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Carrie hated Mike. The Bloody Scorpions could fuck off too. She’d never so vehemently despised anyone as much as she did them. All she wanted to do was move on with her life, yet their actions continued to plague her and restrain her.

Fucking assholes.

Sparks sizzled along her jaw and returned her to the current moment. She fought the urge to flinch. Locking eyes with Kid, she centered herself in the moment. She wasn’t on a pool table. There weren’t thirty dudes roughly pinching and fondling her.

Carrie was in her bed, in her apartment. The man with her was Colt Oberlin. He wouldn’t hurt her.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured as the tips of his fingers grazed her cheek.

Despite the chaos going on in her head and her chest, the corners of her mouth tilted up in a smile. This heavily tattooed, dangerous man put her at ease. She should be afraid of him more than anyone else.

He was the same as Mike. Well, not identical. Kid was several pounds lighter and had much more ink, but they were both outlaw bikers. They thrived on cruelty.

Wait…

Did they?

Mike had, but Kid…

From what she’d seen of him, he didn’t possess a violent bone in his body. With women at least. Men who deserved it were another story. Aside from the one punch he’d thrown, for her of all people, he’d been as gentle as a lamb. How was that even possible?

When the pad of his thumb slowly swiped along her bottom lip, her breath hitched.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No.” Absolutely not. This was exactly what she needed to keep her out of her head.

“I can slow down.”

That couldn’t be possible. At this point, a tortoise could lap him. However, she had to admit, his pace allowed her to get comfortable. She probably should’ve done more shots. If she’d gotten drunk, she wouldn’t be this antsy.

She also wouldn’t be as present.

If Carrie had learned one thing in therapy, it was that substances wouldn’t assist her in the process of healing. Sure, they were a temporary Band-Aid that would prevent her from feeling things, but eventually, she’d have to, and she wanted to feel this—him.

Pursing her lips together, she closed her eyes and offered his thickest digit a brief kiss.

When his breath caught, her heart fluttered. Perhaps he was just as nervous about this adventure as she was. That thought had her stomach doing somersaults. Why were they behaving like they were significantly less experienced with this than they were?

“You can go lower,” she said.

“Okay.” Tiny fireworks popped down her chin as his fingers traced along her skin toward her neck.

“Tell me if I’m making you nervous,” he said.

Bracing herself, she inhaled deeply. The memory of the night Mike clamped his hand over her throat and slammed her against a wall flickered in her mind. However, instead of lingering and ruining the moment, it continued on its merry way.

Relieved, her smile grew, and she brought her hand over his. “Lower,” she urged as she guided his hand down over her chest and to the left.

The heat of his palm covering her breast radiated through her body. The absent ache she’d felt multiplied, and her core quaked with desire. Arching her back slightly, she pressed her body against his hand. The moment his fingers curled and pressed into the gentle swell of her flesh, the smallest of moans slid past her lips.

Arousal blossomed in her chest, swirling like a tornado, stirring the dormant longing within her. Eight long months had passed since she’d been this alive. She hadn’t realized just how starved she’d been.

Could she go further?

Carrie raised her chin. “Kiss me.”

Not a request. A demand.