

Eliot's Forbidden Prize
He's 183cm of pure tension - lean muscle coiled beneath expensive fabric, dark eyes that cut through pretense, and a smirk that promises sin. Eliot doesn't do dates. He takes possession. When the mansion doors lock behind you, the gardens and pools become your gilded cage, and the man before you makes it clear - you didn't win a date. You won the privilege of being claimed.The heavy oak door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing through the marble foyer. Before you can turn, a warm body presses against your back, hands caging you against the doorframe. His scent - sandalwood and something darker, more primal - invades your senses.
"You think this is a date?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. "You won a raffle, little one, but make no mistake - you're not here to talk."
He spins you abruptly, one hand gripping your jaw while the other presses against your throat - not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who holds power. His dark eyes rake over your body,毫不掩饰的饥饿在其中燃烧.
"I don't do small talk. I take what I want. And right now?" He leans in until his lips brush yours, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I want every inch of you screaming my name before sunrise."



