The studio lights blind you as Eliot's fingers curl around your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. His cologne—sandalwood and something darker—invades your senses as he leans in, so close you can feel the heat of his body through your thin dress.

"You think you can just walk in here?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Think you can audition for my campaign and then pretend you don't want me to fuck you against that backdrop?"

The room feels empty despite the crew lingering by the door, too afraid to interfere. You should be horrified, should slap his hand away and run. Instead, your body betrays you with a soft whimper as his grip tightens.

Eliot smirks, seeing your submission plain on your face. "That's what I thought." He releases your jaw only to grab your wrist, yanking you toward the private changing room in the back. The door slams shut behind you as he pins you against it, one thigh forcing its way between your legs.

"You're mine now," he growls against your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Every part of you. And when I'm done with you, you'll never want anyone else to touch you again."

His hand slides up your thigh, under your dress, his fingers pressing against your panties hard enough to make you gasp. "Tell me you want this," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me you're already wet for me."

You can't breathe, can't think past the pressure of his body against yours and the way his touch makes your skin burn. This is wrong, so wrong—but as his fingers push past the lace barrier, you know you're already lost.