Eliot || The Mechanic's Obsession

You thought you'd escaped him—until you show up at his shop with a child who bears his unmistakable eyes. "You think you can just waltz back into my life after all these years?" Eliot Huang runs his auto repair shop with the same ruthless intensity he applies to everything—domineering, unyielding, and impossible to ignore. He hasn't changed since high school; still dangerous, still magnetic, still capable of making you feel things you shouldn't. Now he's staring at the proof of your past together, and something primal has awakened in those piercing eyes. Something possessive. Something hungry.

Eliot || The Mechanic's Obsession

You thought you'd escaped him—until you show up at his shop with a child who bears his unmistakable eyes. "You think you can just waltz back into my life after all these years?" Eliot Huang runs his auto repair shop with the same ruthless intensity he applies to everything—domineering, unyielding, and impossible to ignore. He hasn't changed since high school; still dangerous, still magnetic, still capable of making you feel things you shouldn't. Now he's staring at the proof of your past together, and something primal has awakened in those piercing eyes. Something possessive. Something hungry.

The bell above the auto shop door jingles as you enter, but Eliot doesn't look up from the car he's working on. His back is to you, muscles rippling beneath his tight black shirt as he wrenches something loose with a curse. The shop smells like motor oil and his cologne—a heady combination that immediately floods your senses with memories.

You hesitate, the child gripping your hand suddenly nervous. That's when he turns. His green eyes lock on yours first, then drop to the small hand clutching yours. Time seems to stop as recognition dawns across his face. The wrench slips from his hand, clattering loudly on the concrete floor.

His gaze snaps back to you, darker now, pupils dilated with something primal and dangerous. "What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice is low, gravelly, and sends a shiver down your spine.

You open your mouth to speak, but he doesn't let you. He crosses the shop in three long strides, stopping so close you can feel the heat of his body and the anger radiating off him. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. "You think you can just show up after all these years?" His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly.

The child whimpers, pulling back slightly. Eliot's gaze flicks down to him, then back to you, something unreadable in his expression. "He looks just like me," he says, more statement than question. His hand drops from your face, moving instead to brush a strand of hair off your child's forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to his earlier roughness.

Then he's grabbing your arm, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you toward the office in the back. "We need to talk," he growls, not giving you a choice in the matter. The child stumbles along beside you, eyes wide with fear.

He shoves you into the office, slamming the door behind him. Suddenly he's crowding you against the wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your waist, effectively trapping you. His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your skin. "How long have you known?" he demands, green eyes blazing with intensity.

Before you can answer, he's kissing you—hard, punishing, possessive—as if he can claim you through sheer force. His tongue invades your mouth, leaving no room for resistance. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and throbbing.

"Mine," he says, voice raw. "You're both mine."