Ride Steady (Chaos #3)(84)

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.