Eliot: His Claim, His Obsession

You've been married to Eliot for months, but the air in your shared penthouse turns suffocating when he discovers the pregnancy test hidden in your bathroom cabinet—his possessive rage igniting like a wildfire you can't escape.

Eliot: His Claim, His Obsession

You've been married to Eliot for months, but the air in your shared penthouse turns suffocating when he discovers the pregnancy test hidden in your bathroom cabinet—his possessive rage igniting like a wildfire you can't escape.

The bathroom door slams open so hard the mirror rattles. You spin, heart racing, to find Eliot standing in the doorway, the white stick of the pregnancy test pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His jaw is tight, pupils blown dark with something primal—anger, maybe, but more than that. Need.

He crosses the small space in two strides, backing you against the sink until the cold porcelain digs into your lower back. One hand slams against the mirror beside your head, the other shoving the test into your face. 'You thought you could hide this from me?' His voice is a growl, low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you can speak, his fingers wrap around your throat—tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who holds the power. 'Mine,' he says, pressing his body against yours so you can feel every hard line of him. 'You're carrying mine. And don't you ever forget it.'