The Obsessed With Him Series: Complete Box Set (A Bad Boy Romance) (17 page)

“I can’t remember the last time I went out to breakfast,” I said.

“Brunch,” Colt said, glancing up from his menu.

“What?”

“Nobody calls it breakfast anymore, Princess. You’re on the East Side now. They call it brunch.” He reached into the wire basket that was sitting on the table and pulled out a cranberry muffin, split it in half and buttered it before placing one half on my plate. “Eat.”

“Bossy,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to defy him. So I picked it the muffin and took a bite. Holy crap, it was good. “This is the best muffin I’ve ever had,” I admitted.

Colt nodded in satisfaction.

When the waiter came back, Colt ordered for both of us – omelets with bacon and cheddar, sweet potato pancakes, bacon, sausage, and an order of biscuits with gravy.

“That’s way too much food,” I protested once the waiter was gone.

“You need to eat. You need to heal.” Colt nodded toward my wrists. There was a touch of something in his voice, a hint of that same emotion he’d had last night. I took a sip of my orange juice and tried to calm my heart, which had started to pound my chest.

“Olivia,” Colt said.

“Colt,” I said back, trying to put a teasing tone in my voice, trying to stop him from saying whatever it was he was about to say. I wanted to connect with him, but I afraid it was going to be about us, about what happened last night. I wasn’t ready yet for this little fantasy world to end. So I tried to cut him off at the pass. “When are you going to talk to your uncle?”

“I already talked to him.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair, my hands clutching the napkin in my lap. “When?”

“This morning.”

The waiter returned then with two tall narrow glasses filled with something cool and pink. “Strawberry pineapple smoothies,” he said, setting them down on the table. “Compliments of the chef.”

“Thanks, George,” Colt said. “Tell Zander I appreciate it.”

They made small talk for a few moments, and I clutched my napkin tighter in the lap.

“George, this is Olivia,” Colt said.

“Nice to meet you,” George said, nodding at me. He didn’t seem like he thought it was strange to see Colt here with a girl, and I wondered how many other girls Colt had brought here for breakfast after a night together. Ten, twenty, a hundred?

But I couldn’t think about that now.

Once George was gone, I immediately turned to Colt.

“What did he say?” I demanded.

“Who?”

“Your uncle! What did he say when you told him what you wanted to do?”

“He said okay.” Colt shrugged, then pushed my smoothie toward me. “Drink.”

I took a sip to appease him, because I knew he wouldn’t shut up about it unless I did. “So that’s it?”

He nodded.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “You don’t seem that happy.”

George the waiter appeared at our table again, this time setting plate after plate of food down in front of us, biscuits and pancakes and omelets and sausage and bacon.

“So why aren’t you happy?” I demanded once George was gone.

“Who said I wasn’t happy?” Colt reached for the syrup and drowned his pancakes in it, then cut a piece and began to eat.

“Well, you’re not smiling. You’re not
acting
like someone who’s happy.” He sighed, then set his fork down and reached into his wallet, pulling out a crumpled up business card. He slid it across the table toward me.

“What is that?”

“Caleb’s card.”

“Caleb’s…” I reached over and picked it up off the table. Sure enough, it was the card Caleb had given me. “Where did you get this?”

“I picked it up off the ground yesterday when I found you outside Declan’s house.”

I stared down at the card. Caleb’s information was embossed on heavy cream-colored stock, the letters raised slightly in a deep and foreboding navy blue. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because,” Colt said, his voice serious. “Olivia, I want you to work with the FBI.”

I
stared
at Colt across the table of the restaurant, searching his face for any sign he might be joking or that maybe I’d misunderstood what he was saying. But from what I could tell, he was completely serious.

“What are you talking about?” I set my fork and knife down. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. Caleb’s card sat there on the table between us, but I refused to pick it up – I felt like if I did, I’d be somehow admitting that I agreed with Colt’s crazy request for me to work with the FBI, which I was most definitely
not
going to do.

“Olivia, there’s no reason for you to go down with me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said slowly, and now my heart was pounding. “You said that you talked to your uncle, you said that he said okay.”

“It’s true,” Colt said. “My uncle agreed that I could buy him out. He’s going to let me buy his part of the business and be the sole owner of Loose Cannons. But that doesn’t mean that the FBI is going to stop digging around.” His eyes were dark and burning, and I didn’t like the look he was giving me. It was grave and somber with just a touch of regret, the kind of look people gave when they were going to tell you something you didn’t want to hear, and when they knew you already suspected what it was they were about to say.

I knew that look. I’d seen it on the faces of countless social workers and foster parents. I hated that Colt was now the one giving it to me. I used to be so annoyed by the cocky self-assured look that was always pasted on his face, but right now I missed it.

“No,” I said. “No. The FBI will stop. Once there’s nothing going on, once you’ve—”

“Olivia,” Colt said, cutting me off. He reached across the table and put his hand on top of mine. “You know it’s not that simple.”

I wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that of course it was that simple, that as long as he just put a stop to whatever was going on at Loose Cannons, that everything would be okay. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t true.

“Why not?” I demanded anyway.

