#Swag (GearShark #3) (6 page)

Lorhaven

I got under her skin.

I preferred to be under her clothes.

It seemed so wrong she had the name of a dude, because that body of hers? It was all woman.

I wasn’t a stranger to females, good-looking ones like her. They were practically a dime a dozen on the streets. They showed up at every race, every party. Their clothes were tiny and their morals tinier.

This isn’t the part where I tell you how boring it was.

I liked ass. I liked sex. And I had both. Often.

I didn’t have a problem with an easy lay. I didn’t need the thrill of chasing a girl who played hard to get.

I got my thrills behind the wheel of a car.

Joey didn’t want me. But her body damn sure did. It pissed her off, too. That turned me on. The fact that I could sway her own body against her mind.

The way that had just been proven to her. I saw the defiance in her eyes, felt the fight in the corded muscles of her neck. But her body melted like butter. It slid right up against mine and surrendered to my touch.

If only we’d not been surrounded by people.

If only it had been just her, me, and the hood of my car.

I’d have taken her right there, and it would have been satisfying to hear her scream my name.

I honestly thought she’d refuse more photos. So I made it into a challenge. Truth was I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t done feeling her conform to the shape of my palms.

I saw the flare in her eyes when I spoke, the way my words incited a burning need to prove me wrong.

Bring it on, baby.

The photographer (
I forgot his name.
I didn’t care enough to listen when he told me what it was.) led us to a makeshift-looking building. How they erected it I didn’t know. I didn’t really care about that either.

I got to the door first and pulled it open, stepped back so everyone else could go in first.

The guy with the camera hanging off him stopped abruptly and turned, Emily (the journalist) almost ran right into him. She shrieked and pulled up short, just shy of barreling into his back.

“It’s a tight space,” he said. “Just me and the models, please.”

Forrester and Trent were on either side of Joey, like they planned to go in with her to protect her honor. It irritated me.

“I don’t know,” Drew intoned and stepped forward, he glanced at me with a hard, untrusting look in his eye.

I smiled, letting all my pearly whites show.

“Hey, bro.” I called out to Arrow. He spun around, pink blooming over his cheeks. I glanced around, wondering what the fuck he’d been staring at, but I didn’t see anything.

With a grunt, I pulled my keys out and tossed them through the air. “Watch my car. I might be a while.”

Drew growled.

Trent stepped up, hands at his sides like he was ready to throw down.

Joey rolled her eyes and glanced at them. “I can handle this.”

Trent nodded, but then both men stared at me. Was I supposed to be intimidated?

The photographer was already inside, and Joey breezed past, not even giving me the time of day. Her scent lingered even after she’d moved past. It wasn’t a girly, flowery smell.

Instead, it was sweet and deep… like sugar and spice.

Naughty and nice.

I waved at Drew and Trent before allowing the door to swing shut behind me.

Assholes.

Inside was bright, like so bright my eyes needed to adjust. Goddamn. He must have had a million lights turned on. All of them pointed at a white backdrop, lighting it up like the Fourth of July.

“It’s going to get hot in here because of all the bulbs,” he cautioned, moving around to flip on a few oscillating fans. “We’ll try and get this done quickly so you can get to the interview.”

Joey was standing at the edge of the backdrop, sort of in the shadows of all the lights. I moved up beside her. I thought she would step away, but she didn’t.

Instead, her green eyes caught mine, and she smiled like a cat. “Ready for this?”

“Bring it on.”

“Okay, let’s start out with some basic shots,” the photographer instructed, taking up position on the white-draped floor.

We moved in front of him and followed his instructions as he took what felt like five hundred pictures.

They were boring and basic. They made my hands itch and a very large part of me pissy. And, true to his word, the small square space felt like it was a million degrees.

Enough was enough. I reached out, palmed Joey’s hips, and pulled her into me. Instantly, Joey arched, like a cat. Her narrow waist bowed out, but her neck and shoulders thrust against my upper body.

One of her hands came up and wrapped around the back of my head; her fingers brushed over the nearly buzzed hair at my hairline.

“Oh, that’s good,” the photographer murmured, taking pics.

I delved my hand into the front pocket of her jeans, and she rocked her hip into my hand.

“We need music.” The photographer said and looked away to switch on a portable music source.

Sound filled the space. It was heavy with bass and made my hand pull her arched-out ass to me. I got two seconds of the luscious junk against me before she spun away.

Her eyes beguiled me, eager hands grabbing the open edges of my shirt and yanking. The fabric slid free of my shoulders and bunched low around my elbows, baring my entire upper body.

I arched an eyebrow at her, and her heart-shaped mouth curled upward. The fans blew her hair out around her face and tugged at the tank she wore. I dug my fingers into her waist, enjoying the way it curved in. Her hourglass figure was basically built for my hands.

“Sex sells,” the photographer mumbled, but I barely heard him.

I was too focused on her.

