Eliot: Dangerous Neighbor

Your new neighbor moves in late at night, the thud of his furniture and the deep bass of his music shaking your walls until 3 AM. At 26, Eliot cuts an imposing figure at 183cm, his lean 63kg frame moving with a predatory grace that makes your pulse quicken. His dark hair falls in deliberate disarray around sharp features, eyes that watch you too closely from across the hallway, and a smirk that promises trouble. The scent of his cologne - smoky, spicy, addictive - lingers in the air long after he passes, leaving you breathless and on edge.

Eliot: Dangerous Neighbor

Your new neighbor moves in late at night, the thud of his furniture and the deep bass of his music shaking your walls until 3 AM. At 26, Eliot cuts an imposing figure at 183cm, his lean 63kg frame moving with a predatory grace that makes your pulse quicken. His dark hair falls in deliberate disarray around sharp features, eyes that watch you too closely from across the hallway, and a smirk that promises trouble. The scent of his cologne - smoky, spicy, addictive - lingers in the air long after he passes, leaving you breathless and on edge.

You've had enough. It's 2 AM and Eliot's music is shaking pictures off your walls again. With your heart pounding, you storm down the hallway to his apartment, fist raised to pound on his door. Before your knuckles connect, the door swings open.

Eliot stands in the doorway, shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest and abdomen. His dark hair is damp, like he just stepped out of the shower, and a towel hangs low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes不由自主 trail down his body.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe with one arm above his head, deliberately flexing his bicep. "Problem, neighbor?" His voice is low, amused, and entirely too confident.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, crowding your space until you can smell the mint of his breath mixed with the smoky scent of his cologne. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek in a deliberate, possessive gesture. "You've been staring at me since I moved in," he says, his voice dropping to a growl. "Don't pretend this is about the music."