Ride Steady (Chaos, #3)(93)

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 f*ck.

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 f*ck her on her knees at the side of the bed.

Jesus, with a hot little number like Carissa, what was that *’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 f*ck. 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.