Ride Steady (Chaos, #3)(91)

That, like her big bed head of hair, was cute.

Now she stood across the kitchen from him, unmoving, and Joker didn’t know if she stood there because she was still mostly out of it or she was winding up to hand him shit for buying her groceries.

He could get how it was tough to accept kindness. He’d lived under that burden with Linus and Mrs. Heely for years. You knew you needed it, had to accept it, even go out and take it on occasion. But you worried you’d never be able to return it and that was not a good feeling.

Still, he had to get her to a place where she got over that. She’d be getting kindness for a long time to come from Joker, his brothers, and their families, so she had to learn not to fight it.

He opened his mouth to start that lesson when she whispered, “Carson Steele in my kitchen.”

He shut his mouth and stared at her, feeling a lightness in his chest he’d never felt in his life.

She kept going, her drowsy face warming, telling him everything even as she put it in words.

“My biker, putting away groceries.”

My biker.

He turned fully to her.

As was her way, she ran to him.

He had no choice but to catch her, and when he did, she took him back and he slammed into the counter, the pain of the hit spiraling up his spine.

But he didn’t give a f*ck seeing he had her ass in his hands, the insides of her thighs pressed to his hips and her hands at each side of his head.

She moved her thumbs along his cheeks, her eyes watching, doing this murmuring, “Stubble.”

“Carrie,” was all he could force out.

Her gaze caught his. “I want the beard back, sweetie. Will you grow it for me?”

He’d walk through hell for her so it went without saying he’d grow his beard back for her.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Her eyes went soft as her lips curved up.

She gave him that look for a beat before she said softly, “Still taking care of me.”

She meant the groceries.

“Don’t fight it,” he advised.

“Tell me you’re gonna eat some of them and I won’t.”

With that she meant she wanted him around.

He smiled at her. “Generic ketchup sucks.”

That was when she smiled at him.

So that was when he was done with their conversation and he communicated that by sliding a hand from her ass up her back and into her hair, putting pressure on.

He didn’t need to. She tipped her face to him and gave him her mouth.

She might have been half asleep but she still had brushed her teeth.

She tasted f*cking brilliant.

Though, she always did.

Still taking her mouth, he turned his back from the counter and planted her ass on it. She wound her legs around his hips as he dipped a hand up her nightshirt then down into her panties.

That got him a whimper as she pressed her heat against his crotch.

Fuck yes.

He broke the kiss but not the connection of their lips.

“You want coffee?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, all breathy, something that made his dick, already getting hard, get harder.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Before or after I give you your f*cking?”

With that, she pressed everything against him and tightened her arms around his shoulders.

“I think… after,” she said shyly, but did it still holding his eyes.

“Like your bed,” he muttered.

“Then let’s do it there,” she muttered back, sliding a hand into his hair to cup the back of his head.

“You got it, Butterfly,” he replied, lifted her off the counter, took her mouth, and, kissing her, walked her out of the kitchen and to her new bedroom.

She liked him kissing her. She got off on it. He liked it too, because she tasted good, she made noise, she gave back, and she also lost it so he was able to get her nightshirt off her with her barely noticing.

After that, he gave her his mouth in other places, taking her in this time and doing it lazy, like he didn’t do in his bed at the Compound or in her shower.

She had great tits, bigger than high school, with rosy nipples that tightened instantly against his tongue as he pulled them in his mouth. He heard her heavy breathing turn to panting and she slid both hands in his hair to hold him to her, showing him she liked what he was doing.

Jesus.

Carissa.

Going from one tit to the other, he had her pressing up, clutching his hair before he slid down, circling her navel with his tongue, and down, his body coming off her bed.

He curled his fingers around the side of her panties and yanked them off, her body jerking, her half-closed eyes widening in a way that made his stiff cock jump.

He clasped his hands on her hips, yanked her to the edge of the bed and dropped down to his knees.

“Joker,” she breathed.

He said nothing.

Instead, he tossed her legs over his shoulders, seeing her honey curls between her legs glistening, his dick so hard and straining against his jeans, it hurt.

And he liked it.

He dipped in and ran his tongue through her moist.

She tasted good there too.

Perfection.

Her heels dug in and she pushed her * into his mouth as she arched on the bed and cried, “Joker!”