“Oh, God, Joker, don’t stop!” she cried, losing it, her neck arched, her ass tipped, her whimpers coming constant but catching every time she took his cock. “Sweetheart,” she panted. “Sweetie,” she moaned. “Joker! Yes!” she cried and he felt the drenched heat of her clutch him and he knew she was there.
He took his finger from her clit, grasped her hips and pulled her back into his thrusts, listening to her come, feeling it, fucking loving it. Letting her sleek wet clench him and pull it out of him, he drove deep and kept doing it, pounding her back on his dick, listening to her sweet, sharp mews as she took it.
Then he got it. His head jerking back, he fucked her as he came inside her, doing both hard.
As it started to leave him, he dropped his head and after a few beats the smooth cheeks of her ass came in focus.
His fingers still clamped around her hips, he took her gentle as he slid his palms to her cheeks, watching her pussy take his cock, his thumbs move over the swells of her ass. An ass he’d seen in cheerleader panties. An ass he’d watch move in her khakis. An ass he’d wanted like this for so long, it wasn’t fucking funny. A dream he’d made up, his hand on his cock, pumping until he came, the dream so good, even jacking off, the orgasm was always amazing.
But not like the real thing.
Nothing like it.
Not even close.
“Sweetie,” she called, her tone tentative, and Joker stopped watching his thumbs move over her flesh and looked to her.
He saw her body was tense and her neck was twisted, her eyes on him unsure.
He pulled out, flipped her over, lifted her up into his arms and put a knee to the bed. He moved them from the edge and dropped her to her back, his weight hitting soft body, pressing it into the bed, feeling it against him, her thighs holding him tight at his hips.
He lifted a hand and pulled a tangle of ringlets out of her face.
Then he bent and kissed her, soft, deep, so fucking sweet, and he kept doing it until she was holding on tight with all of her limbs.
Only then did he break it and ask, “You good?”
“Yeah,” she whispered but she didn’t need to. The uncertainty was gone. She was gazing up at him, dazed, her body warm and loose under his even if her limbs were still wound tight.
Suddenly, she looked to his nose.
“I liked the part where you… um, flipped me around. Or, I should say the, uh… parts.”
He grinned even though he wasn’t the kind of man who settled in for a blow by blow processing of a great fuck.
But if she wanted that, he’d give it to her.
“And when you had your, well…” her eyes dropped to his mouth, “mouth between my legs.”
He grinned bigger.
Her eyes skittered to his then to his hair and finally over to his ear.
“And the…” she bit her lip, let it go and brought her gaze to his, “edge of the bed thing. It felt…” her hand slid up into his hair and her voice dipped quiet, “kinda naughty.”
That was cute but if she thought that was naughty, and she liked it that way, he had a lot to teach her.
Even as he got off on that idea, something bothered him about it.
Her words came to him.
Don’t stop.
She’d said that in his bed in the Compound.
Fuck, she’d even said it when he was fingering her in the shower.
And he knew why she did.
Her ex stopped. Her ex didn’t go the distance with her before taking himself there. Her ex didn’t fuck her on her knees at the side of the bed.
Jesus, with a hot little number like Carissa, what was that asshole’s problem?
“Joker?” she called, and he focused on her.
Part of him wanted to ask. Part of him wanted to know if she’d ever been taken care of in any way, in bed or out of it, by Aaron Jackhole Neiland.
The rest of him didn’t give a fuck. He’d give her that every way he could.
“Right here, Carrie,” he muttered.
Her lips curved into a soft smile and she slid a hand up and around to cup his jaw and again run her thumb over his stubble.
“So, you got the groceries, that leaves only laundry.” Her smile grew. “In other words, a lazy day.” She moved her hand down, gliding her thumb over his jaw before it went down again to the side of his neck and she stroked his throat, telling him, “I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“Then we’ll be lazy,” he whispered.
She kept smiling even as she lifted her head and brushed her mouth against his.
She rested back on the bed and kept stroking, trailing her thumb up his throat and back to his jaw.
“You sleep good?” he asked.
“Awesome,” she answered.
That time, he smiled.
Then he said, “Gotta take care a’ this condom and get my girl some coffee.”
“That’d be good,” she replied.
He bent in and returned the lip brush before deciding it wasn’t enough. Tangling his fingers into the side of her hair, he slanted his head and took her mouth in a slow, wet kiss.
She gave back what she got.
He broke the kiss, knifed out of bed, his arm wrapped around her to take her with him. She went straight for her nightshirt as he bent to nab her panties, holding up his jeans. Her shirt was falling over her hips when he handed her the panties, bent in to take another taste of her mouth then whispered, “Meet you in the kitchen.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
He grinned.
She grinned back.
He walked to the bathroom, took care of business, and joined his girl in the kitchen.
* * *
That night, Joker sat across from Carissa in a booth at Dairy Queen.
They’d gone there for more than just Blizzards. He’d bought her chicken strips and fries, himself a burger and onion rings. They’d eaten them, shooting the shit, the mood mellow and easy.
Then he’d gone back to the counter to get them their Blizzards.
