We’d been making out. It was hot and heavy. I’d just performed a miracle by forcing Joker from on top of me to our sides then maneuvering myself on top.

If he wasn’t going to go to second base, I was. So I’d gotten my hands up his shirt. His skin was silky. It was also blazing. And maybe best of all, it covered what could only be described as supple steel.

I couldn’t get enough. Of that. Of his hair. Of his tongue. Of his manly biker smell. I’d even run my lips over his beard to kiss his earlobe and the second I did it I wanted to do it again.

I could feel him hard against my belly through his jeans. I liked that feel.

How could he say we’re done?

“Just a little longer,” I cajoled, deciding now was a good time to run my lips over his beard again.

“Carissa,” he growled. “No,” he finished inflexibly.

I looked at him and blurted my lie semi-desperately, “You don’t know me, Joker. I’m actually a floozy.”

He burst out laughing.

It was the first time he did it. It was deep and sumptuous and hearing it was a multisensory experience, all of it good.

But it still peeved me.

“That’s funny?” I asked.

He focused on me. “Got here with food, were you in your LeLane’s shirt?”

“No,” I snapped, though I had no idea why he asked that question at this point in our conversation, and not only because he knew the answer.

“No. You got home and changed into a shirt that had more ruffles on it than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s cute,” I retorted, worried he didn’t think the same.

“It is. So are you. It is you. My Butterfly in her wings. What it isn’t is what a floozy would wear to lure her man to fuck her on her couch in front of the news.”

It was safe to say he was correct, however I didn’t confirm that verbally.

“I didn’t say I wanted to go all the way,” I told him. “I just don’t wanna stop.”

“Carissa, you feel that against your belly?”

I bit my lip because I did.

“Do me a favor,” he said to finish.

He had a good point, a very good one, I was being selfish and I needed to cool it for his sake.

I looked away, feebly pushing away, suddenly embarrassed.

Joker rolled so I was trapped against the back of the couch and ordered, “Look at me.”

“This is embarrassing,” I told his throat.

“Don’t know how. Not a man who has you in his arms would think anything about you wantin’ more of him than that he’s fuckin’ lucky.” His words made my eyes lift to his. “You’re honest about that and don’t play games, that’s even better.”