Page 99 of Crushing Clover

School was so much further away now than it had been.

Sighing, I closed my eyes.

It was hard to focus on sorting out my uncertain future with thoughts of the night before like the hottest fucking porn replaying in my head.

I’d watched shamelessly.

Lucky had reached for me, twining our fingers.

Rush had pulled my hair, tugging me close to steal a clandestine kiss when no one was looking.

And Saint? I’d caught him watching me watch him. He’d moved differently. He’d put on a show.

Eventually they were going to pull me into that hot, writhing tangle on the bed.

Fuck, I was ready.

I fell back against the couch, and scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to banish the recurring intrusive thoughts.

Watching was fun—all that naked skin, all those hands and cocks and mouths—but there was also something terrifying about the possibility of being the center of all of that attention. Even when I closed my eyes, I could hear the moans and gasps as they enjoyed each other while I sat watching. They didn’t seem to care anymore that I was openly gawking. Lucky and Rush had been showing off for me, their captive voyeur, since the beginning, and even trying to include me. And now Saint was caving.

I reopened my book and searched for where I’d left off. In my mind’s ears—if that was a thing—I heard Lucky’s sound of distressed pleasure. It was the one he made every time he came from being fucked in the ass. So fucking hot.

I strained my ears, listening for footsteps, but all I could hear was the clatter and hum of the kitchen down the hall. At one point, I’d worried Saint might install a camera in the office to keep an eye on me, but since Lucky was mostly not using me during breaks, there hadn’t been much to see…unless Saint had a kink for watching me read, crochet, and watch movies.

No. He was too busy in the kitchen to give me a second thought.

Closing my eyes, I thought of Lucky whimpering. I was obsessed with that sound. The other two weren’t shy about making noise either. Their groans and unguarded expressions, and the way they enjoyed each other, was so much hotter than stoicism.

Keeping a careful eye on the door, I slid my fingers into my underwear, trying not to pull up my skirt too high in case someone walked in. I thought of the three of them together—the tanned muscle and strong hands. They weren’t gentle but they also weren’t so violent that Lucky didn’t get to enjoy himself. It was nothing like the rough use I got later, in the dark of the night—the hand over my mouth, the hard thrusts, the nearly silent gasps.

I ran my finger lightly over my clit, making myself shiver and squirm.

Sometimes I was so turned on from watching them that mini-orgasms spasmed through me without any help.

Maybe someday Saint would fuck me in the light, and face-up so I could see him enjoying my body. I could almost imagine his sigh of pleasure as he sank into me—the way his dark eyes would become hooded, the parting of his lips.

I tried to silence the small mewl that escaped me.

What were the chances they’d hear me over the din of the kitchen anyway? I could probably edge myself until I screamed and they would never hear a sound.

Fuck, how was I already so turned on? My life was so much about sex now it felt like an orgasm was always building, twisting inside my lower stomach until it cramped. Hell, I could get myself off in here every night. Saint never had to know.

Maybe he wouldn’t even be angry. He was looking at me differently lately. He was still a dick, but I suspected he liked me, at least a little. I was a person, instead of the spectre of his ex-girlfriend.

I was out of practice, but my fingers remembered what to do, making me sigh with the building, anticipated pleasure. I settled in and tried to focus on one of my old fantasies, but one I’d thought about for so many years wasn’t doing anything for me tonight. The scenario of me blowing my old science teacher under his desk while people met with him to discuss their marks or the upcoming staff meeting had lost its allure.

My mind scrambled around, trying to find a different source of inspiration, but the fear of Saint walking in and catching me kept me focussed on the door. I tried to let myself enjoy this, but the harder I pushed away thoughts of Saint’s angry face, the harder the thought rebounded.

So what? What would he do if he walked in and caught me?

Ugh.

I would be in so much trouble.

He would storm in, and his dark eyes would flash with anger. The way he glared made me feel small and vulnerable. He really hated the thought of me finding pleasure.

But why? I tried to be good.

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