Page 12 of Taming the Demon

She actually needed to sleep next to him or on top of him. He felt her shaking for a while too. Not cold. Not shivering. Shaking with fear.

Nightmare.

She had whispered that word to him. That was hours ago. Right now the sunlight poured into the apartment through the cracks in the blinds and the curtains. Darrow had his right arm around Mara.

An inked up old lady. That’s what she is. Doesn’t matter if that sounds cruel or not. It’s the fucking reality. She allowed Fitz to ink her. Where did he ink her? I have no fucking clue. But he inked her. He married her. He claimed her and took her. Shebelongs to him, not me. And part of that meant following along with anything Fitz did. That was part of the life. The risk. The… fuck. It was the fate of it all.

Darrow ran scenarios through his head over and over. If anything, Mara’s best chance to face the club had come and gone. The moment she knew Fitz had gone off the deep end, that’s when she could have come to the club. She could have offered herself up to Cyrus and Darrow could have stepped in and promised protection, with the approval of the club.

But right now…

Fuck.

What a fucking mess.

Darrow knew Mara had nothing to do with Fitz turning rat and was not part of it. But now, did it even matter…? Now that Darrow hadn’t acted any better either.

Hiding the wife of the rat? Having Fitz’s inked up old lady sleeping in his bed. Now sleeping on top of him. If this situation were anyone else, Darrow would be the one at the table, ready to take a vote.

Slit the traitor’s throat or not?

It was true. Women. What they did to men. What they did to outlaws. Darrow vividly remembered both Custer and Warren warning him a long time ago…

It’s not the bullets that’ll kill you in this life, it’s the pussy…

While Darrow laughed years ago over that comment, right now, it felt pretty damn accurate. Darrow’s eyes moved from the ceiling down to Mara’s body. The backs of her legs. The T-shirt he’d given her rode up the left side of her body, enough to show off the curve of her ass.

Darrow gritted his teeth. He was a man. An outlaw. Mara was fucking beautiful too. Always had been. Fuck, if things had been different, Darrow would have claimed her. Inked her. Married her. He would have taken care of her. Not abandoned her either.

Fitz was forever leaving Mara behind, treating her like a fucking afterthought. Using her for someone to fuck when there were no strippers ordeeceesto fuck.

Darrow gritted his teeth hard. None of that mattered. What an outlaw did with their old lady did not matter. Ever. That was the whole purpose of inking a woman. Yes, it gave her protection within the club (to an extent), but it also gave that outlaw who inked her full control and power.

Darrow had crossed a line…

Mara began to move her head a little. Rubbing the side of her face against Darrow’s chest. She squirmed a little. Her body made a gentle grinding motion too. Waking up and stretching, but her right thigh rubbed against the morning bulge inside Darrow’s jeans.

Then Mara let out a soft whimper. Darrow reached with his left hand and touched Mara’s ass.

What the fuck?

Just fingertips against her soft, smooth skin. Mara took a deep breath. Her eyes opened for a second, long enough to look into Darrow’s eyes. Almost as though she offered up a sense of confirmation. Where she was. Who Darrow was.

A sense of saying… yes…

Mara inched up and pressed her face into Darrow’s neck. She groaned.

“Please,” she groaned. “Darrow… please…”

His hand moved away from her ass for a second. Then it came down, smacking her soft skin, cupping her hard. Mara yelped and kissed his neck. Darrow moved his hand between his body and hers, making Mara jump up a little, giving him access to her body.

As soon as Darrow slid his fingers along her smooth cunt, he plunged two fingers into her throbbing wetness. A tight, warm bath of pleasure soaked his fingers in a second.

Mara’s right hand began to move, touching the gigantic bulge in his jeans. Pushing her hand against it. Fingertips demanding to find the zipper, which she did. As she wrestled the zipper down, she knew Darrow’s size wouldn’t allow him to move free through the opening. Next she grabbed the button of his jeans and twisted it open. That gave her what she wanted.

Darrow’s muscles never seemed to end. Hard skin. A patch of pubic hair. Then the tree-trunk-thickness of his cock.

Mara groaned again when she touched Darrow. It also didn’t hurt that his fingers were now stroking her clit, pulling at her, wanting her pleasure, demanding it with his touch.

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