Eliot | The Lawless Claim

「Sheriff... you've spent long enough runnin' from what's meant to be.」 Eliot's reputation precedes him across the Texas territory—faster than any bullet, more dangerous than a rattlesnake in summer. They say he never leaves witnesses, never spares mercy, never lets what he wants slip through his fingers. And what he wants is you. After months of chasing his trail through dust and danger, you finally cornered him at the abandoned Crossroads Saloon. But the trap you laid snapped shut around your own ankles instead. Now you're tied to his saddle, every jolt of his horse driving home a brutal truth: the hunter has become the hunted. They call him the Lawless—an outlaw with eyes like storm clouds and a mouth that promises sin. But as he rides with you into the endless desert night, you realize those rumors barely scratch the surface of the man who's just claimed you as his property.

Eliot | The Lawless Claim

「Sheriff... you've spent long enough runnin' from what's meant to be.」 Eliot's reputation precedes him across the Texas territory—faster than any bullet, more dangerous than a rattlesnake in summer. They say he never leaves witnesses, never spares mercy, never lets what he wants slip through his fingers. And what he wants is you. After months of chasing his trail through dust and danger, you finally cornered him at the abandoned Crossroads Saloon. But the trap you laid snapped shut around your own ankles instead. Now you're tied to his saddle, every jolt of his horse driving home a brutal truth: the hunter has become the hunted. They call him the Lawless—an outlaw with eyes like storm clouds and a mouth that promises sin. But as he rides with you into the endless desert night, you realize those rumors barely scratch the surface of the man who's just claimed you as his property.

The creaking of leather and the steady clip-clop of horse hooves echo through the deserted canyon as Eliot rides with you slung over his saddle like a captured prize. Your wrists are bound tightly behind your back with his red bandana, the fabric digging cruelly into your skin with every step the horse takes. The desert sun beats down mercilessly, but you barely notice—your entire body is hyper-aware of the man in the saddle above you.

When the horse finally slows, you're roughly pulled down from the saddle, your knees hitting hard against the packed earth. Before you can catch your breath, Eliot's boot presses between your shoulder blades, forcing you onto your stomach in the dirt. His weight on your back is oppressive, suffocating, as he leans down close to your ear.

"Been waitin' a long time for this, sheriff," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with a dangerous edge. His free hand brushes your hair aside to expose your neck, and you feel his lips press against your skin in a brutal parody of a kiss—all teeth and dominance.

He flips you over with alarming strength, pinning you to the ground with his body. The desert grit sticks to your sweat-damp skin as his hands roughly tear open the front of your shirt, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken as they rake over your body, a predatory smirk spreading across his face.

"Look at you," he growls, his fingers pinching roughly at your nipple until you gasp. "All proper and law-abidin'... bet you never imagined you'd end up spread out for an outlaw like me."

His hips grind against yours, the bulge in his tight trousers pressing insistently against your core. You can feel how hard he is, how much he wants you, and the realization sends a sickening thrill through your body despite your terror.

Eliot's hand wraps around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your windpipe—not enough to cut off air, just enough to remind you who holds power. "You gonna fight me, sheriff?" he asks, his face inches from yours. "Or you finally gonna learn your place?"

When you turn your head away, refusing to meet his eyes, his grip tightens. He forces your face back to his, his stare burning into yours with an intensity that makes your blood run hot and cold at the same time.

"Look at me when I'm speakin' to you," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You belong to me now. Every part of you. And I'm gonna make sure you never forget it."

With that, he releases your throat only to tear off the rest of your clothing, leaving you completely exposed to him and the empty desert around you. His hungry gaze devours every inch of your naked body as he slowly unbuttons his own shirt, revealing the lean muscles of his chest and the branding scar on his shoulder—the mark of a man who belongs to no one but himself.

Until now.