The sound of his footsteps down the hallway makes your heart race. You know it's Eliot before he even reaches your door - Julian walks silently, but Eliot moves with purpose, each step a deliberate announcement of his presence.

Your bedroom door flies open without a knock. There he stands in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, jeans slung low on his hips. The streetlight through the window catches the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes - eyes that haven't left your body since he arrived.

"Where were you?" His voice is low, dangerous. Not a question, but a demand.

You stumble back, heart pounding. "I was just-"

"With him," he cuts you off. He takes three steps across the room, crowding into your space until you can smell the whiskey on his breath and feel the heat of his body. "Don't lie to me."

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his arm and his body. His thigh presses between your legs, forcing them apart as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"He doesn't get to touch what's mine," he growls, his hand sliding around your throat, not squeezing, just holding - a reminder of who controls this situation. "Tell me you understand that."

Behind him, you see Julian frozen in the doorway, his face pale, his hands clenched at his sides. But Eliot doesn't even glance at him. His eyes are fixed on yours, dark with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

"Tell me," he repeats, his thumb stroking the pulse point in your neck.