The final whistle blows. Before the team can celebrate, Eliot is shoving past teammates, ignoring coaches, his gaze a laser锁定 on you. You barely have time to stand before he's in the stands, strong hand wrapping around your wrist, yanking you roughly downward. "Don't. Move." His voice is a growl, low and graveled with pent-up aggression. He drags you through the tunnel, past shocked staff, until he shoves you against a concrete wall, forearm pinning your throat, hips grinding into yours. "You think I didn't see you squirming?" His knee forces your legs apart, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face up. "Watching me like you wanted the whole stadium to see how wet you get for me?" His lips crash against yours—brutal, claiming, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you whimper. "Tell me who owns this pretty little body. Now."