Consumed By Him (Obsessed With Him, Book Three)

Consumed By Him
 
(Obsessed With Him, Book Three)

By Hannah Ford

Copyright 2015 Hannah Ford, all rights
reserved.
 
This book is a work of
fiction, and any resemblance to any places or persons is entirely coincidental.

**

Colt looked at me incredulously.
 
“How old you are you?” he demanded.

“Twenty,” I said, hoping I sounded
haughty.
 
“How old are you?”

“Old enough to know that at twenty, you
have no idea who you’re going to marry.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“So you
can forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget about me finding some asshole you
have some crazy crush on.
 
Let me
guess.
 
He dumped you.
 
And now you’re obsessed with him and
think if you can just see him again, he’ll realize what he’s missing.
 
Like your life is some kind of fucking
romantic comedy.”

“What?” I asked.
 
“No!
 
He didn’t dump me.”
 
I was pissed.
 
Pissed that Colt was acting like I was some kind of silly schoolgirl trying
to stalk some guy who had no interest in her.
 
“Declan was my foster brother.”

Colt raised his eyebrows.
 
“Jesus,” he said.
 
“You think you’re going to marry your
brother?”

“No!
 
He’s not…we’re not related.
 
He’s my foster brother.
 
Well, was my foster brother.”
 
I expected Colt to give me a sad look, or say something
sympathetic, the way people always did when they found out I’d been in foster
care.
 
But Colt just held his hands
up and took a few steps away from me, like maybe my crazy was contagious.

“Hey,” he said.
 
“What you do on your own time…”

“You know what?” I said.
 
“You can go fuck yourself.”
 
I turned around and headed for the
door.
 
I didn’t need this.
 
He needed help from me, too.
 
He should have been kissing my ass, but
instead, he was mocking me.
 
And if
I wanted to be ridiculed, I could get that any day of the week, just by
interacting with society.

“Okay, okay,” Colt said, reaching out and
grabbing my arm.
 
“Wait.
 
I’ll help you find Deacon.”

“Declan.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine.”
 
I crossed my arms over my chest.
 
“And what do I have to do for you?”

“Whatever I want,” he said, his voice a
mix of husky and cocky.
 
He took a
step toward me.
 
“Are you okay with
that?”

“Bring it,” I said, forcing myself to
meet his gaze.
 

“Good.”
 
He looked at me.
 
“The first thing we have to do is get you an outfit.”

“An outfit?”

“Yeah.
 
You’re going to be working here.”

“Oh.”
 
I twisted my hands nervously, hoping he couldn’t tell how
anxious I was.
 
“I’m going to be
stripping?”

This seemed to amuse him. “Are you
serious?” he asked.
 
“You really
think I would hire you as a stripper after that audition?”

“What was wrong with my audition?”
 
I countered, even though of course I
knew what was wrong with my audition.
 

“You ran out in the middle of it.”

            
‚ÄúJust because I didn‚Äôt want to get naked for you, doesn‚Äôt mean –‚Äù

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to get naked
in front of the guys out there?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Trust
me.
 
If you can’t get naked for me,
you can’t get naked for them.
 
And
besides, you
did
want to get naked
for me.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.
 
“Then why didn’t I?”

“Because you were afraid.”

“Afraid?” I repeated
 
“Afraid of what?”

“I don’t know.”
 
He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I wasn’t afraid.”
 
I swallowed and crossed my arms over my
chest. “I’m in love with someone else, is all.”

“Mmm.
 
Deacon.”

“Declan!”

“Right.
 
The guy you need me to help you to find, because you have no
idea where he is.”

“Yes,” I said.
 
“But that’s not my fault.”

“What isn’t?”

“That I don’t know where he is.
 
Once we aged out of foster care, it was
impossible to keep track of him.”

He raised his eyebrows at me.
 
“In this day and age of facebook and skype
and cell phones, it was impossible to keep track of him?”

“I don’t have a cell phone,” I said.
 
“Or a computer.”

“You don’t have a cell phone or a
computer?”

I shook my head.
 
“Sorry if that offends your privileged
white boy sensibilities.”

“Nothing offends me,” Colt said.
 
He reached over and pushed a button on
the phone that was sitting on the desk in the corner.
 
After a second, a girls’ voice answered.
 
“Jessa,” he said.
 
“Can you bring me a waitress uniform?”

“Sure,” she said.
 
“What size?”

Colt’s eyes racked up my body, taking in
my legs, my hips, my breasts.
 
“What’s
your dress size?” he asked.

“Six.”

“And your bra size?”

I swallowed.
 
“36C.”

He grinned, and relayed the information
to the girl on the phone.
 

“So I’m going to be a waitress?” I
asked.
 
I could definitely handle
that.
 
Being a waitress sounded
like it wouldn’t be that hard.
 
I
imagined myself bustling through the tables, serving food and drinks, making
conversation with the customers.

