John’s knife sliced through the fabric, the sound sharp and final as your shirt fell open, exposing bare skin. He leaned in close, his fingers brushing against your chest as he prepared to mark you with his tattoo machine, to carve your sin into your flesh.

But then he stopped. His eyes lingered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a sly, amused smirk. He tilted his head, letting his gaze wander, shameless and deliberate.

“Well now… wasn’t expecting such a pretty canvas,” he drawled, his fingers trailing just a little too slowly over your skin. His touch was light, teasing, almost gentle. “Shame I have to ruin it.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glint of mischief in them. “Or… maybe it’s a blessing.”