Read Online Scorned! (Interracial Erotica) by Lexy Harper - Free Book Online
Authors: Lexy Harper
Tags: Erótica, Romance, Erotic Romance, african american romance, interracial erotica, african american erotica, African American Fiction, African American Erotic Romance, Interracial Erotic Fiction
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Table of Contents
SCORNED!
Author’s Note
Other titles by Lexy Harper
SCORNED!
––––––––
I’ve never been one of those really pretty girls who turn heads, but I learned at the age of sixteen that a sexy body can do so much more than a beautiful face—it can break necks. The boys in my class hadn’t given me the time of day when I was growing up, but I soon started noticing that male teachers and grown men were always watching me when they thought I wasn’t looking. It made me very self conscious until it dawned on me that it was my body that drew their attention.
When I left home to start a Digital Media & Culture degree at Edinburgh University, I set about perfecting my body. I don’t mean perfection based on the size-zero models of today. I have a Kelly Brook body. I have dark waist-length hair and dark brown eyes like her too. My face is nothing like hers, but men act a little crazy when I wear anything figure hugging. Last summer it was so hot I put on a cut-off top and a pair of shorts to get some milk from the local Co-operative. As I got out of the house an older man driving a silver Toyota Avensis stopped so suddenly when he saw me, the car behind ran into the back of him. He was carted off to the hospital when the ambulance arrived, wearing a neck brace. He didn’t break his neck, but he got severe whiplash.
Yes, a sexy body can be a dangerous thing.
I’ve been going to the gym four days a week religiously for the last eight years and it’s kept me fit. It’s also a great place to pick up men. While most women go to the gym to do yoga, Pilates or attend exercise classes, I use free-weights and hang out with the guys.
Fridays are usually quiet at Healthy Bodies, Healthy Minds, the exclusive gym I joined two years ago when my local closed for refurbishment. I stayed because I enjoyed the more intimate atmosphere and the chance, occasionally, to become more intimate with a fellow gym user.
Tonight the place was deserted, except for Cameron Dewhurst. An inch shy of six foot, he was blond and absolutely gorgeous. He came to the gym on the same four evenings as I did and played squash on the other three. He was sleekly muscled, his blue eyes looked almost violet, their colour deepened by his darker eyebrows and lashes.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked him, as I pulled the pin out of the 40 kg slot of the leg curl machine and slipped it into the 15 kg slot. I wanted to tone, not bulk up, so I used small weights and did lots of repetitions.
“England’s playing Argentina tonight,” he replied, without breaking the rhythm of his pull ups.
He didn’t have to say anything further. Even I, the dumbest person when it came to football, knew of the bitter rivalry between the countries that had been sparked by Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’ goal in the 1986 FIFA World Cup.
“How come you aren’t at home watching it?” I asked in surprise.
“My dad’s taping it for me. I wanted to be here...watching you instead.”
Huh? For months he’d behaved as if he didn’t know that I’m alive and now he was hitting on me! Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly!
“Pardon?” I queried, my heart beating faster as I waited for him to confirm that my ears were still in working order and that I had not been having one of my usual day dreams about him.
“The guys are always crowding around you, Holly. I never get a chance to talk to you.”
I’d assumed that I was not pretty enough for him, or that maybe he didn’t believe in interracial relationships. I looked mixed-race although my mother is half-English and half-Jamaican, and my father is Greek. Dad has some money and though he is no Onassis, he looks more like him than any Greek god. I inherited my body from his side of the family, while my beautiful, slim, elegant mother gave her good looks to my tall, broad-shouldered brother Alexander.
“Do you want me to spot you?” I
SCORNED!
Author’s Note
Other titles by Lexy Harper
SCORNED!
––––––––
I’ve never been one of those really pretty girls who turn heads, but I learned at the age of sixteen that a sexy body can do so much more than a beautiful face—it can break necks. The boys in my class hadn’t given me the time of day when I was growing up, but I soon started noticing that male teachers and grown men were always watching me when they thought I wasn’t looking. It made me very self conscious until it dawned on me that it was my body that drew their attention.
When I left home to start a Digital Media & Culture degree at Edinburgh University, I set about perfecting my body. I don’t mean perfection based on the size-zero models of today. I have a Kelly Brook body. I have dark waist-length hair and dark brown eyes like her too. My face is nothing like hers, but men act a little crazy when I wear anything figure hugging. Last summer it was so hot I put on a cut-off top and a pair of shorts to get some milk from the local Co-operative. As I got out of the house an older man driving a silver Toyota Avensis stopped so suddenly when he saw me, the car behind ran into the back of him. He was carted off to the hospital when the ambulance arrived, wearing a neck brace. He didn’t break his neck, but he got severe whiplash.
Yes, a sexy body can be a dangerous thing.
I’ve been going to the gym four days a week religiously for the last eight years and it’s kept me fit. It’s also a great place to pick up men. While most women go to the gym to do yoga, Pilates or attend exercise classes, I use free-weights and hang out with the guys.
Fridays are usually quiet at Healthy Bodies, Healthy Minds, the exclusive gym I joined two years ago when my local closed for refurbishment. I stayed because I enjoyed the more intimate atmosphere and the chance, occasionally, to become more intimate with a fellow gym user.
Tonight the place was deserted, except for Cameron Dewhurst. An inch shy of six foot, he was blond and absolutely gorgeous. He came to the gym on the same four evenings as I did and played squash on the other three. He was sleekly muscled, his blue eyes looked almost violet, their colour deepened by his darker eyebrows and lashes.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked him, as I pulled the pin out of the 40 kg slot of the leg curl machine and slipped it into the 15 kg slot. I wanted to tone, not bulk up, so I used small weights and did lots of repetitions.
“England’s playing Argentina tonight,” he replied, without breaking the rhythm of his pull ups.
He didn’t have to say anything further. Even I, the dumbest person when it came to football, knew of the bitter rivalry between the countries that had been sparked by Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’ goal in the 1986 FIFA World Cup.
“How come you aren’t at home watching it?” I asked in surprise.
“My dad’s taping it for me. I wanted to be here...watching you instead.”
Huh? For months he’d behaved as if he didn’t know that I’m alive and now he was hitting on me! Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly!
“Pardon?” I queried, my heart beating faster as I waited for him to confirm that my ears were still in working order and that I had not been having one of my usual day dreams about him.
“The guys are always crowding around you, Holly. I never get a chance to talk to you.”
I’d assumed that I was not pretty enough for him, or that maybe he didn’t believe in interracial relationships. I looked mixed-race although my mother is half-English and half-Jamaican, and my father is Greek. Dad has some money and though he is no Onassis, he looks more like him than any Greek god. I inherited my body from his side of the family, while my beautiful, slim, elegant mother gave her good looks to my tall, broad-shouldered brother Alexander.
“Do you want me to spot you?” I
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