now too, sort of, but even the most affectionate in-laws couldn’t erase the feeling of not having your own people. My father wasn’t family; he didn’t have tender feelings for anyone, let alone for me.

Fucking sociopath.

“Can I help you, Mister Saint John?” Mr. Fisk asked, appearing behind me. His tone was formal, but there was a bit of warmth there, hidden underneath. He’d always been kind to me when my father wasn’t around to notice.

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