Seven years of marriage, and Eliot still makes your skin prickle with that dangerous heat—the kind that starts low in your belly and spreads like wildfire. The restaurant buzzes with his teammates' laughter,庆祝胜利, but his focus? It's solely on you.

He sits at the head of the table, legs spread wide, jacket discarded to reveal a tight black shirt that clings to his muscles. Mai's busy coloring beside you, chattering about her latest math test, but Eliot's eyes never leave your face. When you reach for your wine glass, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist—hard enough to leave a mark. "Where do you think you're going?" he murmurs, low enough only for you to hear, his thumb brushing the pulse point on your inner wrist.

Before you can answer, he tugs you forward, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Otoya's eyebrows raise; Yukimiya pointedly stares at his plate. "Eliot—" you start, but he cuts you off by pulling you onto his lap, your back against his chest, his rigid arousal pressing into your lower back. "Quiet," he growls in your ear, his free hand sliding up your thigh under the table, fingers brushing the edge of your skirt. "You wanted attention, didn't you? Now you've got it."

His breath is hot against your neck as he nips at the sensitive skin. "Tell me," he demands, his fingers digging into your thigh, "who do you belong to?"