When he was done, he let her change out of her LeLane’s outfit.
And finally, both of them sitting at her dining room table, he fed his hungry girl.
* * *
Jesus, but she was a hot little piece.
After dinner and camping out in front of the TV, he’d started it with her. He’d done it intending to make out on her enormous couch and then take it to her fantastic mattress.
But now he found himself sitting on his ass, his girl straddling him, rubbing her hot crotch against his hard one with her hands up his shirt roaming all over him, and if she didn’t quit that shit with her pussy, her hands, and her tongue in his mouth, he was going to come in his jeans.
He needed to get his cock in her cunt or things would get messy.
He didn’t have that chance when her hands suddenly shoved up, forcing his arms up with them, so she could tear off his tee.
Letting her do that, Joker was intent on getting to his fly, wondering how he could manage that, and getting her out of her jeans, and getting a condom on, all in the span of three seconds.
Carissa was intent on getting her mouth on him.
But he felt her abruptly still and he found his line to his fly diverted when she caught his wrist in her fingers and shoved his arm up.
What the fuck?
“Carrie…” he started, focusing on her, but when he did, he too went still.
And at the look on her face, the lightness in his chest that he was getting used to feeling, grew heavy and dark.
“What…?” she whispered, her fingers releasing his wrist only to trail down the inside of his biceps.
He pulled his arm away.
Her eyes sliced to his.
“Joker—”
He put his hands to her ass and muttered, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
She went solid and held him where he was by landing her hands on his shoulders and pressing down.
“Lift your arm, let me see,” she demanded.
“Baby,” he ground up against her, a message she couldn’t misinterpret, “in a certain mood.”
“Lift your arm,” she said gentle but firm. “Sweetie, let me see.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
“Carissa, it’s—”
He shut up when he saw tears all of a sudden fill her eyes.
“Do you… did you smoke?” she asked.
Fuck.
“Baby—”
She cut him off, saying quickly, “Boys do that. They get drunk and they challenge themselves or each other. Is that how you got those?”
He clenched his teeth and through them said, “No.”
Her chin wobbled and she whispered, “He gave those to you.”
She knew it. She knew his old man had burned him.
Joker wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Long time ago. Now, Carrie,—”
“He gave those to you.”
“Carissa, it’s—”
“He gave those to you!”
At her enraged shriek, his arms went slack and she tore out of them, finding her feet.
“He gave those to you,” she snapped, tears still in her eyes but not falling, her face growing pink.
He pushed out of the couch and she scuttled back.
“I got away from him, remember?” he pointed out, going for a calming tone.
And failing.
“Not soon enough,” she bit out.
Shit.
“Come here, Carrie.”
“She left you to that and he gave those to you,” she hissed.
They had to get off this.
“It was a long time ago,” he repeated. “They’ve healed. It’s over. Just let it be over.”
She stared at him, her chest rising and falling fast, breathing hard to hold back what she was feeling, all of it, and it was visibly massive.
And it was for him.
For him.
Jesus.
Then she let fly and when she did, the path Carson “Joker” Steele found himself on the second he saw a woman holding a baby on the side of I-25 and decided to pull off and help came to its conclusion. Just like that, Carson Steele was exactly where he’d always needed to be, with the woman he needed at his side, doing it as the man he never dreamed of becoming.
But somehow was.
And all this came about when she stated, “You don’t heal from that, Carson. Not from that. My God,” she threw out both hands, “how magnificent of a man do you have to be to go through what you went through, doing it alone, nobody to ease the way, the pain, no mother, no brother, no sister, all by yourself enduring that and fight your way to becoming all that you are. It isn’t amazing. It’s a darned miracle.”
His body stone, only his mouth moved, “Come here, Carrie.”
She ignored him, shook her hair and declared, “I’m going to help you heal.”
“Come here, Carrie.”
Her head jerked, her eyes got wide, and fucking finally she moved her ass to him.
The second she got close, he took her down to the couch.
He did not make love to her.
He kissed her hard, bruising her mouth.
And she didn’t give a shit.
He touched her, tearing at her clothes, ripping her underwear.
And she whimpered through it.
Then he fucked her and she took it, her mouth taking his tongue at the same time, her body lurching violently with each thrust.
And she got off on it, moaning her orgasm down his throat, her cunt tightening around his dick, doing that even before he got his thumb to her clit.
Once she found it, Joker came rough and hard, his hand fisted in her hair to hold her stationary so she could take him through it.
And she went back to whimpering, clutching him tight, swallowing his groan.
When he was done, not even recovered, he had two thoughts.
One was that he was glad she was his hot little piece so the three seconds he took to roll on a condom didn’t cool her in any way.
The other was that he’d lost control and she was definitely hot for it.
But she was Carissa. His girl.
And that shit shouldn’t happen.
