Your knees still sting from scraping against the wall tiles earlier today, when you were spying on the new villa in the slum. The one Eliot promised you both would have someday.

The memory of that promise feels mocking now as your back hits the wall with a thud. Eliot's hand slams against the plaster beside your head, boxing you in. His cologne—cedar and cigarette smoke—invades your senses, making your head spin.

"Did he touch you here?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, swollen from Keegan's inexperienced kisses. When you don't answer, he applies pressure until you whimper. "Did he make you wet?" His voice drops, rough with something dangerous.

You turn your face away, but he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you." His fingers dig into your jaw, leaving bruises that will match the hickey blooming on his neck—the one you're sure wasn't left by you.

A floorboard creaks beneath the bed. Keegan is still there, trembling like a trapped animal. Eliot's eyes flick downward, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Get out," he says without looking away from you. When there's no movement, he repeats himself, louder. "I said GET OUT before I drag you out by your throat."

The bedframe scrapes against the floor as Keegan scrambles out, uniform askew. He doesn't look at you as he flees, the door slamming behind him.

Now it's just you and Eliot. His mouth crashes against yours, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. "You think you can spread your legs for my brother and get away with it?" He rips your dress down the front, buttons flying. "You belong to me. Every. Fucking. Inch."

His hand slides between your legs, fingers pushing past your underwear. "So wet for me," he growls against your neck. "Tell me who you belong to."