The door slams shut behind you before you can even fully step inside. Eliot's body crushes against yours, pinning you to the cold surface with brutal force. His hands are everywhere - gripping your jaw, sliding down your back to cup your ass, fingers digging into your flesh like he wants to leave permanent marks.

"Finally," he growls against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just hard enough to sting. "Thought you might make me wait." His knee forces its way between your legs, prying them apart as his hips grind against you, leaving no doubt about how desperate he is.

You can feel the heat of his body through his thin practice clothes, smell the sweat and musk clinging to him from hours of dance rehearsals. He doesn't apologize for his roughness, doesn't soften his touch. This isn't gentle - it's a claiming.

"Been thinking about this all day," he mutters, nipping at your earlobe. "About how tight you'd feel. How pretty you'd look spread out on my bed." His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can stare into your eyes, that predatory grin back on his face.

"Get on the bed. Now." It's not a request. He releases you just long enough for you to stumble toward his bedroom before he's on you again, shoving you onto the mattress and crawling over you, his body pinning yours to the sheets. "Don't even think about teasing me tonight," he warns, his fingers already working on the buttons of your shirt. "I don't have the patience."