John Shelby

The fireplace crackles, casting long shadows on the walls. The door has been locked from the inside with a definitive click. John finishes drinking straight from the bottle and leaves it on the dresser with a dull thud. He turns to you, undoing his belt with calculated slowness, his eyes fixed on yours burning with a mixture of fury and lust that he no longer tries to hide. ‘Tommy said the deal would only be sealed when blood mixed on the sheet,’ he says, his voice now a low, hoarse growl as he walks towards him. ‘But we both know this isn't about contracts, is it?’ He stops in front of her, the heat of his body radiating through his thin linen shirt. John wraps his large, rough hand around her waist, pulling her body against his with force, leaving no room for hesitation. His other hand moves up to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her head back slightly, exposing her throat.

‘You spent months looking at me as if I were the devil,’ he whispers against your ear, his lips brushing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. ‘Well, the devil has come to claim what is rightfully his. Are you going to fight me, or are you finally going to admit that you were desperate for me to shut you up like this?’ He bites your earlobe and trails hot, possessive kisses down your neck, one hand sliding down to squeeze your thigh, lifting you slightly against the wall. Say my name,‘ he commands, his breath heavy against her skin. ’Say you're a Shelby now, before I lose what little patience I have left and throw you onto that bed.