I've Been Wrong Before

Author's Note: Damn, you all must have liked Chapter Thirteen! I've never seen the reviews increase like that since I wrote Games That Daddies Play. Phew! Well, wait no longer! XD

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Chapter Fourteen: He Likes 'Em Fighting

You have a new master now.

His hands moved behind my head, fingers coiling through my hair, grabbing handfuls. They moved my face towards his, and the distance between us was gone; I was introduced to this illicit affair with a brief kiss and was a bit surprised to feel only his lips against mine. I felt his scars on my cheeks, their rough texture a polar contrast to my soft skin. It didn't unhinge me entirely, only shocking me for the tiniest second. I didn't need a lot of motivation to want him even more.

I stood to my feet. My lips parted to invite him in, and he obliged. Joker's tongue slid over my bottom lip, enticing. Many times I'd seen his habit of him licking his scars, a small tic that not a lot of people would notice, but it had a sole affect on me. I smiled when the same tongue that traced his scars in thought grazed between my lips, exploring my mouth momentarily before finding its matching dancer.

Don't forget about Gary. Your husband, remember?

The thought made me hesitate to respond. Joker evidently felt my reluctance...his hands in my hair pulled at the roots, bringing me back to a harsh reality. I could scarcely believe the situation in which I had placed myself...but damn did that hair-pulling hurt...but in a good way.

I opened my eyes—for I'd closed them to become involved in this odd make-out scene—to see that Joker was smirking at me; the kiss was broken, but the heat of my rebellion was rising in my neck, in my chest...below my belt.

"Having second thoughts?" Joker surmised knowingly.

"Only a few." I muttered.

"You can always turn back," Joker offered.

I smiled bitterly, saying, "We are well beyond that point, don't you think?"
Joker chuckled in amusement: "Your words, not mine."

Saying so, he released my hair, placing them palm out to me as if he was offering me invisible presents. Upon doing so, I sent him a look of curiosity.

"You can handcuff me, if that would make you feel more in control." Joker stated, smirking when I quirked my eyebrows at him.

I felt that this was a reference to my husband. I couldn't believe that he was comparing me to Gary. Maybe it was a good thing, morally, for my morality was suffering greatly. However, being that he was the last person I wanted to discuss, I couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.

In ode to my hot temper, I growled pushing Joker on the bed. He let out a breathy laugh of what I guessed was both entertainment and surprise, not having expected my sudden lash of frustration. I didn't waste time in straddling his waist, looking down at him with annoyance as I blocked his actions of returning the favor; his wrists were pinned to the bed by my hands as I glared at him.

"Don't talk about him," I ordered. "I'm not in the mood to discuss him."

"Ohh, I love that temper of yours..." Joker purred. "Ever thought about getting anger management classes? I hear they really help with your anger issues." He smiled up at me, not affected at all by feminine restraints. He was enjoying being manhandled by a woman—maybe that was his intention all along.

"I don't have an anger issue," I returned coldly.

"Really?" Joker responded. "You do realize who you're dealing with, don't you?"

I was about to point out that he was the one on his back until he turned the tables on me; I grunted with the impact of being thrown off the bed, groaning as I looked at the floor with some disgruntled annoyance; I shouldn't had been so arrogant with my small victory—it cost me a nice face plant to the tile floor. Before I realized what was happening, I could feel Joker behind me; he sat on my butt, his thighs straddling either side of my hips. When I began an attempt to throw him off by picking myself off the floor, he lowered his frame along my back, snatching my wrists and placed them far from me that I was unable to gain any leverage.

I grunted again when my face smacked the floor once more.

"Don't be taken in by a small victory, Officer," Joker drawled. I felt his mouth brush along the back of my left ear. His right hand left my wrist to pull my hair to one side so I felt his lips on my neck; I shivered at the contact, but how tantalizing it felt when his tongue licked the nape.

"A lot of pigs get their knickers handed to them just because they celebrate a small victory—a small battle won in comparison to a great war." Joker continued in his mentoring drawl. I glanced up to see his hands on my wrists, their grip vice-like but I liked the restraint.

I couldn't move under him; escape was futile.

But I didn't want to escape. When I wiggled under him to gain any type of leverage to get out from underneath him, I heard him moan quietly—it had been involuntarily.

"For a small woman, you wriggle an awful lot," Joker pointed out.

"I'm not wriggling," I stated.

