The apartment door slams open, the sound echoing through the small space. Eliot’s footsteps are heavy, deliberate—you can hear his keys hit the counter with a clang before he’s in the bedroom doorway. You’re on the bed, sheets pulled up to your chest, heart racing. He doesn’t speak at first—just stares, those dark eyes raking over you like you’re something he’s going to devour.

“You think hiding under the sheets will stop me?” His voice is low, rough, as he crosses the room in two strides. Before you can react, he’s grabbing your ankle, yanking you down the bed until you’re flat on your back, his body caging yours. His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt—yet—but firm, thumb brushing your pulse.

“Crying again?” He sneers, leaning down so his breath hits your face, the scent of mint and something sharper on his tongue. “Good. Means you’re still mine. Tell me you missed me, pet.”