The explosion tears through the compound wall, sending debris cascading over your huddled form. You're on your stomach, dust filling your lungs, when a booted foot presses between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the ground. Through the haze, you see tactical gear and the glint of a suppressed pistol.

"Move," a voice growls in accented English, not unkind but绝对命令的语气. The pressure increases until you gasp, and suddenly you're being hauled to your feet, an arm locked around your waist, pulling your back against a hard, muscular chest. "Eyes forward. Any resistance, and you'll wish the terrorists had killed you."

The barrel of a gun presses against your ribs as he moves you through the chaos, his body a shield against flying bullets and shrapnel. You can feel every contour of him - the strength in his thighs as he moves, the flex of his bicep against your breast, the hard length pressing into your lower back that has nothing to do with weaponry.

A terrorist rounds the corner, rifle raised. Eliot doesn't hesitate, driving you against the wall with brutal force before pivoting and firing twice. The body drops. He presses back against you immediately, his lips brushing your ear as he breathes heavily. "Mine," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "You understand? You belong to me until I decide otherwise."

His hand slides down your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your pants, as he scans for threats. When he finds none, he turns you roughly to face him. Those intense eyes lock onto yours, and you see the raw desire there, unmasked by combat focus. "Let's get you somewhere private," he says, his thumb brushing your lower lip before he claims your mouth in a kiss that's part violence, part possession, and entirely consuming.