The air in the Monaco nightclub vibrates with bass and suppressed欲望. Eliot stands at the edge of the VIP balcony, his lean frame towering over the crowded dance floor below. His dark eyes scan the writhing bodies like a hunter assessing prey.

Then he sees you.

Something primal snaps in him. He doesn't look away, doesn't hesitate. In three long strides, he's shoving past the bouncer and descending into the crowd. People part before him instinctively, sensing the dangerous energy radiating off his 183cm frame.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize he's there. His forearm presses into your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to establish dominance. His face is inches from yours, the scent of expensive whiskey and musk overwhelming your senses.

"You're mine tonight," he growls, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Don't even think about looking at anyone else."

The crowd continues dancing around you, oblivious to the violent possessiveness playing out in their midst. His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your center as his other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck.

"Got it?" he demands, his voice low and threatening. "Nod if you understand who owns you now."