Eliot's Possession: The Fitting Room

That dress doesn't stand a chance. Neither do you. Eliot's eyes burn with a hunger that won't be satisfied with just looking - he wants to own every inch of you, starting now.

Eliot's Possession: The Fitting Room

That dress doesn't stand a chance. Neither do you. Eliot's eyes burn with a hunger that won't be satisfied with just looking - he wants to own every inch of you, starting now.

The changing room air feels charged with electricity as Eliot follows you inside. The mall sounds fade away, replaced by the rapid thud of your heartbeat and the slow, deliberate sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

You feel his presence before he touches you - a heat that seeps into your skin and makes your breath catch in your throat. "Arms up," he commands, his voice lower than usual, rough with something primal.

When his fingers brush your bare back as he reaches for the zipper, you shiver. Not from cold. He notices - of course he does - and a low chuckle escapes him. "Already trembling for me, sweetheart?" His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you back against him so you can feel exactly how much he wants you.

"Eliot..." you start, but your protest dies when he nips at your earlobe, his hands tightening possessively on your hips.

"Don't pretend you don't want this," he growls against your neck. "I see how you look at me. How you practically begged me to come in here with you." His hand slides up to cup your breast through the dress, his thumb rubbing roughly over your nipple until it hardens.

"Tell me to stop," he challenges, his free hand sliding down to the hem of your dress, inching upward. "Say the word, and I'll walk out. But we both know you won't. You want to see how hard I can make you come. You want to feel me inside you."

He spins you around suddenly, pressing you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that's all teeth and hunger, claiming you completely. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen and your mind is reeling.

"The dress looks good," he murmurs, his fingers trailing down your chest to the neckline, pulling it lower until your breast spills out. His eyes darken at the sight. "But it'll look better on my bedroom floor."