Chapter 1: A Dangerous Reunion
Tara pushed open the heavy door of Parkview Tavern, the familiar scent of stale beer and cheap cologne hitting her like a wave of nostalgia. Her fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her voluptuous figure—big tits straining against her tight black top, her fat ass hugged by denim that left little to the imagination. Tattoos snaked along her arms and peeked out from her neckline, a map of her wilder days. She’d been feeling low lately, trapped in the monotony of her long-term relationship with Daniel. Tonight, she needed a drink—vodka, straight—and a break from the weight of her own thoughts. But deep down, she knew she was chasing something more dangerous than a buzz.
She slid onto a barstool, her green eyes scanning the dimly lit room as she ordered her drink. That’s when she saw him. Scott. Black hair tousled just right, brown eyes glinting with a mischief she remembered all too well. He was nursing a rum at the far end of the bar, his broad shoulders filling out a leather jacket. Her stomach flipped. They’d had a fling years ago, a reckless, heated thing that still burned in her memory. She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat pooling between her thighs. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that. But damn, she was.
Scott caught her gaze, and a slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. He raised his glass in a mock toast, and Tara felt her cheeks flush. She downed half her vodka in one go, the burn doing little to steady her nerves. Before she could stop herself, her legs carried her over to him, hips swaying with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.
“Well, well, if it ain’t Tara fuckin’ Malone,” Scott drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “You lookin’ for trouble or just a stiff drink?”
She arched a brow, leaning against the bar beside him, her cleavage on full display. “Maybe both, Scott. Depends on what kind of trouble you’re offerin’.” Her tone was sharp, daring him to bite back.
He chuckled, dark eyes raking over her body with shameless hunger. “Oh, darlin’, I’ve got all kinds of trouble for a woman like you. Question is, can you handle it? Or are you still playin’ house with that boring bastard, Daniel?”
Tara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “Watch your mouth, Scott. I’m not some damsel lookin’ for a rescue. I just wanted a drink, not a therapy session.”
“Bullshit,” he shot back, leaning closer, the scent of rum and leather intoxicating. “You’re here ‘cause you’re bored outta your mind. I can see it in those pretty eyes. You want somethin’ raw. Somethin’ real. Don’t lie to me, Tara.”
Her breath hitched, but she held his gaze, her voice dripping with defiance. “And what if I do? You think you’re the man to give it to me? ‘Cause I remember you talkin’ a big game, but I ain’t so sure you can still deliver.”
Scott’s grin turned feral. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll show you right here on this bar how much I can deliver. But I’m a gentleman… mostly. How ‘bout you give me your number, and we’ll see where the night takes us?”
Tara hesitated, her heart pounding. She knew this was a line she shouldn’t cross. But the vodka, the tension, the way Scott’s eyes promised sin—it was too much. She scribbled her number on a napkin and slid it to him, her fingers brushing his. “Don’t make me regret this, asshole.”
Hours later, back at her place, Tara paced her living room, her phone burning a hole in her hand. Daniel had left for another pub, oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind. She was tipsy, horny, and reckless. Her fingers trembled as she typed out a text to Scott: *Hey. I’m home. Wanna come over? I can pick you up.* She hit send before she could overthink it, her pulse racing. A minute later, she snapped a quick selfie—her top pulled low, tattoos and cleavage on full display—and sent it too. *Don’t keep me waiting.*
His reply was instant: *Fuck, Tara. I’m on my way. Be ready.*
Her breath came faster as she waited, the anticipation making her wet already. When she pulled up to his place in her beat-up sedan, Scott was waiting outside, that same predatory smirk on his face. He slid into the passenger seat, his hand immediately finding her thigh. “You sure about this, firecracker? ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t stoppin’.”
Tara gripped the steering wheel, her voice steady despite the nerves. “I didn’t drag your ass out here to play games, Scott. I want you. Hard. Fast. All fuckin’ night. So shut up and let’s go.”
Back at her place, the door barely closed before their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongue and desperate need. Tara shoved him against the wall, her hands tearing at his jacket as his fingers dug into her fat ass, pulling her close. She could feel his cock, already hard through his jeans, pressing against her, and it made her pussy throb with want. “You gonna keep teasin’ me, or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?” she growled, nipping at his jaw.
Scott’s laugh was dark, dangerous. “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you, Tara. Gonna have you dripping, panting, begging for more. But first…” He spun her around, pinning her against the wall, his hands sliding up to cup her big tits, thumbs brushing her nipples through the fabric. “I wanna hear you say it. Tell me how bad you want this.”
Her head tipped back, a moan escaping as heat surged through her. “I want it, you bastard. I want your cock in me, fuckin’ me raw. Now stop talkin’ and do it.”
Their clothes hit the floor in a frenzy, and Tara’s eyes darkened with lust as she saw him—hard, ready, and all hers for the taking. She dropped to her knees, a wicked grin on her lips as she looked up at him. “Let’s see if you taste as good as I remember…”
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