Read Online Get Off on the Pain by Victoria Ashley - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Ashley
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presses his body a little closer, but still doesn’t touch me. Call me crazy, but my body is screaming for him to at this point. “I can bare the rest of my body right now and let you take as many pictures as you want as long as you promise to keep my jacket on. Is that what you want? Huh, Lyric? Because that is all I can do for you.”
I fight to catch my breath before I place my hands on his sweaty chest and push him away. He hasn’t even touched me and I am so damn turned on that I can’t fight the wetness forming between my legs. Just the thought of his sweaty, naked body is insanely hot. Him offering to show it to me . . . I can’t even go there. I just need to get out of here.
“Just because I like taking your picture does not mean that I want to see you naked. It means that . . . just never mind. I don’t have to explain shit to you. I’m out of here.”
I walk past him and reach for my camera, replacing the cap.
“Let me walk you and make sure Ryder isn’t there.”
He runs up the stairs ahead of me and I quickly follow up behind him. I’m not used to having any man try to protect me. It gives me an odd feeling of warmth, yet makes me feel weak. I’ve always taken pride in being strong enough to take care of myself. I don’t understand why he has the urge to protect me.
I finally catch up to him and see him standing outside his garage door, leaning into the frame. He doesn’t even turn around before speaking. “Looks like you don’t need me to walk you home.” He looks me up and down, stopping on my breasts for a quick second before he turns around and runs a hand through his hair. “Keep the jacket. I’ll get it later.”
Then just like that—he walks away.
I look down at my breasts to see that my nipples are hard once again, the piercings pressing against the tight fabric.
“Great!”
I’m pretty sure I know when that happened.
Memphis naked . . . don’t even consider it.
I walk past a stunned Bailey and Landen, closing myself inside my room.
Push it far from your mind, Lyric. I’m sure it’s easier said than done . . .
IT’S BEEN ALMOST A WEEK since I last saw Memphis, and I can’t help but to wonder where he’s been. I mean, who the hell just takes off on a motorcycle with no bags or personal belongings and doesn’t return for that long? Is it weird to admit I’m a little worried? I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I have found myself going through my camera, looking at the pictures of him on more than one occasion since they were taken. I even uploaded a few of them to my computer and edited the images. Not that they needed much editing. There’s something so damn beautiful about him that he’s almost painful to look at, yet I can’t stop. Honestly, I don’t want to.
The last time I saw him he was leaving his house. It was close to midnight and I couldn’t sleep. The sound of his motorcycle caught my attention and since I was already sitting by my window—I peeked out. He was wearing a plain white shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and some old worn out Chucks. His dark hair was standing up all over his head as if he’d been tugging on it. The sight of him made my stomach knot up for some odd reason, but I just brushed it off.
It’s almost as if he knew I was looking because not even five seconds later . . . his eyes met mine. I couldn’t make out his expression very well in the dark, but from what I could see—he looked extremely stressed and bothered. He just stared at me for a moment, lost in thought, before he abruptly turned his attention away and drove off.
I remember it being chilly that night, and it made me wonder why he still hadn’t taken his jacket back from me before he left. Since then I have been bringing it to work with me just in case he needs to get it while I’m not home.
I know it sounds stupid, considering the fact he doesn’t even know where I work, but I have a feeling he could find out easily if he really wanted to.
Pulling open the glass
I fight to catch my breath before I place my hands on his sweaty chest and push him away. He hasn’t even touched me and I am so damn turned on that I can’t fight the wetness forming between my legs. Just the thought of his sweaty, naked body is insanely hot. Him offering to show it to me . . . I can’t even go there. I just need to get out of here.
“Just because I like taking your picture does not mean that I want to see you naked. It means that . . . just never mind. I don’t have to explain shit to you. I’m out of here.”
I walk past him and reach for my camera, replacing the cap.
“Let me walk you and make sure Ryder isn’t there.”
He runs up the stairs ahead of me and I quickly follow up behind him. I’m not used to having any man try to protect me. It gives me an odd feeling of warmth, yet makes me feel weak. I’ve always taken pride in being strong enough to take care of myself. I don’t understand why he has the urge to protect me.
I finally catch up to him and see him standing outside his garage door, leaning into the frame. He doesn’t even turn around before speaking. “Looks like you don’t need me to walk you home.” He looks me up and down, stopping on my breasts for a quick second before he turns around and runs a hand through his hair. “Keep the jacket. I’ll get it later.”
Then just like that—he walks away.
I look down at my breasts to see that my nipples are hard once again, the piercings pressing against the tight fabric.
“Great!”
I’m pretty sure I know when that happened.
Memphis naked . . . don’t even consider it.
I walk past a stunned Bailey and Landen, closing myself inside my room.
Push it far from your mind, Lyric. I’m sure it’s easier said than done . . .
IT’S BEEN ALMOST A WEEK since I last saw Memphis, and I can’t help but to wonder where he’s been. I mean, who the hell just takes off on a motorcycle with no bags or personal belongings and doesn’t return for that long? Is it weird to admit I’m a little worried? I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I have found myself going through my camera, looking at the pictures of him on more than one occasion since they were taken. I even uploaded a few of them to my computer and edited the images. Not that they needed much editing. There’s something so damn beautiful about him that he’s almost painful to look at, yet I can’t stop. Honestly, I don’t want to.
The last time I saw him he was leaving his house. It was close to midnight and I couldn’t sleep. The sound of his motorcycle caught my attention and since I was already sitting by my window—I peeked out. He was wearing a plain white shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and some old worn out Chucks. His dark hair was standing up all over his head as if he’d been tugging on it. The sight of him made my stomach knot up for some odd reason, but I just brushed it off.
It’s almost as if he knew I was looking because not even five seconds later . . . his eyes met mine. I couldn’t make out his expression very well in the dark, but from what I could see—he looked extremely stressed and bothered. He just stared at me for a moment, lost in thought, before he abruptly turned his attention away and drove off.
I remember it being chilly that night, and it made me wonder why he still hadn’t taken his jacket back from me before he left. Since then I have been bringing it to work with me just in case he needs to get it while I’m not home.
I know it sounds stupid, considering the fact he doesn’t even know where I work, but I have a feeling he could find out easily if he really wanted to.
Pulling open the glass
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