“Because it’s just not.” He sighed. “Look, for you to ruin your life? Over me. I’m not…” He trailed off and I knew what he was going to say. He was going to say he wasn’t worth it, that he wasn’t worth me going down in flames for him. I started to protest, but a look of steely determination overtook his face.

“I won’t allow it.”

“And what if I don’t agree?”

His hand tightened around his water glass. “You will.”

“No.” I shook my head and took my hand from under his, crossed my arms over my chest like a spoiled child who was about to have a tantrum. “I’m not working with the FBI.”

“Olivia,” he said, and now an edge was starting to creep into his voice, a sharp edge that made me realize he wasn’t messing around. And yet I wasn’t going to back down. Now that I’d had a taste of what it felt like to speak my feelings, to not try to dull everything by cutting myself, I wanted more of it. I was feeling things, real things, for the first time, and it was making me high.

“No,” I said. “I’m not doing it. If you want to help the FBI, then you help them.”

“You’re acting ridiculous,” Colt said, raising his voice a little. “Do you have any idea what you’re messing with here, Olivia? This isn’t shoplifting at the Rite Aid one day after school, the kind of thing you can weasel your way out of. This is the fucking FBI.”

My mouth went dry and I felt the first shards of fear pricking at the back of my neck. “I’m not a snitch.”

“Jesus,” Colt said, and now he was really angry. So angry he slammed the glass of water he was holding down on the table loud enough to make me jump. There were a couple of older women sitting over by the other window, and they glanced up from their menus and over at us.

“Be quiet,” I said. “People are starting to look.”

“You think I give a shit?” Colt shook his head and then he was up and out of his chair, taking me by the hand and pulling me up and out of my seat, being careful not to touch the cuts on my wrists.

“What are you doing?” I protested as he led me to the back of the restaurant, down a hallway and into the men’s room, shutting the door behind him. “Are you
insane?”
I tried to push by him, but he stood in front of me, blocking my path.

He leaned against the door. “No.” His eyes were blazing, smoldering with that same storm from last night, only now the intention behind it was something darker. This time, the storm seemed more controlled, and there was something more dangerous about it, like a hurricane hell bent on getting its way.

“Colt, get out of my way. We are not having this conversation in a men’s room.” I reached around him for the doorknob, but he grabbed my forearm and used my body’s own momentum to pull me toward him until I was crushed against his broad chest.

I opened my mouth to protest, but as soon as I did, my eyes locked on his. He was so close his lips were almost brushing mine.

“You will do what I say,” he said, and his hands tightened around me and I could smell the clean scent of his shampoo and the faint notes of his cologne and my knees went weak.

“Do. You. Understand.” His voice was deep and husky, and I watched his eyes as the desire burned bright and hard in his irises. I faltered a little, feeling my resolve weaken.

“Colt,” I pleaded, but he silenced me with a kiss, soft at first and then more insistent, his mouth locking onto mine, his hands moving up under the back of my shirt as he held me to him, not letting me move.

When he pulled back, he put his other hand on the back of my neck and stared into my eyes. “Listen to me, Olivia. You will do what I say.”

My desire to stand firm, to not give him what he wanted, battled with my desire for him, for his hands on my body. Already just from his kiss I could feel my veins scorching from the inside out, could feel myself getting wet between my legs.

I was dizzy and loopy and I couldn’t think straight. I tried to take a step back from him but he wouldn’t let me. His hand was still on the back of my neck, under my hair, rubbing softly as his other hand held my back firmly, holding me against him, unable to escape.

“Colt,” I moaned. I tipped my head back and his lips found the hollow of my throat, kissing right over my pulse point.

“Olivia,” he whispered. “My God, Olivia, you are so fucking beautiful.” He was pulling my shirt off then, and I didn’t even care, didn’t even care that we were in the bathroom and anyone could come in, that we’d just left our table out there, empty, and the waiter might wonder where we were. All I cared about in that moment was him, his touch, his kiss, his hands on me.

“Jesus,” he groaned, and then he was unbuttoning my pants, and his hands dipped underneath in the back, squeezing my ass.

My resolve was completely gone, any prayer I had of being able to say no to him decimated. He was in control of me and my body, and he pulled me close and kissed me hard, the two of us moaning into each other’s mouths. When he finally released me, he took a step back, then licked his bottom lip and let his eyes snake up my body.

He was breathing hard, but his body language was very controlled.

Goosebumps broke out all over me as he took me in, standing there with just my bra on top, my nipples erect, my pants shoved down over my ass. I suddenly felt shy. I went to cover myself, but Colt shook his head.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He stripped off his shirt and then pressed his body back to mine, taking his hand and putting it on my cheek, tipping my chin up so when he was talking, he was talking right against my mouth. His finger traced my nipple through my bra. “You are mine. Do you understand?”

I nodded, even though I didn’t understand. What did that mean, that I was his? Did he mean that he wanted us to be together, to be a couple? Or did he mean he owned my body, that he was going to do whatever he wanted to me sexually? I wanted both.

He turned me around so I was facing myself in the mirror.