So, still recovering from his orgasm, he lifted both hands to cup either side of her head and looked into her eyes.
“I hurt you?”
“No way,” she gasped, also still feeling hers, “No how,” she finished on a breath.
“Don’t lie to me,” he warned.
“That was…” she shook her head in his hands. “I don’t know what it was but it was so much of what it was, I’m thinking about starting a diary.”
He held her eyes.
“I’ve never had a diary,” she went on.
He kept looking at her, trying to get a read on if she was lying.
“But that needs to be recorded for posterity.”
It was that that made him drop his forehead to hers in relief.
“Then again, I should have started that diary two days ago. I was just tired from the move and all,” she carried on. “But right after shift tomorrow, I’m going out and getting one.”
He lifted up and watched her smile at him as he felt her hand sift into his hair.
“Just to finish our earlier discussion,” she whispered, he tensed, but she gave it to him. “I am going to heal you, Carson Steele. It’s gonna happen. That’s it. No response necessary.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he didn’t need that. Not anymore. She’d already done it. And not by taking him hard.
By making him see what everyone but his father saw.
By making him see past what his father made him see.
But he didn’t say it.
He wanted to see how she’d do it. He also wanted to let her do it because he intended to take care of her, give her everything she needed, and he knew she needed that.
And he’d finally realized he was a man who deserved a good wom
an who’d go out of her way to do just that.
That meant in the end, he’d just kissed her and she’d kissed him back, holding on, giving him everything in a way that when he broke the kiss, he was smiling.
Let the healing begin.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Already Winnin’ the One You’re In
Carissa
KNOWING JOKER WAS at my house after my shift the next day and Travis was still at his dad’s, I didn’t go out and get a diary.
But I didn’t go home either.
I went to Ride.
I was becoming accustomed to the cars and bikes, so I knew Tack’s bike was out front, as well as Tyra’s vintage Mustang. Therefore, I went to the office first.
I walked up the steps, through the door, and hit pay dirt.
Because in it was Tyra, seated in her desk chair. Sitting on her desk was Tack. Lazing on the couch by the front window was Hound. And standing by the side door to the garage was Hop, holding some papers and going over them with High.
“Yo, Carrie,” Hound greeted.
“Hey, Hound,” I greeted back on a smile. I turned that smile Tack’s way. “Hey.”
“Hey, darlin’,” he replied, his expression welcoming, but he was also watching me closely.
“All good at the house?” Tyra asked.
I looked to her. “Perfect.”
She grinned. I grinned back and then gave my grin to Hop and High as a greeting before I looked right back to Tack.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
He straightened slightly as Tyra’s gaze moved to her husband.
“Need privacy?” Hop asked and I turned his way.
“Not really.” I gave my attention back to Tack and because Joker was at my house and I wanted to be there with him, but also because I was nervous doing this, I launched right in, “Does Joker have anything to do with his father?”
The feel of the room turned funny, which I thought was telling, but I ignored it as well as the fact that Tack’s expression blanked completely.
“Gotta ask him, girl,” he said gently.
I nodded briskly. “That means no. So question two, do you know his dad?”
“Never met the man,” Tack told me.
“Do you know where he lives?” I pushed.
“Babe,” I heard High call and I looked his way. “Not bein’ a dick, but you need to take this up with your man.”
“You said don’t give up,” I returned, my voice a whisper, and I watched his mouth clamp shut. When it did, I shared, “He said he’s over it.”
“Maybe he is,” Hound put in.
I twisted to him, thinking that said a lot.
And what that said was that in his time as a brother, Joker hadn’t given it to them either.
But I sensed High knew. I sensed Tack did too.
I looked from Hound to Hop.
He knew as well.
They’d been around him and they weren’t stupid. They’d probably even seen the scars.
So I knew they knew.
“Carrie, babe, listen to me,” Tack said, and I turned to see he’d straightened from the desk and was facing me. “Man’s gotta face his own shit in his own time.”
I heard him, loud and clear.
I just didn’t like what he had to say.
That being, they knew, and they hadn’t done a thing about it.
I straightened my shoulders and kept his gaze. “Okay, I understand. So this is mine.”
“Babe—” Tack started.
“No,” I said softly and watched him shut his mouth. “They hurt him. Now they need to hurt.”
Tack’s brows went up. “They?”
“His mother,” I told him. “I’m going to find her too.”
Tack drew in breath before he said quietly, “He’s gettin’ there. You in his life, he’s movin’ in a direction he wasn’t close to takin’ before he found you.”
That felt nice.
But not nice enough.
“Maybe, but he’s not there,” I returned. “And you knew. You couldn’t do anything because you have a manly man biker code you have to follow. But I don’t.”
Tack swung his head toward his wife. “Red, you wanna help me here?”
Tyra shrugged. “I don’t follow the manly man biker code either.”
After she delivered that, she grinned at me.
I grinned back.
