It’s a mixture of sensations.

  A contrast of pleasure.

  And I’ll fucking take anything else she throws my way because the woman knows how to own me in moments like this.

  Up.

  Down.

  Grind.

  The visual is incredible as I lean back on my elbows and watch Camilla work me over. Ride me. Fuck me.

  Her body. Her face to the sky. Hair falling so far down her back that the ends tickle my thighs, adding yet another sensation. Her beautiful nipples pebbled from the night air. The top of her pussy—the tight strip of curls—glistening with moisture as she rides me. Her hands, pressing against my chest and her nails digging in ever so slightly as her desire turns ravenous. The moans falling from her lips turning to pants as her greed becomes need.

  “Riggs,” she groans.

  “I know, baby. It feels so fucking good,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her. “Just like that. Fuck my cock like you mean it. Like you want it. Like you live for it.”

  I live in sensations. The tightening of her thighs on my hips. The slap of her pussy against my pelvis as she picks up her pace. The feel of her arousal dripping off my balls. The sound of the mewl deep in the back of her throat. The scent of her perfume tickling my nose. The feel of her muscles bunching beneath my fingertips with each piston of her hips.

  “I’m gonna need you to come for me, Cam,” I groan as she slams down harder on me.

  “Like that?”

  This woman . . .

  “You’re so goddamn gorgeous riding my cock like that.”

  She lifts so that just the tip of me is inside her and teases me as she pulses there. “Or like this?”

  “Fucking cock tease,” I murmur but my smile is dirty and my cock aches it’s so hard.

  “Tell me what you want, Riggs,” she says.

  “You.” I grip her waist and hold her still so I can piston up into her. “Just fucking you,” I grunt out with each thrust.

  She gasps and leans forward, hands on my shoulders, tits swaying in my face.

  I can’t resist. I take one in my mouth. Swirl my tongue around its bud as my orgasm builds and builds and builds.

  “Come for me,” she coaxes in that throaty voice of hers. “Fill me up. Show me what I do to you.”

  What you do to me?

  Ruin me.

  Wreck me.

  Own me.

  Every part of me is tense. Riding an edge. On the verge of control snapping as I wait for her to come. To call out and jerk her hips over mine.

  But I can’t do it.

  I can’t last.

  The orgasm hits me like a bolt of lightning. Fast. Fierce. It burns in my body as it ricochets from my toes to my fingertips. I ride the electric current. The white-hot heat it creates has me seeing stars.

  I come hard. My body jerking, cock twitching and lungs grasping for air as my heart races and my mind fills with the haze of bliss.

  My hands ease on her sides as I come out of the climax coma.

  “Don’t move,” she whispers as her pussy suddenly tightens around me.

  Her moan fills the warm night air. Her lips part, her head’s thrown back, her hands are cupping her own breasts, and her breath hitches as her body slips into the coma with me.

  Jesus, she’s a sight to behold.

  Camilla Moretti.

  There you go owning me again.

  And as soon as the thought hits, Camilla says, “Dismount,” and playfully falls sideways so that she lands on her back with a thump as her laughter rings out around us.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbow amid our tangle of clothes beneath us.

  “I can picture it now. This is going to be the next AITA.”

  “What?” I bark out a laugh.

  “This is Spencer Riggs, back with another request for advice.” Camilla does her best impression of me.

  “I do not sound like that.”

  But she continues. “Am I the arsehole for fucking a girl on a grassy knoll that we illegally broke into? If the coppers were to come, is it okay if I outrun her so she’s left to take the fall?”

  “Bullshit,” I say and press my lips soundly to hers to stop her laughter. “I’d push you down first, then run.”

  “Hey!” She swats at me but then grabs the back of my neck and yanks me back down so her lips can find mine again.

  “Don’t look now, Moretti,” I say against her lips. “But this was a beautiful, whimsical something kind of night.”

  Her lips spread into a smile against mine and then she kisses me again.

  What a perfect fucking night.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Camilla

  “Should we be worried that you invited us to your flat and that you cooked for us?” Isabella asks.

  It’s not like she’ll eat anyway. She never does.

  Gia looks around, eyes narrowed, as if she’s trying to figure out what’s different in my place.

  “It’s all the same since you helped me unpack,” I say, figuring I’ll help her out. Besides, I’m nervous for some ridiculous reason.

  I shouldn’t be.

  But I am.

  “So what’s going on, Cam? Please tell us you’re not pregnant—”

  “Oh my God. No!” I laugh and it eases the tension. “Where in the hell did you get that idea?”

  “Let’s see,” Gia says. “You haven’t explained if you have or you haven’t slept with Race God but when we ask, you change the subject despite there being a”—she points over to the edge of my couch—“man’s shirt sticking out from under your couch.”

  There is?

  Oh. Shit. There is.

  Oopsie.

  My cheeks heat as I recall exactly what we were doing when that shirt happened to make it to that location.

  “We tried to set you up with Archie this weekend but, only after you make every excuse under the sun why you can’t go, you invite us over for dinner. So we’re thinking pregnant or engaged,” Isabella says, leaning back as she crosses her long legs and takes a sip of wine.

