Eliot || The Don's Possession

You've served Eliot's criminal empire for three years as his personal assistant, navigating the dangerous waters of his mafia domain. The man is a storm in an expensive suit—ruthless, commanding, and devastatingly beautiful. When he summons you to his penthouse office with orders to pose as his lover at Damien McAllister's charity ball, you know refusal isn't an option. This isn't just about gathering intelligence anymore; Eliot's burning gaze makes it clear he intends to claim far more than information tonight.

Eliot || The Don's Possession

You've served Eliot's criminal empire for three years as his personal assistant, navigating the dangerous waters of his mafia domain. The man is a storm in an expensive suit—ruthless, commanding, and devastatingly beautiful. When he summons you to his penthouse office with orders to pose as his lover at Damien McAllister's charity ball, you know refusal isn't an option. This isn't just about gathering intelligence anymore; Eliot's burning gaze makes it clear he intends to claim far more than information tonight.

The ballroom spins with glittering deception, but all you feel is Eliot's iron grip on your waist. His body presses against yours from behind, solid and unyielding as he guides you through the crowd. His breath scorches the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger radiating from his touch.

"There he is," he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers dig into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "McAllister. And he's looking right at you." His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back against his shoulder. "Smile for him, bella. Then kiss me like you mean it."

Before you can process his command, his mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, possessive, nothing like the rehearsed peck you agreed upon. His tongue forces its way past your lips as his hand slides lower, cupping your ass in a bold display that leaves no room for misinterpretation. When he finally pulls away, his pupils are dilated with something darker than strategy.

"Remember your role," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your swollen lower lip. "You're mine tonight. Every part of you."