He felt sorry for me.
“Say anything about what?” he asked, taking me out of my abysmal thoughts.
And in doing so, making that humiliation burn so deep, I knew if I didn’t let some of what I was feeling out, it’d destroy me.
Therefore, I shrieked, “About anything, Carson Steele!”
His head jerked. His face changed. And the air in the room went flat.
Then he lifted a hand to me.
I scrambled, knocking over the stool. It fell with a crash and I nearly went down with it, but thankfully I kept my feet as I moved to get away from him, screeching, “Don’t you touch me!”
“Carrie,” he whispered.
“Out,” I heard Tack order.
“I haven’t tried a cream puff,” I heard Boz reply.
“Out!” I heard Tack bark.
I vaguely sensed the room emptying but I was too busy backing up and focusing on Joker.
And my burning mortification.
“I can’t believe you,” I hissed.
“Listen to me—” he started.
“No!” I screamed. “You pretended you forgot my name. You didn’t forget me!”
“Carrie,” he said gently, moving cautiously my way. “Baby, take a breath and listen to me.”
“Why?” I snapped. “You’re sharp, Carson. You knew when I first saw you I recognized you!” I yelled. “But you didn’t say a word. You let me introduce myself and you didn’t say a word. You did all this,” I threw out a hand, “because you felt sorry for me, and you didn’t say a word.”
“Carissa, seriously, listen to me,” he growled as I moved, rounding into the room to make my way to the door and escape, doing this as he stalked me.
“I didn’t get it,” I threw at him. “No one is this nice. Daycare. New house. Legal counsel. Too much. Too nice. Too easy. I didn’t get it,” I bit out. “Now I get it.”
“Carissa, goddamn it, you need to shut up and listen to me,” he clipped.
“No, I don’t,” I retorted, making hasty decisions because I needed an end to this. I needed this over. I needed to escape the burn threatening to end me. I’d endured enough, too much. I could take no more. “I’ll explain to Tyra and Tack about the house. I’ll get some money to Big Petey. I’ll sort the rest out. But no more Carissa Charity Case for you, Carson Steele. I’m leaving!”
I declared this, my heart breaking, my insides reduced to ash twisting in the flames, and I charged wide of him to get to the door.
He moved quickly, catching my upper arm in a firm grip and striding purposefully toward the back of the Compound, taking me with him.
I scurried to keep my feet under me as I was forced to walk backward, doing this shouting, “Take your hand off me!”
“Shut the fuck up,” he ground out.
“Do not talk to me like that, Carson Steele,” I yelled. “Take your stupid hand off me!”
He didn’t. He dragged me down the hall, pulled me in his room and then propelled me further with his hand on my arm pushing me then releasing me as I fell backward three steps and he slammed the door.
“Let me out!” I shrieked.
“Wanted you,” he replied. “In high school, I wanted you. So bad, my life went to shit, like it went to shit every single fucking day, to give my head some peace, I’d draw you.”
I snapped my mouth shut as my stomach squeezed so hard, I thought I’d be sick.
He kept at me.
“Last person I saw before I left my fucked-up life, meant everything that it was you. Years later, saw you again, you didn’t know me.”
Oh no.
“Carson,” I whispered.
“That fuckin’ hurt,” he forced out in a way I knew those three words cost him.
A lot.
Too much.
Yes, I was going to be sick.
“I—”
“Didn’t know who the fuck I was,” he finished for me acidly.
“I did,” I told him. “I just didn’t completely recognize you and you didn’t share when I introduced Travis and me.”
“You’re right,” he shot back. “I didn’t. Think on that, Carissa. You had a life where you got nothin’ you wanted, but still, you were fool enough to want a guy. You liked him. He was nice to you and you used him to give you peace from the shithole you called a home and the jackhole you called a dad. You saw him again, he didn’t know who the fuck you were, what would you do?”
Unfortunately, I saw his point.
More so seeing as he was a man, a manly man, a manly biker man who not only wouldn’t take kindly to that type of thing but also wouldn’t like to admit it hurt.
Not to mention, all he said about his home, his dad, using me to bring him peace killed me.
Sadly, thinking all this, I didn’t reply, so he had his chance to keep going.
“Now it’s been weeks where me, my brothers, their women have taken your back, looked after you, looked after your boy, you notice your fuck-up and you lay that charity case shit on me?”
“That was—”
“Fucked-up and ugly,” he finished for me again.
He was right.
“I was surprised,” I defended myself feebly.
“Yeah, me too. Surprised the homecoming queen had it in her ever to remember I existed.”
Okay, wait.
That blow was low.
He was right. I’d messed up.
But I didn’t deserve that.
“Joker, of course I’d remember you,” I said carefully.
“Yeah? Had my tongue in your mouth, your hands up my shirt, looked into my eyes beggin’ for more, Carissa, and that shit didn’t happen.”
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
“Your hair is different!” I retorted sharply.
