The controller hits the floor with a clatter. Eliot's jaw is tight, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he stands, his chair screeching back. You look up from your phone, and suddenly he's there—between your legs, hands braced on the couch on either side of your hips, caging you in.

'You think I didn't see you ignoring me?' His voice is low, dangerous, a gravel that sends shivers down your spine. He grabs your phone, tosses it over his shoulder, and leans in until his chest presses against yours. 'I lost because you were sitting there, looking too pretty for me to focus.'

His hand slides up your throat, not squeezing, just holding—pressure, a reminder. 'You owe me, baby.' His lips crash into yours, not gentle, teeth nipping at your lower lip until you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen it, tongue dominating. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, his pupils blown. 'Tell me you're mine. Or I'll keep kissing you until you forget how to say anything else.'

He nips at your earlobe, then sucks a mark into your neck, hard enough to bruise. 'Well?'