“Cocktail waitress,” Colt said.
 
“Have you ever waitressed before?”

I shook my head.
 
“But one of my foster families had ten
kids, and I was the oldest, so I served a lot of meals.
 
It was kind of like being a waitress.”

“Trust me,” Colt said.
 
“Our customers are not kids.
 
They’re men looking for a certain kind
of service.
 
Do you know what that
means?”

“It means they want me to have sex with
them?”

“No.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Well, yes, maybe.
 
But most
of all they want you to make them feel special.”

There was a knock on the door, and the
bartender, the one who had answered the phone when I’d called about the
audition, came walking into the room holding a plastic dry cleaner bag.

“Jessa,” Colt said.
 
“Have you met Olivia?”

“Yes,” I said at the same time Jessa
said, “No.”

“We met earlier,” I reminded her. “Remember?”

She shrugged.
 
“Colt,” she said.
 
“Are you going to have time later to go over the vendor orders with me?”
 

“Yeah,” he said.
 
“I’ll catch you on the way out.”

She gave him a smile, and I saw a flash
of something in her blue eyes before she turned and walked out the door.
 
He’s
mine.
 
She wanted me to know
that Colt was off-limits.
 
Were Colt
and Jessa together?
 
Was that why
she had been so rude to me earlier?
 
 

“Here you go, Princess,” Colt held the
bag out to me.
 
“Try it on.”

I took it.
 
“Where should I change?”

“Here.”

“In front of you?”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

I hesitated, and he rolled his eyes.
 
“You can change over there, behind the
screen.”
 
He pointed to the corner
of the room, where there was a room divider set up.
 
It was cream-colored, with a red and blue abstract design
printed on it.

I took a deep breath and slid behind it,
then pulled the plastic bag off the uniform and studied it.
 
It was a short pleated black skirt with
a black push-up bustier with spaghetti straps.
 
There was a tiny black thong to wear underneath it.
 
It was revealing, but not anything
worse than you’d see out in a club.

I slid out of the clothes Colt had given
me and into the uniform.
 
Even
without a mirror, I could tell it was way too small.
 
The waist was fine, but the skirt was so short that bottom
of my ass was hanging out.
 
My
breasts were pushed together and practically falling out of the top.
 
There was a cut out in the top of the
bustier, and it tied in the middle, holding your breasts together.

“Colt?” I called.
 
“My uniform is too small.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Let.
 
Me.
 
See.”

“No.”

But he appeared a second later, sticking his
head around the side of the partition, taking me in.
 
I tried to cross my arms over my chest, but that only served
to push my breasts together more.

“Jesus,” he said when he saw me.
 

 
“I told you it was too small.”

 
“No,” he said.
 
“It’s
perfect.”

“It’s not.
 
My chest can’t fit in the top and the skirt is way too
short.”

Colt reached out and slowly, deliberately,
grabbed my arms and pulled my hands down from where I was covering my breasts so
that he could see me.
 
My breath
hitched as he stood there, so tall he was almost towering over me, staring down
at my tits.

I saw the desire searing in his eyes.

“You’re not wearing it right,” he
said.
 
“You need to tie it tight in
the middle.”
 
He reached up to undo
the strips of material, but I grabbed his hands and stopped him.

“Don’t,” I said.
 
“I can do it.”

But he just gave me that cocky grin
again, then moved my hands from where they were grasping his and pulled them back
down to my sides.
 
“Don’t argue
with your boss, Princess,” he said.
 

He let go of my hands and his fingers
slid up my bare arms, leaving goose bumps all over me and sending a shiver up
my spine.
 
He caressed me all the
way up to my shoulders, then slid his hands down over my chest and untied my
uniform.
 
For a terrifying,
amazing, exhilarating moment I thought he was going to take the top off
completely, untie the whole thing, giving him a full view of my breasts.
 
But he didn’t.

Instead, he just untied the strips of
fabric, then pulled them tight before tying them back together.

“Turn around,” he demanded.

I turned around, and felt his hands on my
hips, adjusting my skirt, pulling it down just a tiny bit on my hip bones.
 
With it pulled down like that, the
skirt covered my ass cheeks a bit more, but I still felt exposed, especially in
the tiny thong.
 
And with the way
he’d tied my shirt, it hitched up a bit, leaving a strip of my stomach bare.

“I can’t wear this,” I said.
 
“I can’t… I mean, I wouldn’t…” I wanted
to tell him there was no way I could ever be seen in public in something like
this.
 
I was stupid to ever think I
could be a stripper, stupid to think I could ever be sexy.
 
I thought it would be easy, that I
could just disconnect from my body and not have to worry about the men staring
at me.
 
What I didn’t stop to think
about was how
I
would feel about
myself, how I would feel about showing my body, about being arrogant enough to
think that anyone would want to see it.