Off the Grid Read online

  Okay, that was more like it.

  She moved one of her legs around his hips just to make sure he understood, and found a couple of muscles on his upper arms to hold on to as she braced herself for what was to come.

  It didn’t prepare her for the jolt. For the lightning rod of awareness that ran up her spine and claimed her whole body as the thick head of his cock nudged between her legs.

  He stopped, and her protective instincts deserted her as her eyes found his. Something warm and unwelcome rose in her chest, but she pushed it down. Hard.

  It was five years too late for connections. Five years too late for “what does this mean?” That wasn’t what she wanted from him anymore.

  Still holding his gaze, she smoothed her hands down his rigid arms to his back and then down to his half-clad backside. God, he had an amazing ass. Steel was putting it mildly. How many times had she imagined this?

  Too many.

  Bracing herself for the shock, she bit her lip and pulled him fully inside her. Gasping, nonetheless, at the sensation. No amount of steeling could have prepared her for the feel of him filling her.

  She shouldn’t have looked at him then. There was something in his gaze—tenderness? Confusion?—that seemed to penetrate right to the most vulnerable part of her.

  But she refused to let those feelings take hold. “Fuck me, John. Please just fuck me.”

  That did the trick. No more hesitating. He started to move inside her.

  Slowly at first, using the long length of his cock to extend every stroke and then adding a small circle of his hips at the end that sent twinges of pleasure radiating through her. Her pulse jumped, her heart pounded, and her breath started to quicken. Those soft little breaths seemed to urge him on.

  His skin was hot, and it soon grew slick with perspiration, as the speed of his thrusts intensified.

  Oh God. She might have said that aloud. What he was doing to her felt so good, she couldn’t hold back. The way he moved . . . the perfect rhythm . . . the thick, solid feeling of him sliding in and out of her . . .

  She arched her back. She heard him make a pained sound and managed a glimpse out of her half-lidded eyes of him tensing, holding back, tamping down the pleasure she was bringing him.

  She was bringing him. She hadn’t been all wrong. They were good together. Very good. It might have even meant something once. Something more than that she was about to come.

  She felt the hitch in her womb, the slight tensing of muscle, before everything broke apart.

  Her cries triggered the same thing inside him. He stiffened, gritted out some kind of muffled curse, and pounded out his orgasm into the shuddering spasms of her own.

  It seemed to go on forever. Her body was fighting to hold on to the connection that was every bit as sweet as it was fleeting.

  But all good things had to come to an end—isn’t that the way the saying went? And this one did. Spectacularly. With a loud banging on the door about ten seconds after he collapsed on top of her.

  * * *

  • • •

  John was probably crushing her, but he couldn’t move. And maybe he kind of liked her under him.

  Maybe he liked it a lot. That was . . .

  He didn’t know how to put it in words. Different? Intense? Fucking incredible?

  It was sure as hell quick. That might have been a record for him. Since high school at least. Three minutes had been optimistic. Hell, maybe two had been optimistic. But wow. That had been . . . wow. He’d been seeing stars there for a minute.

  Who would have thought that Brittany Blake . . . ?

  Shit. His still hammering heart came to a sudden stop. His eyes snapped wide-open as the reality of what he’d done crashed through the lingering euphoria of the one-for-the-books, grade-A-freaking-plus climax.

  Blake. As in Brand’s little sister. He’d just had sex with his dead best friend’s sister—the same sister he’d sworn to stay away from.

  No, they hadn’t just had sex. That put too nice a spin on it. They’d fucked. Just like she’d asked.

  He was about to roll off her and try to think of something to say—though what the hell could he say? He’d screwed up, big-time—when someone started banging on the door.

  He cursed, pushing himself off the couch and out of her with a suddenness that he hadn’t intended. It felt oddly harsh and final.

  Tossing the condom in the trash, he pulled up his briefs and jeans and managed to get them zippered and buttoned before he reached the door.

  What had he been thinking? In the living room of the house he rented with four other guys? What was he, eighteen? He should be glad they were knocking.

  “Open up, Joe. I know you are in there.”

  Damn it. Not his housemates. His date—his forgotten-about date, Marta. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. And he suspected it was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

  “Give me a minute.” He thought about grabbing his shirt, but glancing over at Brittany, he knew there was no way it wasn’t going to be obvious what had been going on here. She was finishing buttoning her blouse, but even with her clothes back on, she had that just-fucked look written all over her. Her hair was lightly mussed, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, and he could see the slight redness on her jaw and neck where his beard had scratched a path.

  He’d done that to her. He felt something strange lodge in his chest as he looked at her. Something warm and possessive and unfamiliar. Something a little too primitive.

  Something that wasn’t him.

  He didn’t like it. He frowned and turned back to the door, which was being pounded again.

  “I know you have someone in there with you,” Marta said.

  At least that’s what he thought she said. Her accent was heavier and harder to understand when she was pissed.

  Damn it, nothing to be done. John opened the door wide enough to stick his head out, but hopefully not wide enough for her to see into the living room. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry about tonight, but I’m afraid this isn’t really a good time.”

  She looked livid and ready to knock down the door, so he made sure it was good and blocked with his foot. The last thing he wanted was a scene.

  More of a scene.

  “I’m sure it’s not.” She stood on her toes to try to peer over his shoulder, but he was too tall. “She’s in there with you, isn’t she? The woman you made out with at the bar? Who is she? Your girlfriend? Wife?”

  “No!” Surprise made his response a little harsher than warranted. “Look,” he said, starting again in a calmer voice to try to defuse the already tense situation. “It’s just an old friend, okay? She arrived, uh, unexpectedly.”

  Marta held his gaze, and behind the anger he could see the hurt. “And you thought nothing of kissing this ‘old friend’ and leaving with her when we had a date? How do you think that made me feel to show up tonight and have everyone talking about you and this woman putting on a show in the middle of the bar?”

  John swore and dragged his hand through his probably sex-rumpled hair. He hadn’t meant this to happen. The thing with Marta wasn’t really even a thing, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her—or embarrass her. But neither could he explain. He could hardly tell her the truth: “Had to shut her up to prevent her from blowing my cover” wasn’t an option.

  Nor did it explain this.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. He didn’t know how to explain. What had happened with Brittany was unexplainable—on so many different levels. Levels he didn’t even want to think about.

  Marta looked him right in the eye. “Fuck your apologies, Joe, and fuck you, too.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Something inside Brittany made her want to stand and cheer at the woman’s parting words. It was no less than he deserved.

  Why was Brittany s