  My eyes widen, horrified at the thought of either at this point in my life.

  They eye each other and smile. “You were right,” Gia tells Isa.

  “About?” I prompt. Of course they had conversations about me before they came here.

  “Just come out with it. You didn’t have to invite us over—although we love that you did—to tell us you’re falling for Spencer Riggs,” Isabella says.

  “We already figured that,” Gia adds.

  “I NEVER said I was falling for him,” I assert.

  Their laughter rings out. “Uh-huh,” they say in unison as they tap their glasses against one another’s.

  “You two are annoying,” I grumble. “Even though you’re wrong.”

  “And we love you madly,” Gia says. “Even though we’re right.”

  “No—”

  “Save it, Camilla. You’re wearing the new shoes even when we’re not around. You scheduled an appointment to get your hair done again without us prompting you. And you’re unbuttoning the top buttons of your shirt and showing a little cleavage with that tank top underneath. I mean, that screams I’ve got a man all over it.”

  Now or never, Camilla. She just gave you the opening you needed.

  “About that,” I say and then blow out a long exhale that definitely piques their interest.

  “About what? All of it? We’re right about Riggs? What?” Isabella asks through a laugh.

  “Not about Riggs. About me. About my clothes. I . . .” Nerves rattle inside me, but this is Gia and Isabella. My girls.

  Curious eyes study me as I resolve to follow through with the decision I made last night.

  The one to finally let Riggs all the way in and tell him what happened. He keeps opening up to me and I keep deflecting.

  But he’s right. I can share my body with him, but not real parts of me.

  Besides, it’s time. I’ve spent six years hiding something that isn’t my fault. Like a dirty secret . . . that I didn’t bring on myself. I want to be open with the man who helped me see that.

  But these two women who have stood by my side and held my hands, unknowingly helping me. They deserve to know.

  I want them to know.

  Gia looks at Isabella, suddenly concerned, and asks, “Sweetie, what? You’re scaring us.”

  This is the new me—Camilla Moretti—strong and in control.

  I take a deep breath and then meet their eyes. When I speak, my tone is even and unemotional. “He told me I asked for it because of what I was wearing. That I deserved it.”

  “Let me at that fucker,” Gia says, throwing the pillow on her lap to the floor and starting toward the door. “I’ll rearrange Riggs’s face in—”

  “No. No. It wasn’t him.” I laugh, the idea ludicrous. The sight of her fuming mad and ready to defend me is the most beautiful definition of our friendship I could ever experience. “But . . . thank you.”

  “Then who?” Isabella asks as Gia sits back down, her face pulled tight, and eyes alive with anger. “What? Talk to us.”

  Each of them reaches out to hold one of my hands in silent support.

  “I . . . the details don’t matter.”

  Gia squeezes my hand, the three of us at the edges of our chairs, a small circle. “Tell us only what you want. We’re here to listen. To support you.”

  “And to feel fucking horrible for teasing you about your clothes and not considering the fact that there might be a reason behind it,” Isabella says with tears swimming in her eyes. “A real reason.”

  “I don’t blame you. You didn’t know. Couldn’t have.” I smile. “It was six years ago. Before we met. Like I said, the details are irrelevant at this point, but as you seem to already have worked out, I was in a situation where I didn’t give consent. He took what he wanted and insinuated I’d wanted it, based on what I was wearing.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Isabella murmurs with tears welling in her eyes.

  “We understand why you don’t want to talk about it,” Gia says, her own eyes glassy. “If you ever do, though, we’re here for you.”

  “You held this in all that time. You’re a warrior,” Isa says.

  But what I feel is stupid. Stupid for not telling my best friends. For thinking they’d judge me for it. For worrying they’d think differently of me.

  If only I knew then what I know now . . .

  I smile softly and sniff back the tears that threaten. Tears that are happy. That are relieved. That make my soul sigh in the best way.

  “I’ve never told anyone about it. Other than my therapist.” I chuckle. “I don’t know why I was afraid to tell you,” I say.

  “That doesn’t matter. Not one bit. You did and we’re here now and whenever you need us, we’ll be here in a split second. We’re so honored you’ve trusted us with this,” Gia says as she rests her head on my shoulder.

  “I have another confession,” I murmur.

  “The one where you tell us you’re falling for Riggs?” Gia asks.

  “Yeah, that part.” The words come out smoothly. Almost as if I needed to get one thing off my chest to acknowledge another.

  But I appreciate that Gia and Isabella don’t gloat about being right. Rather, they both smile.

  “Any man who makes you secure enough to be you, who stands quietly beside you to slay whatever silent demons you’re facing? Who makes you want things you didn’t want before, and who makes you smile as much as you do nowadays? Is most definitely worth falling for,” Isabella says.

  “Yeah, but if he hurts you, I’m still kicking his ass,” Gia adds.

  I roll my eyes and laugh. “There’s not a doubt in my mind you would.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Camilla

  I pull the radio comm headset off my ears and rest it around my neck when I look over to see my dad staring at me. He has a curious expression on his face, and I make my way to where he’s sitting.

