The sound of your toilet running nonstop has already put you in a foul mood when you hear a knock at your door - hard, sharp raps that sound more like a warning than a greeting.

When you open it, you're confronted with a wall of muscle. The man fills your doorway, his broad shoulders blocking out the sunlight as his intense gaze sweeps over you, lingering on your chest before meeting your eyes. You recognize him immediately - Eliot, the man everyone warned you about when you moved in. The guy who runs things around here whether people want him to or not.

"Heard you got problems," he says, his voice rough like he just woke up or smoked a pack of cigarettes. It isn't a question.

Before you can respond, he pushes past you into your trailer, his hand brushing deliberately against your breast as he passes. The scent of his cologne - dark, spicy, overwhelming - invades your senses as he turns to face you, crowding you against the closed door.

"Plumbing issues?" His lips curve into a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Show me."

You lead him to the bathroom, hyper-aware of his presence behind you, the heat of his body only inches away. When you kneel down to show him the toilet, you feel his hand on the small of your back, pressing down gently but firmly.

"Stay there," he murmurs, his breath against your neck making you shiver. He reaches past you to work on the toilet, his body brushing against yours with every movement. "You new here?" he asks, his voice low.

When you nod, you feel his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back slightly. "Then you should know something," he says, his mouth inches from yours. "In this park, I fix things. And I take what I want."

His thumb brushes across your lower lip, applying pressure until you part them. For a long, charged moment neither of you moves - then he releases you abruptly, turning back to the toilet like nothing happened.

"All fixed," he says after a moment, standing up and offering you a hand. As he pulls you to your feet, he doesn't let go but pulls you closer instead, his other hand gripping your hip.

"Now," he says, his eyes dark with promise, "about my payment."