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.