A/N this story contains a subject that may be offending to some (moderately graphic domestic violence). if you are easily offended or do not agree with certain subjects please leave now. intended for mature audiences. Non-canon.

Tara Knowles cringes in her bed as she hears him arriving home. He stumbles on the coffee table an enters the dim lighted room making sure he is noted. She keeps quiet and pretends to sleep as she feels the mattress dip with the weight of his unsteady body.

He places a hand on her hunched shoulder and pulls her back while climbing relentlessly over her body. "Get off of me, prick!" Jax Teller ignores her and makes himself comfortable the best way he can while spreading her legs apart with the strength of his own. He reeks of cheap beer and stale scotch causing her to turn her head, nauseated.

Tara tries to push him away but it is useless since he is so much stronger. "Why you fighting? I have all the right to do this! We're a couple, in case you forgot."

She's not sure how long she will stand this. After being elected the President things should be better but they only went downhill. He felt insecure with his new position and adding to the fact that a few members of his posse had died without him being able to do anything about it made him feel weak and guilty. When she couldn't support him no longer he turned to emptying bottles. Booze never judges he would say.

Now he is drunk yet again. And this time aiming his faulty behavior towards her. Jax starts tugging at her nightgown to which she protests vehemently. "I want you naked!" he slurs, not stopping until he has the fabric bunched up her waist. She tries to pull it back down but he holds her arms above her head with one hand while the other goes down right between her thighs. "No, don't!"

He ignores her claim and inserts the two fingers knuckle deep. She is dry causing her to yelp as he circles the limbs against her walls. He proceeds to rub her button with the tip of his thumb smiling wickedly as she squirms to escape. "I know you want this, bitch!" he growls into her ear making her shake even harder.

She sighs relieved as soon as he brings out the moist fingers only to hold her breath in despair as she notices that what he's about to bring in next is much bigger and thicker. "No, no, no! Jax, please, don't..." She kicks and squirms trying desperately to push him away. He smirks. "Why you still fighting? Should know by now I always get what I want from you..."

She wants to scream for help. But she knows it won't bring any type of commotion, let alone the police. She's in a relationship with a biker after all, thus meaning she was asking for it. It's her neighbors way of thinking, they just don't care about her luck anymore.

The first lunge is enough to make her clench her jaw and squeeze her eyes so tight she can see white sparkles dancing around in her head. Jax thrusts deeper and deeper until she stops still. Tara gives up on fighting, punching his shoulders and pleading for mercy. She accepts her fate, silently praying for it to end. She dares to look at him one last time. He is not the man she once loved and learned to respect anymore. This is a monster. A primitive ancient god that thrives on her tears.

And then she feels it rising inside. Unexpected. Unwanted. Unacceptable. A warm wave of pleasure runs from her womb to her thighs. He stops for a very short while, still inside of her, to lick the salty tears off her face. She thinks it is over but he rages back mightier than before.

Surprisingly to both being drunk makes him last longer yet take longer too. After a while he is grumbling, accusing her of being selfish for not helping him reach his own pinnacle. He pulls her hips up. "Move it, bitch!" He demands as she aimlessly wriggles under his command.

Finally Jax reaches his intent exploding into spurts of dense lava inside of her. "Fuck yeah!" He rejoices in splendor as she lies motionless under his trembling body.

He falls back fainting sound asleep. Tara observes the smile of achievement that has formed on his lips. A thought strikes her mind. She could shoot him dead right there. No judge in the world would condemn her after she shows the wounds, the bruises between her legs. She may not walk firmly for a month. She may not recover from the violence inflicted upon her ever again...

She lies back instead. Her body curls into a small ball of shame as the tears stream freely down.

TBC