4. Viper
VIPER
I lasted three hours.
Three hours of riding through the mountains, trying to convince myself that showing up at Tara's place after dark was a bad idea. That I was too old, too set in my ways, too fucking damaged to play house with a suburban mom and her kid.
Three hours of bullshit.
By eleven p.m., I was parked outside her rental, watching the last light go out in what I knew was Izzy's room.
Tara's bedroom window still glowed soft yellow.
I gave it another twenty minutes, letting Izzy fall deep into sleep, then knocked quiet enough not to wake a six-year-old but loud enough for a mother who probably jumped at every sound.
The door cracked open, chain still on. Tara peered out.
"Viper? What are you?—"
"Let me in."
She should have questioned it. Should have told me to leave. Should have protected herself better. Instead, she closed the door just long enough to unhook the chain.
She'd changed into sleep clothes—an oversized t-shirt that hit mid-thigh and nothing else I could see. Her hair was down, waves tumbling past her shoulders, and she'd washed her face clean of the little makeup she wore. She looked soft. Touchable. Mine.
"Izzy's asleep," she whispered.
"I know. Waited until her light went out."
Something shifted in her expression. "You were watching the house?"
"Told you Phoenix was on guard. Doesn't mean I can't do my own drive-by." I stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. "We need to talk."
"About?"
"This." I backed her against the hallway wall, caging her in with my arms. "About how I've been riding around for three hours trying to talk myself out of coming here."
Her breath hitched. "And?"
"Failed spectacularly." I leaned in, close enough that my next words brushed her ear. "Tell me to leave, Tara. Tell me you don't want this."
"I should." Her hands came up to rest on my chest, but instead of pushing me away, her fingers curled into my shirt. "This is too fast. Too complicated. Too?—"
"Real?"
She nodded, and I pulled back enough to see her face.
"I'm forty-two years old," I said. "Never had a serious relationship. Never wanted one. The club was enough. The club was everything. Then you walked in looking like you'd fight the whole world for that little girl, and I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That I'd been waiting for you." I cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "I don't do complicated, sweetheart. I do simple. You're mine. I protect what's mine. Simple."
"I'm broken," she whispered. "Harrison... the things he said, the things he did. I'm not the kind of woman someone like you?—"
"Stop." I pressed my forehead to hers. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?"
She made a small sound that might have been yes.
"I see a warrior. A survivor. A woman who ran with nothing to keep her baby safe. I see curves that make my mouth water and strength that brings me to my knees." My hands slid down to her waist, spanning the soft flesh there. "I see everything I never knew I wanted."
"Viper—"
"You got a baby monitor in your room?"
The subject change made her blink. "Yes, why?—"
"Because I'm about to worship every inch of you, and I need to know we'll hear if Izzy needs you."
Her whole body trembled. "This is crazy."
"No, it's not." I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist on instinct. "Which room?"
"End of the hall," she breathed against my neck.
I carried her down the narrow hallway, past Izzy's door covered in crayon drawings, to the small bedroom at the end. It was sparse—a double bed, a dresser, a laundry basket. She'd been ready to run at a moment's notice.
Not anymore.
I set her on the bed, then stepped back to look at her. Really look. The t-shirt had ridden up, revealing thick thighs that I wanted wrapped around my head. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, nipples hard against the thin fabric.
"Harrison said I was fat." The words came out in a rush, like she needed to warn me. "That I'd let myself go after Izzy. That no one would want?—"
I pulled my shirt over my head, cutting her off. "Harrison's a fucking idiot."
Her gaze traveled over my chest, taking in the tattoos that covered most of my torso. The club insignia over my heart. The scars from a life lived hard.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.
"No, sweetheart. That's you." I knelt on the bed, pushing her back gently. "Lift up."
She raised her arms, and I pulled the t-shirt off, revealing white cotton panties and nothing else. Christ. She was perfect. Full breasts with dark nipples already peaked, soft belly with faint stretch marks from carrying Izzy, hips that flared into those incredible thighs.
