Page 105 of Off the Grid

“That’s it, just like that,” he coos, thinking that I’ve climaxed seconds before his strangled, ragged cry fills the room. His body jerks and hands tense as he empties himself. As he claims his hard-fought reward.

And as I acknowledge I can definitely feel more now, sadly, I’m still broken.

He leans forward, breathless.

I did that. I did that to him.

The look of awe in his eyes staggers me. “Camilla . . .” My name is said with reverence. “We’re doing that again. And again. Damn, you turn me on.” He slides his free hand up my rib cage to rest just beneath my breast. “And those fuck-hot heels you were wearing?”

“I was wearing them for me.”

“Fuck that. You’ll be wearing those and nothing else next time when I take you against a wall.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Riggs

My chest heaves and my heart races as I lie on my back, stare at my ceiling, and will my brain to string together coherent thoughts.

Jesus Christ.

I’m not used to wanting and waiting.

I’m used to wanting and taking.

This whole time, existence, whatever this has been with Camilla, has been like one drawn-out foreplay. And while I never put much stock in the act, I’m beginning to look at it in a whole new light.

The woman is . . . fucking incredible.

That’s not a thought to string together at all.

She laughs breathlessly and it’s the sexiest fucking sound ever. “Well, I guess I can check off the box for just ask when I have a precarious question.”

“Ask. Always ask,” I say as I turn on my side, my head on my hand, staring at her profile.

“Noted.” She smiles but keeps looking at the ceiling. Her bare chest draws my eyes. Dusty pink nipples. Soft-as-sin skin.

I already want her again.

“Speaking of always asking. Sounds like you got what you were looking for.” I chuckle. Never had any complaints yet.

There is a stutter in her breathing. A quick tensing of her muscles. If I weren’t staring right at her, I never would have noticed, but all of a sudden, my ego is in serious jeopardy. “You did come, right?”

I replay every single thing I can remember about the last thirty minutes, everything up until I virtually blacked out as I came. But it’s the scrunching of her nose and covering of her face with her hands that knock me on my arse.

She doesn’t have to say a word.

“Wow. Okay.” Disbelief mars my words as my ego deflates rapidly. I’m becoming defensive about my sex skills. No one has ever complained before. Or did they fake it like Camilla just did? “Um . . .” I exhale audibly, at a loss of what to say for the first time in a long fucking time.

Camilla must sense my shock because she shifts onto her side and grabs my face in her hands. “It’s not you,” she says, eyes concerned but cheeks still flushed from the sex I thought she was enjoying. Thought being the operative fucking word there. “I promise, Riggs. It’s not you.”

“It takes two. I assure you, it takes two.”

“No. Listen to me. Please,” she pleads, suddenly flustered and sounding desperate for me to understand. “It’s me. I’m broken. That’s why . . . that’s why I asked you tonight. For this. For sex.”

“Broken? I don’t . . . talk to me. Why would you say that? Everything . . .” Worked just fine. Or at least I thought it did.