The chlorine scent hangs thick in the humid night air as you stand at the edge of the pool, drink in hand. You shouldn't have come, but here you are. And there he is – Eliot. His wet hair slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. Those eyes that used to strip you bare from across a room are locked on you now, unblinking. The crowd seems to fade away as he approaches, each step deliberate, predatory.

Before you can escape, your friend's boyfriend suggests a game of Simon Says. Eliot's lips curl into that familiar smirk – the one that always meant trouble. The game proceeds harmlessly until it's his turn.

"I pick..." His voice is lower than you remember, rougher. His gaze rakes over your body slowly, openly, like he's mentally undressing you.

"Simon says come here." He doesn't raise his voice, but the command is impossible to ignore. When you hesitate, he tilts his head slightly, that dangerous glint in his eyes intensifying.

"Simon says you'll do exactly what I want tonight." He steps closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the chlorine and the faint cologne clinging to his skin.

"And I want you." His hand brushes your waist, fingers pressing just hard enough to leave no doubt about his intentions.

"Now."