For both of them, it was Reece’s Pieces and Cups, and she’d been right all those years ago. It was the best.
He swallowed a spoonful and looked to her to see her eyes to the side, the Blizzard cup held up, her spoon empty and forgotten in her fingers, her thoughts a mile away.
“Butterfly.”
Her head jolted and she looked to him.
“Hey,” she said softly.
Fuck, he felt that in his dick.
“Hey,” he replied and tilted his head. “You’re a million miles away.”
“No, just eight years.”
“What?” he asked.
That was when she landed the blow, giving him more pain he didn’t mind feeling.
“Waited eight years to sit and have a Blizzard with you, Carson.”
He felt his throat start burning.
“I’m glad you cut your hair,” she said, her voice quiet, her eyes on him steady, her intent was to say something with them and more than just her words. “I liked it before but it looks really good now.”
“That’s good, Butterfly,” he murmured.
She swallowed and when she did, something washed through her face he didn’t like. “I wish I’d remembered you on I-25. I wish I’d done it so I could have had my Blizzard—”
He dropped his spoon in his cup and reached out, grabbing the hand she held her spoon in and holding it tight.
“Stop it.”
“I don’t want you to look back on it and be mad at me.”
“I’m over it.”
“You say that but—”
He gently tugged her hand. “I’m over it, Carrie. You’re takin’ this all on yourself, but don’t forget I had it to give to you, let you off the hook, and I didn’t. I let it go on too long. That’s on me. Don’t take it all on, ’cause it ain’t yours. You fucked up. I fucked up. Even.”
She stared in his eyes. She did this a long time.
Hers started to get
bright, but when he was about to say something to stop that shit, she pulled in breath through her nose and said, “I’m glad you cut your hair.”
He knew what that meant. He knew it meant she was glad they were past that. That they had what they had yesterday. That morning. That day. She was glad they were here, eating Blizzards. It meant a lot to her. A fuckuva lot.
And that meant a lot to him.
He let her go, ordering, “Eat your Blizzard.”
“Okay,” she said shakily, turning her attention back to her cup.
But he wasn’t finished.
“Want you done so I can get your ass home and get it naked.”
Her eyes shot to his.
“So hurry,” he said.
The melancholy moved from her face as excitement moved into it which shifted straight to sassy.
“I am not rushing my first Blizzard with Carson Steele.”
“You’ll get other ones from me.”
She straightened her shoulders and got even sassier.
“This is the first one. I’m savoring it.”
“Baby, you’ll savor more, you down that, get your ass in my truck and I get you home. Got a hankerin’ to make my girl feel naughty.”
Another eye flare before she turned her attention direct to her ice cream.
Joker sat back and turned his attention to his.
He did this smiling.
In the end, it was Joker who didn’t feel like making his girl feel naughty.
After their first Blizzard together, as ridiculous as it was, high school crap, a lost fantasy resurrected in a bed with a phenomenal mattress, he took his time. He painstakingly built it for her, for both of them.
But he didn’t fuck Carissa.
He made love to her.
Slowly.
Gently.
So when he made her come, she whispered, “Carson,” into his mouth.
It was the best moment of his life.
And it was that in a way he was determined it wouldn’t remain that way making that moment the first time in his life he wanted more.
And he was going to get it.
Further, even if he had to bust his balls, eat shit, walk through hell…
He was going to give it to her.
* * *
Late the next afternoon, Joker had his ass resting on his bike that was parked next to a five-year-old SUV, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes to the door of the high school.
The last fifteen minutes he was there, he’d gotten looks. He’d gotten questions. He’d given vague answers.
And he’d waited.
The wait was over when he saw Mr. Robinson walk out the door.
Through his shades, Joker took him in. He’d aged, but it was a testament to the man that he didn’t look beaten. He’d been through it to get a kid, but he was also a high school teacher. They got paid dick, put up with a lot of shit, had one of the most important jobs anyone could have, and got little respect, and all he looked like was a man who was leaving work, ready to go home to his wife and dinner.
Joker watched him walk to the SUV, and he wasn’t surprised when Mr. Robinson clocked him almost the minute he walked out the door. He kept Joker in his sights as he walked the ten parking spots to his SUV.
Joker also wasn’t surprised he didn’t let a biker hanging in a teacher’s parking lot slide like the others did.
He stopped and asked, “Can I help you?”
“Good to see you again, Mr. Robinson,” Joker replied.
His head tilted. His eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, do I…?” he started before his face cleared. “Carson?” he asked quietly.
Joker nodded, pushed up from his bike, and walked to the sidewalk.
He extended his hand.
Mr. Robinson took it, his face cracking into a smile.
“Carson,” he repeated, clasping Joker’s hand and pumping it. “Yes. Definitely. Good to see you too.”
They ended on a squeeze before they broke off and Joker asked, “How’re things?”
“Things are things,” Mr. Robinson replied, still smiling, saying they were normal but he didn’t mind. “You?”
“Things are good.”
Mr. Robinson’s gaze grew intent as he studied Joker and said, “Good to hear.”