He ran his hands up over my sides, his reflection grinning at me devilishly as he squeezed my tits through my bra. He tugged my pants off, and I lifted my feet out of my jeans obediently. I was standing there in just my bra and panties now, and suddenly a rush of air from the vent above us brushed my skin, causing me to shiver.

Colt reached down and took my hand, slipped the hair tie I was wearing off my wrist and pulled my hair back. His hands brushed against my shoulders so gently, and then he was gathering my hair into a ponytail and slipping the elastic around it.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered into my ear.

I nodded.

“Put your hands on the counter.”

I walked forward and put my hands on the counter, and then he was behind me, his hands on my hips, guiding me toward him. He reached down and grabbed my chin, twisted it back until his mouth met mine and he kissed me again, hard and deep.

“Look at yourself,” he said, and pushed my head back toward the mirror. My breath sucked in at the image in the mirror in front of me. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and Colt’s hands were twisting the strands tightly. His other hand was on my hip. “Look at how fucking bad you want to fuck.”

I moaned and he kissed me again, hungrily, and when he stopped, he reached down and tugged the cups of my bra down until my tits spilled out, my nipples hard and erect.

Then he straightened up, and I started to go with him, wanted to feel his body back on mine, the warmth of him on top of me. I was shivery, almost feverish, burning from the inside out as a scorching ache settled in between my legs.

“No, baby.” He put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down toward the counter. “Hold onto the counter.” His voice was deep, coming from that feral, wild place inside of him that I could tell was about to take over.

I gripped the counter, the marble cold under my fingers. Colt’s hands held me steady for a moment, gripping my shoulders before his nails scraped gently down my back, not enough to hurt, just enough to let me know he was in control.

His right hand stopped on the small of my back, holding me steady as his other hand pushed my panties to the side and exposed my pussy to him.

“Shit,” he groaned. “Look at that tight little pussy.” His index finger slid up my opening and then pushed into me, stretching me around him. His fingertip curled up inside of me and I gasped and tried to push into him, but he slapped my ass and held me steady.

“Stop,” he groaned. “Don’t move.”

I whimpered.

“I’m going to fuck you now, harder than I’ve ever fucked you before. Do you understand?”

I nodded and closed my eyes.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”
I could hear him behind me, undoing his pants and then the head of his cock was at the entrance of my pussy. He took his dick in his hand and rubbed it over my hole, over my clit, spreading my pussy out around his shaft without entering me.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned and then he pushed into me and I still wasn’t used to how thick he was, how hard his cock got, the full feeling he caused inside of me.

And then he was fucking me, just like he said he was going to, and I was gripping the counter tight because I needed to brace myself as he thrust his hips into me, working out whatever emotional pain he was feeling on my body.

He held my hip with one hand, his other still on the small of my back, holding me steady as he pushed into me.

“Fuck me,” I moaned, shocked at the words escaping my lips.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes.” He was pushing into me harder and faster, pulling his dick all the way out before thrusting it back inside of me.

“Open your eyes,” Colt commanded.

I opened my eyes, watching as he pumped into me, watching my tits bounce in the mirror, watched as he grabbed my ponytail for leverage and began pounding me harder.

“Colt,” I moaned. “Oh, my God, Colt.”

He fucked me harder and faster, over and over, his dick opening me to him as he claimed my body.

Finally, he pulled out of my completely, then, picked me up and set me down on the counter, turning me around toward him before entering me again immediately.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he put one hand on the mirror behind me, the other on my tailbone as he fucked me harder and harder, and then we were both coming at the same time, our bodies exploding as I felt him shoot a load inside of me, warming me, shot after shot of his seed coating my inside.

When he was finished, he stayed inside of me, pulled me closed, scooting my ass forward on the counter I until was flush against him.

“Olivia,” he whispered, and he was brushing my hair back from my face, pushing the strands off my forehead. Now that he’d had his release, his tone was tender, his voice filled with emotion. “Olivia, baby, you have to trust me.”

“Colt,” I pleaded. “Please, I don’t …” I trailed off and closed my eyes, but his hands were on my face, one on each side, and he tipped my lips up to his and kissed me.

“No,” he said. “Olivia, you have to trust me. You have to.”

I felt the tears welling up against the back of my eyes, because I knew what he was really asking when he was telling me to trust him. He was telling me that I needed to work with the FBI, that I needed to turn on him.

“I…” I started, but he pulled me to him and silenced me with another kiss.

“Olivia. You need to trust me. I need to protect you.”

I could hear it in his voice, how badly he wanted it, how much he needed me to agree. And so I nodded. As much as I didn’t want to, I would have done anything he’d asked of me then, would have done anything he required.

I couldn’t deny it any longer.

It made no sense, it was crazy and insane and defied all logic.

But I was in love with Colt Cannon.

W
e returned
to our table and finished the rest of our breakfast. Now that Colt had gotten me to agree to what he wanted, his mood had lightened considerably, and the moody broodiness was gone.

He was attentive at breakfast, talking and laughing, taking time to reach under the table to rub my knee or take my hand and pull it to his mouth and kiss my palm.