She moved to cover herself, but I caught her wrists.
"Don't you dare hide from me." I pinned her hands above her head with one of mine. "You're fucking perfect. Every curve, every mark, every inch."
"I'm not?—"
I cut her off with my mouth on her breast, and she arched off the bed with a strangled moan.
I took my time, mapping every inch of skin with lips and tongue and teeth.
Found the spot just below her ear that made her gasp.
The dip of her waist that made her squirm.
The inside of her thigh that made her beg.
"Please," she panted, hands fisting in my hair. "I need?—"
"I know what you need." I hooked my fingers in her panties, dragging them down slowly. "Been thinking about this all day. How you'd taste. How you'd sound when you come."
She was already wet, already ready, but I wasn't in a hurry. This wasn't a quick fuck against the clubhouse wall with some girl whose name I'd forget. This was Tara. This was everything.
I spread her thighs wider, settling between them. The first touch of my tongue made her cry out, then slap a hand over her mouth.
"Baby monitor," she gasped. "Izzy?—"
"Then you'll have to be quiet." I went back to work, using everything I'd learned in twenty-plus years of experience to take her apart. She bit her knuckle to muffle her sounds as I found the rhythm that made her hips buck, the pressure that made her thighs shake.
Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging when I hit exactly the right spot. I stayed there, relentless, feeling her get closer with each stroke of my tongue. Her thighs started to tremble, pressing against my shoulders.
"Oh God, oh God, I'm?—"
She shattered, back bowing off the bed, my name a broken whisper on her lips. I worked her through it, gentling my touch as she came down, but didn't stop. Just eased back, keeping her hovering on that edge.
"Viper, I can't?—"
"Yes, you can." I slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right. "One more, sweetheart. Give me one more."
She was so responsive, so sensitive, writhing beneath me as I built her back up. This time I took my time, drawing it out, making her work for it. Her hands fisted in the sheets, head thrown back, bottom lip caught between her teeth to stay quiet.
"So fucking beautiful," I murmured against her skin. "Could do this all night. Make you come until you can't remember your own name, let alone his."
That did it. She clenched around my fingers, whole body going rigid as the second orgasm crashed through her. This one was quieter but deeper, leaving her boneless and panting.
I kissed my way back up her body, taking my time, worshipping every curve. The underside of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the soft swell of her belly. She was trembling by the time I reached her mouth, kissing her deep and slow.
"You're wearing too many clothes," she complained, voice wrecked, tugging at my belt with shaking fingers.
I helped her with the buckle, then shucked my jeans and boxers. Her hand wrapped around me immediately, and I had to grab her wrist to stop her.
"Not gonna last if you do that," I admitted. "Been hard since I kissed you on the porch."
She smiled, soft and knowing and nothing like the terrified woman who'd walked into my clubhouse. "Then you better hurry up."
But she didn't let go, stroking once, twice, thumb swiping over the tip in a way that made my hips jerk.
"Tara—"
"I want to feel you lose control," she whispered. "The way you just made me."
"Fuck." I let her have another moment, jaw clenched, before pulling her hand away. "Later. Right now I need to be inside you."
"When was the last time?" I asked, positioning myself between her thighs, teasing her entrance.
"Two years." She wrapped her legs around me, trying to pull me closer, but I held back. "Before I left Harrison."
Two years. Christ. "I'll go slow?—"
"Don't you dare." She grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her. "I'm not fragile. I won't break. I need you to make me forget everything but this."
I pushed inside her in one long stroke, and we both groaned. She was tight, hot, perfect. I had to hold still for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, just to keep from embarrassing myself like a teenager.
"Okay?" I managed.
"More than okay." She rolled her hips, taking me deeper. "Move. Please."
I started slow despite her protest, letting her adjust, learning what she liked. Long, deep strokes that had her gasping. A roll of my hips that made her nails dig into my shoulders. When I hit a spot that made her whole body tighten, I stayed there, kept that angle, that pressure.
