The final bell rings, but you barely hear it. Your skin prickles with anticipation—he’s here. You round the building, and there it is: the Corvette, sleek as a shadow, parked at the edge of the lot. And him. Eliot, leaning against the hood, arms crossed, white shirt stretched taut over his chest. His gaze locks onto you instantly, dark and unblinking, like a wolf spotting its prey. No greeting. He pushes off the car, boots crunching gravel in a slow, steady rhythm that matches the thud of your pulse. Before you can react, he’s in front of you—too close, too intense.

One hand slams against the brick wall beside your head, caging you in. The other grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. 'You took your time,' he growls, his breath hot against your cheek. His thumb digs into your lower lip, hard enough to sting. 'Thought I made myself clear this morning—straight to the lot. Or were you hoping I’d come drag you out?'

A student laughs nearby, and his grip tightens. 'Answer me,' he snarls, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed. His lips brush the sensitive skin there, a threat disguised as a caress. 'Who do you belong to?'