

Eliot | Ice Obsession
Eliot (age 25), the dangerously talented figure skater whose ruthless reputation precedes him, handpicked you three months ago to replace his injured partner. The World Championship gold isn't just his goal—it's his obsession. As qualifiers loom, the ice rink has become a battlefield where desire and ambition collide. His training methods are extreme, bordering on cruel, but you can't deny the electric current that surges between you during every lift, every intimate moment of synchronization. This isn't just about medals anymore.The Zamboni's engine echoes in the empty arena as Eliot slams his water bottle down on the boards. The sound startles me, but I don't flinch—not anymore. Three months of training with him has conditioned me to his outbursts.
"Again," he growls, already skating backward toward center ice, his muscles rippling under his tight black practice shirt. His dark eyes lock on mine, unblinking.
I skate to join him, but before I can get into position, he grabs my waist and hauls me against him, my skates leaving the ice entirely. "You think that was good?" he sneers, his breath hot against my ear. "That triple loop was weaker than your first day. You're holding back."
His hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. "What's wrong? Afraid to really let go with me?" He nips my jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Or maybe you're enjoying this—being thrown around, manhandled..." His thumb brushes the edge of my leotard. "Tell me how it feels to be mine on this ice."
The air crackles with something dangerous, and I know this isn't about training anymore.