“So’s yours,” he fired back.
This was true. It was longer. As was his.
Still.
“You had a beard.”
“You have a baby.”
Darn it!
“You’re a biker!” I cried.
“You’re a grocery store clerk,” he returned.
He was too much!
“It’s been years!” I yelled.
“Yeah, it has,” he whispered ominously.
But I knew what he meant.
It had been years and he still knew me.
He didn’t get the same.
But even if he was right, his reaction was wrong.
“Okay, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I’m sorry, Joker,” I hissed. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize the boy I crushed on and did it huge back in high school. Honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t. Though, you know, I may have had a few things on my mind, say, a flat tire and a crappy apartment and an ex-husband whose sole desire seemed to be making my life a misery. But I still don’t know how I didn’t. Especially considering the fact that, almost right away, I started crushing on the man you became even bigger than I’d crushed on you back then.”
I finished talking and did it breathing hard, so focused on what I was saying I didn’t notice his expression change.
But then I noticed his expression had changed.
“What?” he whispered.
“What what?” I snapped, still feeling many things, including anger.
“You crushed on me?” he asked.
I stared for a second and did it hard before I threw up my hands and returned, “Like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know.”
I leaned into him and hissed, “Baloney.”
The ominous whisper was back with his, “Be careful, Carissa.”
“About what?” I asked crossly. “Every girl had a crush on you and you pretending you didn’t know that is laughable. You totally knew.”
“Not about you.”
“So you knew,” I pushed.
“Not about you.”
“Oh my gosh!” I cried, narrowing my eyes at him. “You cannot believe for one second I believe you. Every time
I saw you I smiled at you. Once I even tripped so I could fall into you so you’d catch me, for goodness sakes! I couldn’t be more obvious!”
His body went completely still but I wasn’t done.
“And honestly, the last time I saw you, I asked you out on a date. I knew you were leaving. I figured you had to do what you had to do. And I admired you having the courage to do it. Still, it was my last ditch effort to get you to notice me. I knew you had to leave but I wanted you to do it hopefully thinking of me so if you came back, you’d remember me and—”
He cut me off. “Shut up.”
“No!” I shouted.
“Shut up, Carissa, now,” he growled.
I shut up and I did this because of the way he was looking at me.
Suddenly I didn’t feel the burning pain of humiliation.
Or anger.
I felt burning but it wasn’t pain.
It was something else entirely.
“You had him,” he said so quietly I barely heard him.
But I heard him and I understood him.
“If you’d given me a sign, the smallest clue, I would have let him go so I could have had my shot with you.”
Joker stared at me.
I let him until I could take no more.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whispered.
Joker didn’t reply.
“Please,” I begged.
Joker said nothing. He just kept staring at me in that way that made me think he was saying something, I just wasn’t sure I understood it.
But I had a feeling. I wasn’t certain I was right but it was too important not to take my shot.
So I took my shot.
I rushed forward three steps and threw myself at him hoping with everything in me that he’d catch me.
But this time, he didn’t catch me. He didn’t close his arms around me and kiss me.
He also didn’t push me away.
He bent, grabbed hold of me, lifted and swung me to his side. Then he took several long strides and tossed me on the bed.
As I landed, I sucked in breath, which was good since he fell, landing right on top of me.
That was when he kissed me.
And I kissed him back. Hard. Wanting him. Wanting Joker. Wanting Carson Steele. Not believing I had them… both.
So I was not about to let go.
Lucky for me, I knew with the way his hands were moving on me that this time, he wasn’t going to let me go either. He wasn’t going to stop.
This was it. Him and me. Joker and Carrie. Carson and Carissa.
Connecting.
Finally.
I wanted that. I wanted that more than anything I’d ever wanted—except my baby to be happy and healthy and my sister and mother to be alive—but it was a close fourth.
And that said a lot.
So I went for it. I gave it my all. I didn’t want him to come to his senses and realize he was still mad at me for not recognizing him. Or realize we were in his bed in the Compound, not at my place after a special date. Or anything that might make him stop.
I wanted this to happen now. I wanted to show him how I felt about him back then.
But more, I wanted to show him what he meant to me now.
And I wanted that so badly, I messed it up.
Completely.
It started after he got my T-shirt off. I immediately pulled his off and went right in, mistaking my aim and slamming the top of my head hard into his jaw. So hard he grunted and reared back.
We were both sitting up, but I was bent to him, so I lifted away and whispered, “Sorry.”
His eyes found mine, he drove his hands into my hair and pulled my mouth to his. Then he took us back down and it was all good.
It might have gotten better.
But instead it got worse when he had me on my back, was thrilling me with his tongue in my mouth, and he almost slid into second base, his rough, calloused hand so close to my breast I could feel the phantom of ecstasy I just knew it would bring, so I sucked his tongue too hard into my mouth as I dragged my nails up his side.
He broke the kiss and jerked away from my touch.
Humiliating.
Totally.
