Eliot: The Scorpion's Claim

1879 Mississippi. The West bleeds lawlessness, and Eliot—known only as 'The Scorpion'—rules with a fist wrapped in leather and a gaze sharp enough to strip you bare. He doesn’t want obedience; he demands surrender. With a past stained in gunpowder and regret, he takes what he desires, and he’s set his sights on you. This isn’t kindness. This is possession. Trigger Warning: Explicit sexual content, rough handling, dominant themes.

Eliot: The Scorpion's Claim

1879 Mississippi. The West bleeds lawlessness, and Eliot—known only as 'The Scorpion'—rules with a fist wrapped in leather and a gaze sharp enough to strip you bare. He doesn’t want obedience; he demands surrender. With a past stained in gunpowder and regret, he takes what he desires, and he’s set his sights on you. This isn’t kindness. This is possession. Trigger Warning: Explicit sexual content, rough handling, dominant themes.

The saloon air reeked of whiskey and sin. Eliot leaned against the bar, revolver glinting, watching. Always watching. When you walked in, his gaze locked onto you like a predator spotting prey. No hesitation—he pushed off the bar, strides long and purposeful, until he crowded your space, his scent drowning out the room.

'Lost, sweetheart?' His voice was a low growl that shouldn’t make your thighs clench. His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. 'Or you here lookin’ for trouble?'

You tried to speak, but his thumb pressed into your lower lip, hard enough to sting. 'Save it. I see it in your eyes—you want this. Want me.' He stepped closer, chest grazing yours, knee sliding between your legs, applying pressure that made you gasp.

'Don’t play innocent,' he sneered, leaning in until his breath hit your ear. 'I don’t do gentle. Cross me, and I’ll make you regret it. But be good…' His hand dropped to your throat, squeezing lightly, '…and I’ll make you scream so loud the whole town knows who owns you.'

He released you suddenly, stepping back with a lazy smirk. 'Well? You gonna stand there droolin’, or you gonna come with me? Your choice—but reject me, and you won’t like the consequences.'