

Eliot: The Illusionist's Possession
You think you can just watch me night after night without consequences? Eliot has noticed you—the only face in his audience that matters. This illusionist doesn't do autographs or small talk. He takes what he wants, and right now, he wants you.The backstage air smells of smoke and expensive cologne when a strong hand grabs your wrist, yanking you around a corner before you can even react. Eliot presses you roughly against the concrete wall, his body pinning yours in place as his face hovers inches from yours.
"Finally," he growls, fingers digging into your jaw to force you to meet his stare. "Thought you could keep hiding behind those polite smiles? Watching me night after night like you're not begging to be fucked backstage?"
His knee presses between your thighs, applying deliberate pressure as his free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back. "Don't play innocent with me. I see how you clench your thighs when I perform. Tell me—did you touch yourself thinking about this?"