"Well, now you're not." Joker stated. "Kinda disappointed—it was starting to feel really good."

I let out a snort of laughter—call me senile, but for some reason, the small childish tone he'd taken on kind of made me feel a little silly. In that silly feeling, it required me to laugh it off. However, the silliness wore off when his lower frame partook in a small push against my own. Despite the material of my slacks and his patient uniform, I could feel a distinct hard-on against the back of my innermost thigh.

"I dare you to struggle now." Joker challenged; his voice was a depth I felt vibrate in my chest, causing a great part of my nerves to fluster—I was a big knot of nerves, but I could feel most of them below my waist, right between my legs.

This talking—whatever it was called—certainly had my loins a-burning. Despite my will to forget about him, I couldn't help but compare (or rather, contrast) the difference between this erotic (and simultaneously intimidating) situation to the normal, nightly 9pm missionary routines I had with my husband. I supposed in retrospect...

"Kate."

I turned my head and saw him looking at me with an expression I was both admittedly scared and excited to see. His eyes were smoldering, a borderline between oncoming irritation and sexual frustration. He wanted my undivided attention, and who was I thinking about? I could see Joker's perspective on this one.

"What?" I asked.

"Struggle for me."

I believed my eyebrows disappeared momentarily when they raised as high as they could go in my surprise. Did I hear him correctly?

"What...?"

Joker rolled his eyes. His hands left my wrists to later be felt on my hips; his fingers grabbed me with a brutal grip that made me wince in pain but I kind of welcomed this new sense of heightened pain...but it felt good...what the hell was wrong with me, really? When I began to struggle to get away from this new found painful pleasure, I heard Joker utter, "Atta girl."

Despite his request to struggle and escape, I found it harder to do so.

"I don't even think you're trying," Joker chastised, but despite the tone, I could practically hear him as if he was smiling.

Inside, I found my rage—remembering the hurtful things Gary said to me, remembering how my most-deserved job promotion had been given to Lyle instead of me, remembering how I was not good enough to become a police officer in Gordon's unit, so I had to conform to Arkham Asylum instead. Within me, I found a rage I could always rely on, so using it, I growled angrily, pushing Joker off me.

Surprised by my initiative, Joker giggled as he was thrown off me. This time, I didn't take it as a small victory. Instead, I saw a window of opportunity. I snatched his wrists as he'd done to me, pinning them on either side of his head. I sat on his groin—feeling to my bewilderment and sudden lustful foreboding that he was harder and more erect than when he was on me.

I figured out, just then, that Joker liked them not only feisty, but fighting. Joker liked to be manhandled just as he liked to do the manhandling. I didn't dwell on these thoughts longer than I cared to as I meant well to be focused, not distracted by my ever deepening reverie. I looked down at him, glaring in spite of my victory.

"I like the foreplay just as much as anyone," Joker pointed out, "but I'm doubting this rage is aimed at me."

"It's not." I confirmed.

"Most people would deny it." Joker returned, smirking up at me.

"I'm not 'most people'." I stated.

"Of course you're not."

"Stop patronizing me." I scolded. "You're not making me feel any better about myself."

Joker laughed loudly, saying, "This isn't therapy, Doll Face. I'm not here to make you feel better about yourself. I'm giving you what you want, not what you need."

"I don't need therapy." I stated.

"Mm, then why are you in a hospital?" Joker asked.

I glanced at his hands that gestured in circles, indicative of not the room, but of the building in general. Even under restraints, he was still as lucid and unbearable as ever. However, I considered his point before I frowned.

"I work here."

"Everyone needs help some times," Joker stated. "Especially, you, Kate."

"I don't need therapy."

"Not mentally, maybe, but you certainly need something." He smirked. "Why else would you be in my cell?"

I felt my frown deepening. I didn't like him pointing out the obvious, pointing out that what I clearly lacked was a satisfying sexual relationship with a man who I'd been married to for five years and clearly lacked any physical attraction. Most of the time, I felt that Gary was attracted to me sexually but only because of his habit, not pure physical want. Maybe it was me, instead of him, or it was him instead of me. It didn't keep me awake all hours of the night, but it led me to this point.

Maybe I did need therapy.

"If you're not going to do anything from up there," Joker stated, sounding bored, "Maybe we can switch positions. I'm partial to being on top." He winked.

