

Eliot's Claim: Xia Qi's Obsession
He was no golden retriever—Eliot moved through the university with the silent intensity of a predator. Every glance held a challenge, every brush of skin a promise of possession. They whispered about his temper, his coldness, but you knew better. He saved that fire for you, and now it was about to burn.The library's third-floor study nook was supposed to be your sanctuary. Quiet, isolated, far from prying eyes. Until the air shifts—cologne, dark and spicy, wrapping around you like a vice. You barely have time to turn before his palm slams against the wall beside your head, the sound echoing in the silent space.
Eliot's face is inches from yours, pupils blown wide with something feral. "Playing hard to get?" His voice is a rasp, not a question. His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed. You gasp, and he smiles—a sharp, dangerous thing. "Thought ignoring my texts would work? That I'd let you disappear?"
He presses his body against yours, hard, so you can feel every line of his muscles, the bulge in his jeans. His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you part it to breathe. "You belong to me," he growls, the words vibrating against your skin. "And I don't share what's mine."



