Get Off on the Pain(16)

“Excuse me?” I hope he doesn’t think that I’m one of those women who take orders from a man. That is not my style and I won’t take orders from anyone, including him.

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Now go inside and change.”

I step up to him and point my finger in his chest, adding pressure for better effect. “Don’t talk to me like that or you’re going to piss me off. Got it?”

Grinning, he looks down at my finger before grabbing it and pushing it down at my side. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone after what happened at the bar just now. If Ryder shows up at your house tonight, drunk and pissed off about you throwing your drink on him . . .” He pauses and looks up to meet my eyes. “I want to be around to protect you. You stood up for me. Now this is me repaying you. Trust me, I don’t invite people into my home very often.”

I swallow and back away from him. I notice a little red mark from my fingernail at the center of his chest, just above the point of his V-neck T-shirt from where my finger was and I can’t help but to feel bad. He looks down at it and then back up at me, expressionless. “Sorry.”

I turn around and get ready to walk up to my house, but stop. “Why do I need to change? What’s wrong with what I have on?”

He runs his hand through his tousled hair and lets out a frustrated breath. “Because if you don’t then the only thing I will be able to think about is slamming you against a wall and fucking you in every room in my house. Now go change . . . into sweats preferably.”

I feel a rush of excitement from his words and can almost feel my cheeks turning beet red. A part of me is turned on hearing that come out of his mouth and the other part can’t believe that he actually just admitted that to me.

For once I am stunned speechless and too confused to think of a comeback, so I just mumble that I’ll be back and walk away as fast as I can.

I fumble with my key and accidently drop it while trying to unlock the door. I hear him chuckle as I bend down to pick it up. Apparently his words affected me more than they should have and now he knows it.

Once I get inside I hear the engine of his motorcycle. I peek out the window and notice him drive off toward his garage before he kills the engine. He may have a point about making me come home with him, but he definitely has no say in how I dress.

Ignoring his request for me to dress in a pair of sweats, I slip into my pink, cotton boxers and white tank top, cut low. He needs to realize that I don’t listen to demands very well. This is what I wear when I want to get comfortable. There’s no reason to change that just because of him.

I quickly pull my hair up, grab my camera, and slip into my sandals before slamming my bedroom door behind me.

A picture falls off the wall and breaks as it hits the floor. It’s only a few big pieces of glass, but it’s dark, and so is the carpet. “Shit!” It’s a picture of Bailey and Landen from when they first met.

Bending down, I pick up the frame and set it on the kitchen counter before walking back over and quickly reaching for the shards of broken glass. I jump as I feel the edge of the smaller piece pierce through my skin, cutting me. “Double shit.”

I’m in too much of a rush to care about a small cut, so I quickly rip off a paper towel and wrap it around my hand, stepping back out onto the front porch and locking the door behind me.

When I turn around I almost bump into Memphis. He’s standing right behind me with his arms crossed over his chest. As soon as his eyes land on what I’m wearing he growls and takes off his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. It’s so big I am practically drowning in it.

“It’s not exactly warm out here. A little more clothes would have been nice.”

Grabbing ahold of his jacket I follow behind him as he walks back to his house. “I’m not cold. I actually prefer the cooler weather over it being hot. You could have kept your jacket on.”

He turns to me and growls, his eyes staying on mine. “Your nipples are hard, Lyric, so either you’re cold or turned on.” He reaches for the garage door and opens it. “Or both. Either way, you need to cover up . . . for both of our sakes. Trust me.”

He motions for me to walk inside before he steps in behind me and closes the door. I watch him with a scowl, pissed off at his attitude. “Are you always a dickhead or just to me?”

“Does it make a difference?” He turns around and walks past me, keeping his attention as far away from me as he can. “I’m just getting by the best way I know how, so please just keep covered up. Is that better?”