“Trust me, this is not a good idea,” Tack growled to his woman and shifted his gaze to me. “Seriously, Carissa.”
“You knew,” I stated and softened my tone. “You know.”
“I did and I do,” Tack confirmed. “And I’ll tell you somethin’ you gotta learn, darlin’. You took up this life, you entered our world, you got one a’ my brothers in your bed, and if you want him to stay there, this has gotta sink in. My woman fought my battles for me, that would make me far from happy. And Joker is a brother for a reason, that reason bein’, like every man here, we share blood of a different variety.”
I understood what he was saying, and what he was saying didn’t sound good.
I swallowed.
“Think on this and don’t do anything hasty,” Tack advised.
Maybe I should take his advice.
I looked to Tyra.
She scrunched her nose and tipped her head to the side.
I didn’t understand that, and in the company of four Chaos brothers, I couldn’t ask.
I gave my gaze to Tack. “Okay. I won’t be hasty.”
He appeared visibly relieved, which kind of scared me that I might be doing the wrong thing.
“I… Joker’s at my house. I need to get home,” I said.
“Tell him we said hey,” Hound ordered good-naturedly.
I gave him a shaky grin and nodded.
Then I gave my farewells and got out of there.
I got in my car and backed out of my spot by the stairs to Ride’s office.
Okay, that didn’t go as planned. Perhaps I should have thought it through more fully.
But I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head. Even after what happened the night before (the good part on the couch, before and after the drama), falling asleep with Joker again, getting up with Joker (again), getting ready and heading out to work (with Joker… again), I could force myself to let it go.
But all day I’d be scanning groceries, doing it seeing the insides of his biceps. The random pattern of white rings surrounded by puckered skin.
Dozens of them.
All over.
When had he endured that?
I couldn’t imagine the boy I knew in high school would allow that to happen. I’d seen him with split lips and black eyes, holding himself funny. But although he was larger now, had filled out, he was no scrawny kid. He’d have fought back if his father tried to do that to him.
Wouldn’t he?
I shook my head as I drove.
He would.
Anyone would.
Burning.
This all could only mean one of two things. His father did it to him when he was younger and couldn’t fight back, which was utterly unthinkable. Or his father did it to him when he was older, but did it after he made it so he couldn’t fight back, which was also utterly unthinkable.
But even so, I couldn’t quit thinking about it.
So I had to do something about it.
I was halfway home when my phone binged with a text. Being a mother, and now a girlfriend (I hoped, we hadn’t made it official, but that was the only thought that made me smile all day), I didn’t ignore it. I grabbed my phone and looked at it when I was stopped at a red light.
It was a text from Tyra that read Don’t worry. I’m on it.
Oh no.
I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
I didn’t text back but got another bing when I was idling, waiting for Tyra’s garage door to open (the house even had a garage with a remote opener—I mean, could it get better?).
I drove in and parked, but before I go
t out of the car, I looked at the text and saw it was from Elvira.
It read Tyra called. We’re sorting shit. Give me a few days.
This meant giving her boss, who from what I could tell was a private eye or something, a few days. Elvira, I knew because she threatened it repeatedly on any occasion that warranted it (or didn’t), would drag him in.
What had I done?
I got out of my car feeling funny. Not feeling like I should feel knowing I was walking into a clean, safe, lovely house to a tall, handsome biker boyfriend (or at least I thought he was my boyfriend, it was early but we did spend a lot of time together) who was growing back his beard for me.
I walked in the back door expecting Joker to be at the stove (this being how accustomed I’d become to him taking care of me) only to find the kitchen empty.
I dumped my purse, started to move toward the living room/dining room area that ran along the front of the house, my mouth opening to call, just as Joker turned the corner and walked into the kitchen.
He was grinning at me.
I stopped and took him in.
Navy tee, faded jeans, heavy black boots, lengthy stubble, messy hair, so, so handsome.
“Hey, Butterfly.”
“I think I messed up again.”
He stopped dead because I blurted that out but also because he must have read something on my face since he was right then examining it closely.
“What’d you mess up?” he asked slowly.
I took in a deep breath and shared, “I’ll preface this by saying that I was upset.”
I stopped talking.
Joker didn’t say anything.
I kept going, “And I’ll also say that I’m very aware that you’re a man.”
His face got a little scary.
But he still remained silent.
“A manly man,” I went on.
His face got scarier.
“A manly man biker,” I kept at it.
“Jesus,” he bit off. “What’d you do?”
Oh well.
The faster the better, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
“I kinda went to Tack, and Hop, High, Hound, and Tyra were there, and I, well…” I paused then finished hurriedly, “Asked them where your dad lives.”
He looked to the ceiling.
“I was upset,” I reminded him.
He looked to me.
“He needs to pay,” I whispered.
“Yeah, Carrie, and how you gonna make him do that?”