Page 12 of Viper's Single Mom
"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.