"Right there," she panted. "Don't stop, don't?—"
I didn't. Kept the same rhythm, the same angle, even when my control started to fray. She was close again, I could feel it in the way her body gripped me, the way her breathing went ragged.
"Look at me," I commanded softly.
Her eyes opened, locked on mine, and the vulnerability there almost broke my control.
"You're mine now," I told her, punctuating each word with a thrust. "This body, these curves, every fucking inch of you. Mine to protect. Mine to worship. Mine to make come apart."
She clenched around me, nails raking down my back as she bit my shoulder to muffle her cry. The sharp pain triggered my own release, and I buried my face in her neck, groaning her name as I followed her over.
We stayed locked together, both shaking, sweat cooling on our skin. I could feel her heart racing against my chest, matching my own.
We stayed tangled together, catching our breath, her fingers mapping the scars on my back. I should move, I should probably leave before I got too comfortable.
Instead, I rolled to my side, pulling her with me.
"Stay," she whispered, like she knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Wasn't going anywhere." I kissed her forehead. "Sleep. I'll be here."
She was out in minutes, exhausted from stress and release. I watched her sleep, this woman who'd upended my entire life in forty-eight hours, and felt something I'd never experienced before.
Peace.
I woke to whispering and giggling.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains. Tara was still pressed against me, naked and warm and?—
"Shh, don't wake Mama."
Izzy's voice. In the room. Fuck.
I carefully extracted myself from Tara, pulling on my jeans commando, and turned to find Izzy standing in the doorway with a toy tea set.
"Hi, Mr. Viper," she whispered. "Wanna have tea?"
I should have been the worst possible discovery—finding a strange man in her mother's bed. But Izzy just stood there in her pajamas, clearly more interested in tea than traumatic life events.
"Sure, princess. Let's let your mom sleep."
I followed her to the living room, where she'd already set up an elaborate tea party with three stuffed animals and two dolls.
"You sit here." She pointed to a spot that would require me to fold my six-foot-two frame onto the floor. "Mr. Bunny likes his tea with extra sugar."
Twenty minutes later, that's how Tara found us—me cross-legged on her living room floor, tiny tea cup in my massive hand, having a serious discussion with Izzy and Mr. Bunny about the proper way to stir tea.
She stood in the hallway wearing my t-shirt, hair wild, mouth open in shock.
"Mama! Mr. Viper is very good at tea parties!"
"I see that." Her voice was rough with sleep and something else. "How long have you been up?"
"Forever," Izzy said dramatically. "Mr. Viper says we should let you sleep 'cause you work hard."
Tara's gaze met mine over Izzy's head. I saw the questions there, the wonder, the fear that this was too good to be real.
It wasn't.
Three days.
Three perfect days where I fell into a routine I never knew I wanted.
Morning tea parties with Izzy before school.
Watching Tara work her lunch shift from my corner booth.
Afternoons fixing things around the rental—the porch rail, the leaky faucet, the back door that didn't lock right.
Dinners together like we were a real family.
Nights in Tara's bed after Izzy was asleep, learning every way to make her come apart.
"You're getting domesticated," Wolf said when I showed up late to a meeting on day three. "Next you'll be driving a minivan."
"Fuck off."
But he wasn't wrong. Somewhere between teaching Izzy to ride her bike and helping Tara with dishes, I'd gone full family man. And I didn't give a single fuck what anyone thought about it.
"How's the ex situation?" Blade asked, bringing us back to business.
"Quiet," Wraith reported. "Too quiet. No movement on his accounts, no travel records, nothing."
The silence bothered me. Harrison Clarke didn't seem like the type to give up easy. But maybe knowing the MC was involved had been enough to scare him off.
Three days of peace made me soft. Made me hopeful.
Peace never lasted long in my world.
But for three days, I let myself believe it might. Three days of Tara's smiles and Izzy's laughter and feeling like maybe, at forty-two, I'd finally found home.
The morning of day four would shatter that illusion, but I didn't know that yet.
All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I had something worth losing.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever had.