I was startled by his sudden change of topics—having been dropped into the rabbit hole of my reverie, I was frequently tossed to my reality by the quick conversation starters but Joker seemed to cause me mental anguish by flip-flopping me back and forth to my thoughtful rabbit hole and the situation at hand. I stared him, blinking a moment before realizing that I still had him pinned to the ground.

Joker looked at me curiously when I moved off him, getting to my feet. He remained on his back, looking up at me with a smile on his face as if I'd decidedly left the situation on a footnote. But I wasn't finished. The only reason I stopped this odd foreplay was because I could feel my phone vibrating in my pants.

Joker made a small gesture as if to say "Go 'head, take the call'".

As if I need his permission was my thought before I glanced at the screen, realizing with Caller ID that Lyle Bolton was calling me. What the fuck did he need—I was already at work.

I rolled my eyes, taking the phone to my ear as I watched Joker get to his feet.

"Richardson," I answered.

"It's Lyle."

"I know—I have Caller ID."

"Right well..." Lyle said and then offhandedly, "Not now, Karen; I'm working."

From the background, I heard Karen (his wife) say, "It's eight o'clock at night, Lyle..."

"This is urgent, Karen—just stay pretty and look good for me; I'll be done with this phone call shortly." Lyle stated.

I glanced at the phone curiously, having never heard the end of one of Lyle's sex-nights. I didn't want the mental image in my head so I happily waited for Lyle to get on the phone again. He did so, saying, "Prathart's been fired."

"Fired?" I repeated sarcastically.

Joker looked at me curiously, interested in the conversation.

"Gee, I wonder why," I continued.

"Stop with the sarcasm," Lyle scolded. "This is important."

"Then fire away—I'm preoccupied myself." I told him.

Joker smirked at me as he sat on the bed, patting the place beside him. I shook my head, but Joker wiggled an index finger to him, in a 'come hither' gesture. Frankly, I was magnetized by my inner submission, and partly because I had the sense that Joker would holler 'HELLO!' if I didn't. I sat beside him, and Joker smiled sheepishly at my obedience.

"With Prathart gone, I need help on the night shift."

"And let me guess, you need me again." I returned unhappily. "You realize you're putting me at odds with my marriage, don't you? Gary isn't used to my nightly routine, and—"

"I don't need to listen to your marital problems, Richardson. I need you on nights."

I glanced at Joker, who was listening to both ends of the conversation. He sat close enough to hear it anyway, and at this point, who was I to hide anything? Or maybe, it was the other way around...

"Can I depend on you to work nights?" Lyle stated.

"Fine..." I muttered.

"Fine what?"

I rolled my eyes and said with the most sarcasm I could muster, "Fine, sir."

Joker frowned—maybe it was the way I was forced to address Lyle Bolton, or perhaps it was my infinite tone of sarcasm...maybe it was both. I listened to Lyle tell me that I should start tomorrow night and then I'd be placed on nights for the rest of the schedule, and when I had no argument for this (for what argument at this point did I have to make?), Lyle hung up. I rolled my eyes.

"'Sir', huh?" Joker questioned, smiling when I shook my head.

"He's a putz." I uttered.

Joker licked his scars thoughtfully saying, "Looks like you and I will be getting to know each other more than I realized—with you working nights and all."

I stood to my feet.

"That just means I get to wait another night to have this lovely conversation again." I told him. I began to walk away, intent on doing the rest of my rounds and coming back to this later. But I felt a force drawing me back: Joker's hand on my arm. I looked at him pointedly.

"People will suspect—I don't need Bolton chewing my back for being in a cell for far too long." I told Joker.

"You let me deal with Sir Bolton." Joker returned, smirking at me. "You worry too much about your job, Katie baby."

I stared at him.

Victor's nickname for me spoken by Joker. I stared at him for that, and also because when he said it, I felt a stirring in my loins with a fire I'd never felt before. His voice had deepened to a darker note when he'd spoken it—maybe that's why I could feel it resonate in my chest and groin. Joker grinned knowingly at me.

"I liked hearing it from Vicky," Joker told me lightly. "It fits you well."

I couldn't help but smile in return (damn my feminine urges).

"It sounds better coming from you." I confessed.

Joker grinned at me: "Have fun with your rounds, Kate. You know where to find me when you're through." He moved onto his bed, stretched out on his back as he waved at me good-bye until my rounds were complete.

I walked out of the cell, closing the door behind me. I couldn't move for the very fact that my legs felt mushy as though my bones had been replaced with fruit Jell-O.