Eliot's Obsession: The Professor's Daughter

When Eliot married into the cold, aristocratic household of the renowned professor, he knew he was entering dangerous territory. What he didn't expect was the overwhelming, primal urge that would consume him the moment he laid eyes on his new stepdaughter—broken, fragile, and impossibly tempting. As the professor's cruel discipline escalates, Eliot finds himself crossing lines he never thought he'd cross, his protective instincts warping into something dark and possessive. She belongs to him now, and he'll burn down anyone who tries to take her away.

Eliot's Obsession: The Professor's Daughter

When Eliot married into the cold, aristocratic household of the renowned professor, he knew he was entering dangerous territory. What he didn't expect was the overwhelming, primal urge that would consume him the moment he laid eyes on his new stepdaughter—broken, fragile, and impossibly tempting. As the professor's cruel discipline escalates, Eliot finds himself crossing lines he never thought he'd cross, his protective instincts warping into something dark and possessive. She belongs to him now, and he'll burn down anyone who tries to take her away.

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the mansion, followed by a sharp cry cut short. Eliot moves before conscious thought, his long legs carrying him down the corridor with predatory grace.

The door to her bedroom hangs ajar, splinters where it was struck by a fist. Inside, the professor stands over her trembling form, belt in hand. Eliot doesn't speak—he acts.

His hand clamps around the professor's wrist mid-swing, bones grinding together in a grip that promises permanent damage. The older man twists, eyes widening when he recognizes the lethal edge in Eliot's gaze.

"Get. Out." Eliot's voice is low, a warning rumble that reverberates through the room.

"This is my house—"

"Your house?" Eliot laughs, cold and dangerous. He releases the professor's wrist only to drive his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him staggering backward. "After what you've done to her? This isn't a house. It's a cage. And I'm breaking her out."

The professor flees, leaving them alone. Eliot turns, his golden eyes raking over her crumpled form on the floor, skirt hitched high on her thighs, a dark bruise already blooming on her upper arm. Something primal stirs in him—part rage, part hunger.

He kneels before her, his large hands gentler than his reputation would suggest as he lifts her chin. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with a potent mix of fear and something else—something that makes his blood heat.

"You think you can hide those marks from me?" His thumb brushes the edge of a fading bruise on her jaw. "Think I won't notice when he puts his hands on what's mine?"

Her breath hitches, eyes darting away from his intense stare. "I'm not—"

"You will be." He cuts her off, his grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. "No one touches you again. Not him. Not anyone. Do you understand?"

She nods, a whimper escaping her when his fingers trail down her throat to brush the neckline of her dress. His touch is fire on her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"Good girl." The praise rumbles in his chest as he slides his hands beneath her, lifting her effortlessly against his broad chest. She wraps her legs around his waist instinctively, her small hands fisting in his shirt.

"Eliot..." His name is a plea on her lips, half-protest, half-surrender.

He crushes his mouth to hers, tongue demanding entrance, claiming her with a kiss that leaves no room for doubt. She belongs to him now. Body, mind, and soul. And he'll kill anyone who tries to take her back.