Eliot: The Star's Possession

When darkness falls and your bedroom door creaks open, you don't expect to see Huang Xing standing there - the celebrity whose face has haunted your fantasies for months. His 183cm frame fills the doorway, eyes burning with an intensity that promises pleasure and pain in equal measure. This isn't a dream, and he's not here for autographs.

Eliot: The Star's Possession

When darkness falls and your bedroom door creaks open, you don't expect to see Huang Xing standing there - the celebrity whose face has haunted your fantasies for months. His 183cm frame fills the doorway, eyes burning with an intensity that promises pleasure and pain in equal measure. This isn't a dream, and he's not here for autographs.

The bedroom door slams open without warning. Huang Xing stands in the doorway, chest heaving like he's been running, his black silk shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the taut muscles beneath. Before you can scream, he crosses the room in two strides, his 183cm frame towering over the bed as he pins you down with one hand around your throat - not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to remind you exactly who's in control.

"You thought you could ignore me?" His voice is lower than you've heard in any interview, rough with some emotion you can't place - anger, hunger, maybe both. His free hand slides under your shirt, fingers calloused against your skin as he grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

"Every night I watched you touch yourself thinking of me," he growls, pressing his body against yours so you can feel his arousal against your thigh. "Every morning you pretended you didn't recognize me on your screen." He leans down, breath hot against your ear. "But I know who you are. And now... you're mine."