March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 54

I wait anxiously as the Shelby brothers appraise Billy Kimber, who tries nonstop to yell through his bindings.

"He says he knows where my father is." I look at the floor. "I'd like to know before you kill him."

Billy frowns and shouts something at me. John's face softens as he turns in my direction.

"Sweetheart, your father's—"

"Please," I say. "Even if it's a lie... I need to know."

John takes my hand. He nods.

"Guns?" Tommy asks me, holding out his hand.

I rummage through my coat pockets and pass everyone their gun and bullets.

"Thank you," he says seriously. "John, take your wife home. Find out what happened."

Tommy rolls up his sleeves and Arthur grasps the poker from beside the fireplace. There's no mistaking the look in their eyes as they turn their attention to Billy Kimber — completely devoid of emotion. Empathy. Barely human.

It makes sense. He was supposed to be their business partner, and he'd betrayed them. If the Shelby's weren't ruthless enough to handle this, they'd have been dead a long time ago.

But even so, a small shiver runs through me, and I find myself unable to meet John's gaze. Afraid I might see it in his eyes, too.

But he leads me from the house and to the car, and without even glancing at him I can feel that he's calm.

"Are you alright?" He asks, forcing me to look at him.

Sea foam. His eyes are the colour of sea foam. His hair's dirty, but somehow still smooth. And those sea foam eyes, they remind me of all the ways I first fell in love with him. He's still my John. He isn't possessed by the same force as his brothers — at least, not in this moment.

It grounds me. Reminds me that the possibility I'd feel like this is what almost stopped him from marrying me. And it makes me think that perhaps I'm not scared of seeing a monster staring at me from his eyes — perhaps I'm scared of seeing it reflected there, originating from my own. I'd now entered the world of guns. I'd tied up the man who might actually know where my father is, and handed him over to the Peaky Blinders.

Have I done the right thing?

But the thought disappears as quickly as it arrived. I knew what I was getting into. And it was worth it, for John. It still is. I'd endure anything for him. For him, I would endure it all.

I answer him aloud. "Yes," I tell him.

I explain what happened as we drive back to the house. I'm expecting him to be furious and tell me off, and so when I'm finished and he opens his mouth with a frown, I can't help but beg him before he can speak.

"I couldn't just sit around with you in prison," I explain, the words leaving me in a rush. "I had to help, and I didn't expect him to be there, but there he was. And I wasn't going to tie him up, not at first, but then he tried to leave and he was going to pick up his gun and I panicked. And so of course I called Aunt Pol, and she arranged for Ada to have the children, and she came and met me, and by this time I'd tried to get information about my father out of him, but he was becoming agitated, I mean understandably so, but—"

John stops the car engine outside the house, in a parking space tucked away against brick walls, and places a hand over my own. "Breathe, love."

I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I say in a small voice.

"Sorry?" He asks, bemused. His eyes shine. "I've never been prouder of you."

"You're not mad?" I ask in a whisper.

"Of course I'm mad," he says, but his voice is teasing. "You didn't follow any of my instructions."

I bite my lip. "Are you going to tell me off?"

He hooks his hands beneath my thighs and pulls me sharply onto his lap, so that I'm straddling him. I gasp softly at how strong he is.

"Maybe I'll reward you instead," he says. "But we'll have to wait until the kids are asleep."

"They're at Polly's," I whisper. "Ada has them there. Finn, too."

His hands rise up my legs, leaving me trembling as he cups my ass.

"House to ourselves, eh?" He says. "Does that mean I can fuck my wife until she screams?"

I run my fingers along the collar of his shirt as heat blares through me. "And how do you plan on making me scream?"

He slips a hand beneath my underwear and runs his fingers along my wet slit. I glance around, but nobody can see us where we're parked. I groan softly and my head tips back as he teases the length of my pussy.

"I know exactly how," he whispers against my ear, pressing his lips to my cheek, my jaw. "But I won't tell you."

He flicks against my clit and I cry out before covering his mouth with my own, kissing him feverishly, desperately. His lips are soft beneath my own, his tongue pushing softly against mine as he claims my mouth while he rubs my clit. I grapple at his belt and whimper as I pull his cock free.

He's rock hard as I take him in my hand and tug him gently, teasing him like he teased me. He groans as his eyes roll back, but still he stays coherent enough to continue teasing me until my hips grind against him of their own accord.

"Fuck me, my beautiful wife," he says, deepening the way he's kissing me. He forces my mouth open and spits. "Let me fucking fill you up."

"I think you've forgotten my predicament," I whimper into his mouth.

"Haven't forgotten." He pulls my underwear to the side, holding it against my thigh as he positions me above his cock. "Still going to fill you up."

Every inch he pushes into me feels like the most heavenly release. I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him, burying my face into his shoulder as moans fall from my lips. Every other time we've fucked it's been slow, languid — this is warm, desperate. I need this badly, and he does too. I want to be connected to him. I want to love him, and be loved in return, and by the way he praises me riding him, I'm fulfilled.

"You're so beautiful," he groans. "Fuck yes, that's my girl."

I begin to shake. I slam a palm against the cold window, misting with the icy rain falling outside. My walls feel so sweetly bruised, clamping around him as I roll my hips against his, and he hits the right spot inside of me with every thrust. When he moves his hand to rub steady circles into my clit, I whimper, my movements stilling as I squeeze my eyes shut in overstimulation.

"Look at me," he murmurs, but I can't. "Look. At. Me."

He wraps his free hand around my waist, holding me to him. I obey, opening my eyes, desperate and pleading. The sensation is too much and I can't take it. He slams into me and works my clit, slams and rubs, both unrelenting. He gazes into my eyes and I look away, biting my lip, until he commands me again.

I'm lost in sea foam as I cry out in an uncontrollable moan, clenching around him and jolts of pleasure currents shooting through my core, through all of me. He continues to fuck me, to rub me, his gaze heavy and victorious and full of emotion as my orgasm refuses to relent, resurrected by his continued movements into me.  It slams into me again and I come hard, eyes still locked onto John's as I feel him bust inside of me, and his lips fall apart as he joins my moaning.

I rock on him slowly until he's finished, and he presses his forehead to mine. We take a moment to catch our breath, and I feel him throb inside of me until we slowly disentangle.

"Who needs an empty house?" I ask, breathless, ready for a glass of water.

His eyebrows draw together as he glances at me. "You think I'm done with you already?"