Read Online #Swag (GearShark #3) by Cambria Hebert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cambria Hebert
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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.
“Maybe a couple with his shirt on?” the man suggested when she bent to pick up her bra.
Joey glanced at me. “Can I borrow your shirt a little longer?”
“Whatever,” I said, playing it cool.
‘Course, I’d already ruined the cool guy card with my outburst.
“Lorhaven, turn around,” the photographer instructed, slipping back into work mode.
I did, and he instructed Joey to press her front along my back, her arm came around my hip, and her thumb hooked into my front jeans pocket.
I felt her sigh when her cheek hit the top of my shoulder.
“I like the way you smell,” she murmured, almost like she spoke to herself.
But I heard.
I definitely heard.
“Hair back,” she was told, and I felt her brushing at the locks.
He snapped a few pics and then glanced at Joey and motioned for her to drop the shirt off one shoulder.
My entire body tensed.
Did he think I was fucking stupid and blind?
“He can’t see anything,” she whispered, soft enough only I could hear over the fans and music.
Her palm brushed down the center of my back, a motion meant to reassure me.
It worked.
I relaxed, not all the way, but enough.
I heard the soft rustle of my shirt, and then her arm was back around me, and the feel of her round, perfect, bare breasts was pressed into my back.
Her nipples were hard. I felt the stiff buds in the center of the warm softness.
My eyes closed briefly.
“This okay?” she asked, her cheek pillowing back on my shoulder. It was the first hint of insecurity I’d ever heard from her.
Emotion swelled in the center of my chest. I swallowed it down. “Yeah, baby, it’s good.” I murmured over my shoulder.
She pressed a little tighter.
“Oh, that’s good.” The photographer cut in.
I tensed again. Automatically, my arm went out a little, in front of her arm, instinctively shielding her.
I thought this would be fun.
I thought I could tease her, rile her up, make her want me.
That’s not at all what was happening.
Instead, I was the one riled up. I was the one standing here with an ache beneath my jeans.
I didn’t like her.
She was a pro driver. A pro driver with a rich daddy who thought she could waltz into my world like she owned it.
But here I was, standing here with my arm out as if it dared that man to even
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.
“Maybe a couple with his shirt on?” the man suggested when she bent to pick up her bra.
Joey glanced at me. “Can I borrow your shirt a little longer?”
“Whatever,” I said, playing it cool.
‘Course, I’d already ruined the cool guy card with my outburst.
“Lorhaven, turn around,” the photographer instructed, slipping back into work mode.
I did, and he instructed Joey to press her front along my back, her arm came around my hip, and her thumb hooked into my front jeans pocket.
I felt her sigh when her cheek hit the top of my shoulder.
“I like the way you smell,” she murmured, almost like she spoke to herself.
But I heard.
I definitely heard.
“Hair back,” she was told, and I felt her brushing at the locks.
He snapped a few pics and then glanced at Joey and motioned for her to drop the shirt off one shoulder.
My entire body tensed.
Did he think I was fucking stupid and blind?
“He can’t see anything,” she whispered, soft enough only I could hear over the fans and music.
Her palm brushed down the center of my back, a motion meant to reassure me.
It worked.
I relaxed, not all the way, but enough.
I heard the soft rustle of my shirt, and then her arm was back around me, and the feel of her round, perfect, bare breasts was pressed into my back.
Her nipples were hard. I felt the stiff buds in the center of the warm softness.
My eyes closed briefly.
“This okay?” she asked, her cheek pillowing back on my shoulder. It was the first hint of insecurity I’d ever heard from her.
Emotion swelled in the center of my chest. I swallowed it down. “Yeah, baby, it’s good.” I murmured over my shoulder.
She pressed a little tighter.
“Oh, that’s good.” The photographer cut in.
I tensed again. Automatically, my arm went out a little, in front of her arm, instinctively shielding her.
I thought this would be fun.
I thought I could tease her, rile her up, make her want me.
That’s not at all what was happening.
Instead, I was the one riled up. I was the one standing here with an ache beneath my jeans.
I didn’t like her.
She was a pro driver. A pro driver with a rich daddy who thought she could waltz into my world like she owned it.
But here I was, standing here with my arm out as if it dared that man to even
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