  He’s made it a point to sit more around the guys now. After the incident that Riggs saw, we decided to take a few more precautions so he doesn’t fall again.

  He hates it. I know he does, but if it’s any indication by the long text chain between my mom and me, we didn’t take lightly the decision to broach the subject with him.

  “Hi. It’s good to see you down here.”

  He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “I’m always here. You’re the one who seems to make it a habit to not be.”

  “And?” I like to watch Riggs.

  “And nothing. I just noticed the change is all.” He shrugs and sets down his cup of coffee as another team’s car flies past on the track outside for qualifying. Our cars are still in our garages, mechanics milling around them, double-checking every little thing with our qualifying coming up soon.

  “Then why do I feel like I’m in trouble?” I laugh.

  “Not in trouble at all. You’re being ridiculous. I just saw you standing there with the headset on and I was hit with déjà vu. You sitting on your nonno’s shoulders with an oversized headset on and a sticky something in one hand while your other was reaching down holding his.”

  My memories may be faint, but I do remember the view from those shoulders. It felt like chaos all around me as he stood in the middle of the garage with the crew moving at a lightning pace.

  “I vaguely remember that.”

  “Your mom has so many pictures of you like that. Books full of them.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  His smile softens. “Now that her child advocacy work is done for the year, she’ll be here more. It’ll be a real family affair.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” His smile lights up his face, but when he meets my eyes, he lifts his chin in the direction of the garage. “Thoughts on Riggs thus far? You weren’t keen on me hiring him. It seems you’ve changed your mind.”

  “You already asked me this.”

  “I know I did. I’m asking you again. It’s the job of this position to reevaluate constantly. Race by race.”

  “He’s consistent. Moretti’s placing higher than we did before him. Clearly, he’s fitting in and adjusting. Has he erred some? Yeah—the whole stunt of not listening to Hank in Belgium is one example.”

  “But?”

  Where is he going with this? My dad rarely asks the same question twice.

  “But I think he’s a quick learner. Dedicated to improving. Clean on the track so far. And if we all were judged by our mistakes, then heaven help me.” I snicker. My dad just gives me a look like he doesn’t want to know the crazy things I may or may not have done.

  Maybe he’s just rethinking everything with Suzuka coming up soon.

  “It seems the two of you are getting close.”

  Hmm. Maybe that’s not where he’s going with this.

  I fight the urge to look around at the garage. Averting my eyes is a dead giveaway to my dad that something is going on.

  “He’s our driver.”

  “So is Andrew,” he counters, “but I don’t see you as close with him like you are Riggs.”

  Fuck. What is he getting at?

  “Andrew doesn’t make himself as readily available as Riggs does. He has his girlfriend and that’s where he prefers to spend his time outside of the track. He does what he’s told but doesn’t care to stick around for the glory. Riggs does. He loves it and the whole campaign we’ve built around him. The campaign that has taken off and benefited Moretti tenfold. So yes, of course, we’ve gotten close. That’s the only way you can be when you’re working with someone day in and day out. Just like I am with Elise. With the rest of my team.”

  “That’s a whole lot of explaining for a simple answer.”

  Our eyes meet. Hold. And I fear that he can see right through me.

  I’m fortunate at that moment that Omar walks over to have a word with my father. I take the chance to escape.

  But his comments stay on my mind well after we’ve parted ways. I think of all the things I could have countered with but would have only drawn more attention.

  “There you are,” Elise says as she walks to the upper lounge area in our Moretti paddock space. I’m standing in front of the television, watching Rossi’s qualifying lap. He’s going to be placed high on the grid judging by his time.

  “Yep. I’m here.” It’s still hard to get used to watching a car on television and then hearing it outside the building we’re in. I walk over to the remote control and turn down the commentators’ voices. “Just working on the Conmigo stuff with the new campaign for Perfection Oil up next. I want to get it done so I can watch our qualifying runs.”

  “Where can I step in and help—oohhh,” she says, pointing to my shoes. “Very cute. Like wow.” She looks at the shoes and then back at me. “What’s gotten into you? First the hair. Then the slight changes in your outfits. The sexy shoes.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Love looks good on you.”

  I sputter over the sip of water I just took. “What did you just say?”

  She levels me with a look that says don’t fuck with me. “There’s only one reason a woman changes up those things. And it’s a man.”

  “Not in my world.” I look out the window of my second-story room, and of course Riggs is walking past down below. In some respects, she’s right, but in reverse. I did let one man define what I wore, how I felt about myself. But I did the changing here. I finally had the strength to realize I was letting one insignificant man reign over my psyche.

  These changes were for me.

  “Elise, a man can tear you down quicker than shit, but only you can put the work in to feel better about yourself.”

  “Uh-huh. So that extra pep in your step and I don’t know, color in your cheeks, had absolutely nothing to do with a man. Got it.” She lifts her eyebrows and I give up the fight to hide my smile.

  “It’s not the reason . . . but it might have helped me feel better about myself. Is that a more suitable reply?”

  Her grin is enough of an answer. “Well, whatever and whoever it is, it looks good on you. Now if you can whisper something similar around Riggs, maybe he’ll get the subliminal message that I’m the whoever that would look good on him.”