Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters in this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this. No offense is intended.
A/N: Finally was able to tackle the 'role reversal' square on my Trope Bingo card, though, well, I've got Tara in Tig's position; it worked better. Let me know if you like this, thanks. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading more...I'm not going to hold my breath, this is an odd one.
Tara reaches for the gun she's got stashed in the band of her jeans. Pulls it out and shoves it in her would be assailant's face.
It's laughable, really. Idiot must not know who she is, in spite of the patch she's wearing - Sergeant at Arms usually impresses even the most dense of men.
"You want a piece of this?" she teases, licking her lips and trailing a fingernail down the man's cheek, leaning in close and shoving her gun down his pants.
He shivers, and Tara wonders if it's because he's turned on, or because he's afraid of losing his dick. Maybe it's a combination of the two.
Women who pack heat tend to render men speechless. Makes what she does that much easier.
She rubs the tip of the gun over the head of his dick and the man whimpers, swallows convulsively. Little beads of sweat gather on his upper lip, and his pupils become twin pinpricks, allowing very little light in.
"You're a naughty boy, aren't you?" Tara tilts her head, smirks and grabs a fistful of the man's shirt, hauls him closer. The gun digs into the man's thigh, and she laughs when he closes his eyes and bites his lip.
"Y...yes," he says, voice a husky whisper.
"Tara, stop toying with him," Gemma, President of the club, says, rolling her eyes and snapping her fingers. "We've got more stops to make."
Tara frowns, put pulls the gun free and is has to wipe the wet barrel off on her jeans.
"Filthy, disgusting pig," she says, patting the man's cheek.
She's rewarded with a whimper, and considers the man before her. He's not as tall as Jax, doesn't have the same lithe frame, or the muscle tone of her husband. He's standing in front of her, head bowed, shoulders hunched, and she almost wants to fuck him.
And then he opens his mouth, begs, "Please, I...I was going to pay you the money I owed. Really."
Gemma snorts and shakes her head. "Yeah, right, that's why the money you owe me is a month overdue."
She grips the blubbering man's face in fingers that Tara doubts have been gentle for decades. "This is what's going to happen, Sugar. You're going to give me the money that you owe me, and you're going to add a hundred fifty to it as a late fee. Got it?"
She leans close, kisses him on the lips and then slaps him, and shoves him away from her. The man brushes at tears and nods, scrambles to comply with Gemma's wishes. Tara keeps her gun trained on him, just in case he decides to do something even more foolish than trying to pull one over on them.
"I..." the man sputters, a wad of money held loosely in his fist. "Jenny needed braces," he says.
Tara raises an eyebrow and takes the money, counts it, and holds her hand out for more. "You're short by a hundred fifty."
"But...I...Kyle's started playing soccer," the man stutters, backing away from them.
"It's not our fault that you decided to keep your wife barefoot and pregnant," Tara says, not bothering to mask her disgust. No way would she put up with that kind of crap from Jax. A man should know his place.
"Just get the money, Henry," Gemma says, bored. She's looking at her nails and frowning. "Chipped a fucking nail on that asshole. We'll have to stop by the salon before we head home. Jax picking up the boys after work?"
"Yeah, he's picking them up from daycare. Still don't understand why he wants to work." Tara studies her own nails, they could do with a refill. Jax likes when she gets them done. Likes the way she runs them down his back when they're fucking, though he calls it, 'making love'. It takes so little to please him.
Henry hands over the money without looking at either of them. "It's all there," he says, though Tara counts it and slaps him on the back, making him jump, when she's done.
Gemma slings an arm around her shoulders and pockets the money, winks at Henry as they leave. She kisses Tara on the cheek. "You did good in there."
Tara shrugs off the compliment, swings onto her bike and shoves the helmet on her head, leaving the buckle undone. There's nothing quite like the feel of a Harley vibrating between her legs, not even Jax can get her off like riding can.
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