We took a few more photos facing each other, my bare chest against her clothed one, and then the camera stopped clicking.

I glanced around, irritated. Were we done?

I wasn’t done.

Joey still clutched at the front of my shirt, but she released the fabric and smoothed her palms out over my pecs.

“Your skin is smooth,” she murmured, peeking up from beneath a thick, dark lash line.

I lifted a hand, wrapped it around her shoulder, and let the pad of my thumb brush back and forth over her skin.

“I have an idea.” The photographer cut in.

A displeased rumble vibrated my chest. Why was he still here?

Joey pulled her hands and body away, turning toward the man.

“I don’t want to come off as forward. I know you two aren’t a couple…”

“Just say it,” I snapped out.

He swallowed.

Joey gave me a reproachful look. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a dick.”

Amusement as well as full-on horniness filled me as I watched that round ass sashay away. I liked hearing dirty words out of her pretty mouth.

The photographer nodded and focused on her. I saw the desire in his eyes. He thought she was sexy, too. I glanced down at his jeans. If he had a boner, I’d fuck him up right here.

“I want to do something really broken down, simple but at the same time really sexy. I think it would be a big hit with not only the magazine’s demographic, but the audience the NRR is trying to pull in.”

Non-race fans. People who didn’t feel like they belonged anywhere. The NRR wanted to be a home for everyone—especially those who felt like outcasts and underdogs.

“Sounds good,” Joey replied encouragingly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you mind taking off your shirt?”

Oh, hell yeah!
my dick shouted.

I watched her shoulder blades come together. She wasn’t expecting that.

She glanced back at me, almost peeking around the curtain of her fuck-me hair. Seriously. It was all satin and silk. It begged for my hands.

I shrugged.

“Sure,” she said instantly.

Ballsy.

I liked it.

Joey turned, glanced at me, then stripped that white, not see-through-enough tank right over her head. I watched the fabric fall from her fingertips and onto the floor.

After that, I saw nothing else but the way her big, round tits bounced beneath the lace of her bra as she strode back over to where I was.

Most tits that big were fake. Hers were all natural.

I felt my tongue run across my lower lip. Suddenly, I was really thirsty.

She smirked, and I had a moment of clarity where I thought,
Is she playing me right now?

But it was here and gone, because her hand reached for mine.

I stepped up. We stood staring at each other, chest to chest.

“The bra?” the photographer called out.

Joey’s teeth sank into her lower lip. I saw a flash of something in her eyes, but then she tossed back her hair and reached behind her.

Before I could even comprehend what the fuck was happening, she was standing there completely naked from the waist up.

Her skin looked like silk, called to me like velvet… And her nipples… they were the deepest shade of pink I’d ever seen, and they were erect.

“What the fuck!” I roared, taking everyone off guard.

Joey jumped in alarm when I yelled.

Quickly, I ripped off my open shirt and shook it out behind her, tucking the front closed, hiding the most perfect pair of tits I’d ever seen.

“Lorhaven?” My name was a question.

It irritated me. Something about my name on her tongue didn’t seem right.

“Hold this,” I said, harsh, gripping the shirt closed.

She grabbed it. I stalked over to where the cameraman was standing. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him right off his feet.

“What game are you playing?” I growled.

“N-no game,” he stuttered, shock and fear in his irises.

“You tell women to take off their clothes in front of your camera all the time?” I spat. My chest rose and fell rapidly.

It was one thing to admire Joey’s body, to think about burying deep… to making her squirm a little beneath my touch.

But it was entirely something else for some guy (who was
not
me) to ask her to take her clothes off for photos he could jack off to later.

Hell. No.

“It’s for the cover!” he insisted.

I felt my upper lip curl.

“I didn’t want the straps of her tank top to disrupt the fluid motion of the image.”

“Blah, blah, you were trying to look at that girl naked.”

“No!”

“Lorhaven,” Joey said from behind me. Her voice held a note of surprise.

“Stop calling me that,” I snarled.

“Your name?” she wondered.

I made a sound. What the fuck was happening?

I put the cameraman down and stepped back.

A slender hand slid over my lower back, almost dipping into the waistband of my low-slung jeans. “I’ll put my shirt back on.”

I stiffened and turned. Two of the buttons on the shirt were haphazardly done up, hiding her chest. “Whatever,” I said. “I don’t care.”

She blinked.

“I truly meant no disrespect,” the photographer told her, stepping forward.

I gave him a withering stare, and he stopped.

“I just saw a shot in my head and wanted to recreate it.”

Joey smiled. She fecking smiled at him. “Creative minds,” she said, like that made up for it.

He was a goddamn perv.

“We can be done,” he said, staring at me warily.

“I don’t mind taking a few more. Maybe I’ll leave the shirt on.” I felt her sidelong glance.

“I don’t know…” The photographer hedged.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” I declared. “Let’s do it.”

I grabbed Joey’s hand and pulled her in front of me, pushing her along. I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help but put my body between hers and the perv’s.