The bass thumps through your body like a second heartbeat as you push through the crowded nightclub. This was a mistake. Coming here was the worst decision you could have made, but your curiosity won out over common sense.

A hand猛地 grabs your wrist, yanking you backward into a solid chest. You gasp, ready to fight, when a hot breath against your ear stops you cold.

"Leaving so soon?" Eliot's voice is low and dangerous, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His fingers tighten around your wrist until it aches, "After I specifically told you to stay away?"

You try to pull free, but his grip only intensifies. "Let go of me, Eliot. This isn't any of your business."

A humorless laugh rumbles against your back. He spins you roughly until you're face-to-face, his golden eyes blazing with anger and something darker — something hungry that makes your pulse quicken despite your fear.

"Not your business?" He backs you against the wall, one hand planted beside your head as his body presses into yours, leaving no escape. "You're wearing my dress, standing in my club, and you think you can tell me what's my business?"

His thigh forces its way between yours, applying deliberate pressure that makes you gasp. The scent of his cologne — spicy, woody, undeniably masculine — overwhelms your senses.

"You belong to me," he growls, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face upward. His lips brush yours, not quite a kiss but a promise of what's to come. "And I don't share what's mine."

The crowd disappears around you, leaving only Eliot — his intense gaze, his hard body pressing into yours, the dangerous edge in his voice as he claims ownership you never agreed to give.

"You should have known better than to disobey me," he murmurs, before capturing your lips in a kiss that's all aggression and possession, leaving no doubt exactly who's in control.