“Yeah,” Joker muttered, cleared his throat and told him, “Been back a while. Thought about you. Wanted to connect. Wasn’t in that place. Now I am.”
“That’s good to hear, too.” He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say next, won it and asked, “You took off—”
Joker gave it to him easy. “Got my diploma. Took night classes. Now I’m a licensed mechanic. I’m a brother of Chaos and design and build cars at Ride.”
“What you wanted to do,” Mr. Robinson muttered.
He remembered. All the kids he saw year to year, the man remembered.
“Yeah,” Joker agreed.
“Are you married? Settled? Seeing a girl?”
“Yup. You remember Carissa Teodoro?”
At that, Mr. Robinson smiled huge and remarked, “I see she finally got you to notice her.”
Fuck. The man didn’t miss anything, even shit Joker, who wanted that to be true and paid attention, didn’t see.
“Yeah,” was all he said. Then he went for it. “Are things really good with you?”
If he remembered Carissa’s crush, Joker wanting to be a mechanic, he sure as fuck wouldn’t forget where they were the last time they saw each other… and why they were there.
Even if it wasn’t his business, Mr. Robinson gave it to him, also easy. “They’re fine. We haven’t been able to…” he trailed off, cleared his throat and kept going. “We’ve settled into the we we need to be. We wanted more. But you’ve got to learn when to let go and focus on what you have.” He grinned, it was part sad, part defiant. “Prettiest girl I ever saw, best wife a man can have. It could be worse.”
It sure fucking could.
Joker just hoped he could find a way to give him better.
He didn’t say that.
He said, “You always had it goin’ on.”
The grin stayed in place when Mr. Robinson replied, “Glad you agree.”
That day, while Carissa was on shift, Joker had worked at Ride. She’d be off shift soon and Robinson had worked all day.
He needed to let him get home to his wife and dinner.
So he reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, pulled out a card, and shoved his wallet back in while extending the card to his old history teacher.
“Card for Ride. You can call in, ask for me. But my cell’s on the back. Just in case you’re interested in what I’m building, you can stop around. Anytime. You tell me when, I’ll be there and I’ll show you.”
Mr. Robinson didn’t hesitate. “Couldn’t keep me away.”
That hit him in the throat, and Joker forced a swallow to wash it away before he said gruffly, “Right. Let you go. Call when you want.” He jerked up his chin and finished on, “Good to see you again, Mr. Robinson.”
“Man to man now, Carson. I’m Keith.”
Joker nodded to him. “Keith.”
They shook hands again and Keith Robinson lifted up the card. “I’ll give you a call.”
“Look forward to it.”
Robinson gave him a smile and headed to his SUV.
Joker went to his bike.
Mounted on it, he looked left into the cab of the truck.
Robinson was shifting into gear, doing it looking down and also doing it smiling.
He’d worried.
Joker had given him closure. He’d also given him relief.
But back in high school Keith Robinson had given Joker a whole lot more.
And on that thought, the impact of all Carissa was forced to accept due to circumstances struck him so hard it felt like a power punch to the gut.
He’d run away, worked his ass off, ate shit, walked through hell, got his diploma, worked to get his mechanic’s license, and c
ome out the other side.
So he’d forgotten how it felt. How deep it ran. How intense the desire was, how extreme the hope was that you’d one day be in a position to give back to those who put brightness in a dark life, cutting through the black.
Unconsciously, even if years had passed, once he’d opened his eyes, he’d set himself on a course of giving back.
And taking in the smile he gave a man he respected, he determined he’d stay true to that course.
No matter what it took.
* * *
When she walked in the back door, Joker was at Carissa’s stove, stirring the thickening sauce, dinner around the corner because she’d texted him half an hour ago with I’m off in thirty. Then I’m on my way home. You better be there, sweetie, because I’m STARVED.
He’d been there.
He turned to see her walk in and toss her purse on the counter.
“Yo,” he greeted.
She grinned at him.
Then she blinked.
After that she asked, “What on earth is that?”
He looked down into the pot then to her. “Étouffée sauce.”
Her eyes got big.
Fucking cute.
“Like, shrimp étouffée?”
“No. Got crawfish. So, like, crawfish étouffée.”
She wandered to him, her eyes on the pot. “Where’d you get crawfish?”
“Got it at the LeLane’s close to Ride. Also got the étouffée mix at the LeLane’s close to Ride.”
Her head tipped back and her eyes caught his.
Now she was pouting.
Totally fucking cute.
“You didn’t come to my store?”
“Carrie, you gave me half an hour to pull this shit together. Ride is close to your pad, but your LeLane’s overshoots this house by ten minutes. The LeLane’s by Ride is only a few minutes outta the way.”
“I see,” she muttered, her eyes drifting back down to the pot.
“You done chattin’?” he asked, and she looked up at him.
“I’m not sure.”
Absolutely fucking cute.
“How about you be done for a minute and kiss me?”
“I can do that,” she said.
“So do it,” he ordered when she didn’t kiss him.
She smiled.
That was the cutest of all.
Then she lifted up on her toes with her hand to his abs.
After that, she kissed him.
He kissed her back.