Page 106 of Off the Grid

Instead of answering, she shakes her head rapidly and starts to get out of bed.

“No.” I grab her hand and tug her back down, immediately shifting to straddle her. I lace kisses up her bare torso until she wiggles from the sensations. Until she is caught up in them so much so that her eyes shock up to meet mine when I stop.

Now I’ve got her attention.

“Lay it on me Moretti. Time for the truth. Did you have an orgasm?”

Even in the darkened room I can see the emotions war across both her face and her eyes. I think she’s going to stonewall me, but she shakes her head again softly. “Riggs.” Her voice is barely audible as she averts her eyes before fluttering back to mine. “You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Sensations. Aches. Pleasure. Things I’d resigned myself to believing I’d never enjoy and to me, that’s more than enough.”

I swear to God, tears well in her eyes. I’m so glad when she blinks them away because I’m a man—I don’t do well with tears.

“Fuck.” The word is a sigh as I scrub a hand through my hair and try to process what she’s telling me.

“Sex isn’t like riding a bike. You just don’t get back on it and everything works.”

“It does if you speak up and tell your partner what you want. How to pleasure you. How to—”

She snorts. “I could barely ask you for sex, Riggs. Did you expect suggestions when I don’t even know?”

“No, but I thought . . . never mind what I thought.” When I don’t even know? Her words hit my ears and finally process. “Wait. What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” Her smile is fake, placating. “Forget I said anything.”

“Camilla. You’re naked beneath me. My cock was just in you. It’s resting on your stomach and already wanting to have you again. Are you telling me that a guy has never made you come?”

Her cheeks flush and she suddenly grows shy, but in a way that gives me pause. She has a rocking-hot body but wears baggy clothes. Why?

Why does she seem inexperienced, yet—

Oh fuck.

Did someone hurt her in the past?

“Camilla, did something happen to you? Before? In the past?”

“Riggs. I . . . can’t. I just . . . can’t.”

Who fucking hurt you? I want to demand an answer. Need to. But the look in her eyes . . . makes me panic.

So I lean forward and press my lips to hers. I don’t know what else to do. I feel helpless and guilty and enraged that anyone could use sex like a weapon. Resting my forehead against hers, I shush her. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to trust me with that information. You’ve already trusted me with way more than that.”

I feel her chest shudder against mine, and it’s as though the tension leaves her body in relief.

So many things make sense now.

Baggy Bar Girl.

Yes, you’re the arsehole, Riggs, who called her that.

I’m not good with shit like this.

How can I help her? Is it my place to fucking offer?

She came to you for sex, Riggs.

My lips meet hers again. Briefly. Gently. But my brain won’t stop thinking.

What if I could help her orgasm? What if I can make her feel so good? About herself. About sex. Sexy. That’s what she is, and she should know that. Own that. Is that what she needs?