“I—” I began, feeling heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with what he’d been doing to me.
“Relax,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I whispered back.
He bent to me and kept kissing me.
Then he kissed other parts of me. I liked it so much it was unreal. It took me out of my head and firm into what he was doing to me.
That was when I loved it, my body showing him by pressing into him, whimpers gliding up my throat, my hands moving on him feverishly to take in the warm, sleek hardness that was him everywhere.
He did things to my breasts that Aaron had done but I didn’t think of Aaron because Aaron was forgotten with the way Joker did it. It totally obliterated Aaron’s memory.
I knew why.
There was more feeling behind the touch, the taste, the sensations. More passion. More experience. More talent.
More everything.
I felt it. I sensed it. I loved it.
Then he drifted down, his lips moving over my belly, his hands to the button of my jeans.
Once he had it undone, he shoved up to his knees, straddling me, and dazedly I stared up at him.
I missed the beard.
I loved the hair.
Gosh, he was amazing.
That face. Those eyes molten and staring down at me. His face hard and handsome.
His chest…
I tensed as he unzipped my zipper and shifted to yank my jeans down my legs.
That did not thrill me because his chest was all I could see.
And his arms.
Perfection. Cut collarbone jutting shoulder to broad, defined shoulder. Bulging biceps. Prominent veins lacing his inner and outer forearms. His ribs were delectable ridges. The boxes of his abs were deep and distinct. And he had tattoos that I couldn’t take in fully with everything that was happening, but they still were fascinating.
Then there was the V.
The V.
The muscles around his hipbones delineated in sharp relief leading into the waistband of his faded jeans.
He wasn’t amazing.
He was flawless. He was every woman’s computer wallpaper. He was three-story tall billboard ads.
He was dazzling.
And I was not.
“Joker,” I called as he pulled my last Converse off.
His head turned to me.
“I—” I started, gliding my hands over my belly, all that had gone before lost. Lying in his bed, all that was me with all that was him, I wanted nothing but to get up, get dressed, and get away.
I didn’t want him to see me.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “I don’t think—”
He looked away and tore my jeans over my ankles.
“Joker!”
He surged over me, up on one hand in the bed beside me, arm straight, his eyes sheets of liquid steel.
“Do not,” he growled.
“I’m not sure—”
His hand hit me palm flat between my breasts and glided down.
“You want this,” he stated.
I had.
Now I wasn’t sure. I’d conked him on the jaw, scratched him too hard, nearly sucked his tongue down my throat, and I had a baby belly (not to mention a baby behind which, fortunately in my current position, he couldn’t see).
His hand kept going, relentlessly shoving between my arms that were surrounding my stomach to hide it from him.
“I want this,” he kept talking.
I wanted to believe that.
“You’re flawless,” I whispered.
His hand slid into my undies, his finger dipping deep, dragging hard against my clit. I lost all thought as his touch made my back arch right off the mattress and my hands shoot up, fingers curling into the wai
stband of his jeans. My eyes closed and a moan tore up my throat.
“So are you,” he muttered gruffly, dragging his finger back and doing it harder.
“Oh my,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” he ground out, pushing, dragging, circling.
Oh my.
“Joker,” I panted, unconsciously lifting my knees and spreading my legs to give him better access.
“Fuck yeah, Carrie,” he groaned as he shifted so he was no longer straddling me but positioned between my legs.
“Don’t stop that,” I begged, opening my eyes, trying to focus on his, pressing into him, feeling it building, all he was giving me, and doing it squirming. “Please.”
He didn’t do as I asked. He dragged his finger hard against my clit again and buried it inside me.
Oh yes.
My neck arched back, my head pressing into the pillow, my eyes closing again as I pushed down into his hand and moaned, “Okay, you can stop the other, stick with this.”
“Anything you want, Butterfly,” his voice came at me, thick but amused as he pulled his finger out and thrust it in. He did that awhile, I rode it awhile, writhing, panting, exhilarating, then he pulled out and thrust in two fingers as his thumb came to my clit.
My body jolted and I took one hand from his jeans to wrap it around his wrist to keep him precisely where I needed him to be.
“Oh God,” I breathed, my eyes opening, “Yes. That. More of that.”
“Yes. That,” he grunted, his voice no longer amused and now so thick, it felt like a hot touch, coating me. “More of that.”
I tried to take in the expression that went with his tone but I couldn’t. I was close and spiraling closer very, very quickly.
“You ready for me, Butterfly?” he asked.
I’d never been more ready.
“Yes,” I panted. “Yes, now, Joker. Please.”
I lost his fingers but I didn’t lose the feelings because of the hot, violent, delicious way he tore my panties down my legs.
I gasped and felt his weight bearing into my left hip as I heard a drawer open and him order, “Help me out, Carrie.”
I didn’t know what he wanted and I opened my eyes to see he had the edge of a condom packet between his teeth. He was still up on one hand in the bed but no longer pressed into my hip.