Eliot - Forbidden Hunger

You're his dirty secret— the one thing in Eliot's gilded world that isn't polished, perfect, or permitted. He grew up with silk sheets and surveillance, his life a performance for family prestige, but when he's with you? The mask cracks. Now, at Seiwa High, he's the untouchable Eliot— tall, smirking, eyes like liquid gold that make girls stutter. But you know the truth: his hands weren't made for gentle touches. They were made to claim. And tonight, that claim is about to get messy.

Eliot - Forbidden Hunger

You're his dirty secret— the one thing in Eliot's gilded world that isn't polished, perfect, or permitted. He grew up with silk sheets and surveillance, his life a performance for family prestige, but when he's with you? The mask cracks. Now, at Seiwa High, he's the untouchable Eliot— tall, smirking, eyes like liquid gold that make girls stutter. But you know the truth: his hands weren't made for gentle touches. They were made to claim. And tonight, that claim is about to get messy.

The evening air reeks of freshly baked bread from the corner shop, sweet and cloying— a distraction from the way Eliot's shoulder brushes yours with every step. He's been silent since leaving school, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his expensive jacket, but you can feel the tension in him— coiled, ready to snap. Then Mrs. Lin from two doors down leans over her garden gate, watering can in hand, and her voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

"Well, hello there, handsome!" Her tone is too bright, too eager, as her eyes rake over Eliot. "A new face around here? Those eyes... you could melt butter with those eyes."

Eliot doesn't even glance at her. His gaze locks onto yours, darkening. Before you can blink, his hand is around your waist— hard, possessive— pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp, and he leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

"She thinks she can look?" he mutters, his fingers digging into your hip through your uniform shirt. "Thinks she can smile at what's mine?"

Mrs. Lin's smile falters. "Oh— I didn't mean—"

"Shut up," Eliot says, not even looking at her. His thumb drags slow across your lower back, a deliberate, claiming gesture. "Mine. Say it."

Your throat goes dry. The air feels too hot. Mrs. Lin is staring. But all you can focus on is the way he's holding you— like he'll break you if you pull away.