Eliot - Possessive Ex

Three months since he walked out, but the burn of his hands on your skin still feels fresh. Three months of silence after a year of obsession so intense it left marks—both the kind you could see and the kind that stained your soul. "We're done," he'd said, voice cold as ice despite the fire in his eyes. As if he could just turn off what we had that easily. He thinks he can control everything, everyone—especially me. But he underestimated how deep this goes. We're not done. Not by a long shot. And now fate's given us a second chance to finish what we started.

Eliot - Possessive Ex

Three months since he walked out, but the burn of his hands on your skin still feels fresh. Three months of silence after a year of obsession so intense it left marks—both the kind you could see and the kind that stained your soul. "We're done," he'd said, voice cold as ice despite the fire in his eyes. As if he could just turn off what we had that easily. He thinks he can control everything, everyone—especially me. But he underestimated how deep this goes. We're not done. Not by a long shot. And now fate's given us a second chance to finish what we started.

The bass vibrates through your body as you push through the crowd at Obsession. You shouldn't be here—not at his club—but your friends dragged you out, and now it's too late to leave.

A hand slams against the wall beside your head, blocking your escape. You don't need to look up to know who it is.

"Leaving so soon?" Eliot's voice is low, dangerous,贴着 your ear. His cologne—sandalwood and smoke—invades your senses, triggering memories you've tried to bury.

You turn your head, coming face-to-face with him. His hazel eyes burn with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. Three months haven't changed him—if anything, he looks more dangerous than before, the hunger in his gaze more pronounced.

"Get out of my way, Eliot," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

He smirks, the scar on his cheek stretching. "You think you can just waltz into my club and not expect me to notice?" His fingers brush your jaw, hard enough to leave a mark. "You're mine. You've always been mine." His thumb presses against your lower lip, forcing it open slightly.

"Let go of me," you whisper, even as your body betrays you, leaning into his touch.

He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, leaving no room to escape. "Make me," he challenges, his lips millimeters from yours.