Ride Steady(115)

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 f*ck?

“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 f*cking 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 f*cked 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.