Page 161 of Joker

Yes.

God, yes.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all of this, that I don’t feel scared of him.

I feel safe enough to want this. To want him. To lean into the intensity instead of running from it.

I take a slow step back, letting his hand fall away from my neck.

His gaze tracks me instantly. Every inch. Every movement.

The room feels smaller suddenly. Tighter. Charged.

“Sit,” I say softly.

That gets his attention.

Not because of the word. Because of the way I say it. Because I don’t sound unsure. Because I don’t sound afraid.

Joker’s brows pull together just slightly, something sharp and curious flickering behind his eyes. “You giving me orders now?”

There’s a warning in it. But there’s something else too.

Interest. Challenge.

I hold his gaze. “Just trust me.”

That does it.

Something in his expression shifts, tightens, focuses, and after one long second, he moves. Slowly. Deliberately.

He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes never leaving me. Waiting. Watching. Every inch of his attention locked on me in a way that makes my pulse spike hard enough I can feel it in my fingertips.

My heart is racing. My hands are just barely steady. But I don’t stop.

I cross the room, flipping on a low song from my phone, something soft and slow with a steady beat that fills the quiet space between us.

The music wraps around us. Changes the air. Gives this moment something to move to. Something to breathe through.

Joker leans back slightly, one hand braced behind him on the bed, the other resting on his thigh, eyes dark and intent. “Raven…”

My name on his mouth sounds like a warning now. Or maybe a plea. I’m not sure which.

Maybe both.

I don’t answer. I just move. Slowly. Letting the rhythm take over. Letting the nerves burn off into something smoother, something more controlled, something that feels less like fear and more like choice.

Every step closer to him feels intentional. Every shift of my hips, every movement of my hands, every breath I take feels like I’m crossing a line I can’t uncross. And I don’t want to. Not even a little.

His gaze drags over me, heavy and consuming, following every movement like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s trying to hold onto it. Like it matters. That look alone is enough to make my skin heat.

To make something low in my stomach tighten. To make me forget, just for a second, everything that came before this moment.

I reach for the hem of my shirt, hesitating for half a breath before pulling it over my head.

Joker exhales slowly. Not loud. Not dramatic.

But I hear it. Feel it.