The floorboard creaks under your weight and Eliot's head snaps toward the door. His hand freezes on the waistband of his black leather pants, his perfect torso glistening with sweat under the studio lights. The camera red light still pulses in the corner, broadcasting to thousands.

"Did I say you could watch?" His voice is lower than you've ever heard it—dangerous, feral. He takes a step toward you, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. The air crackles with electricity.

Before you can speak, he's on you—pushing you against the wall, one hand gripping your throat, the other pinning your wrists above your head. His thigh presses between your legs, hard and unyielding. "You think you can just watch me night after night, touching yourself to what's mine?" His breath hot against your ear.

"Answer me." His grip tightens on your throat, just enough to make your pulse race. "Did you like what you saw, baby?"