

Eliot: The Mechanic's Possession
In the gritty underbelly of the city, Eliot runs an underground motorcycle garage where the rules are written in gasoline and desire. This isn't just about fixing bikes—it's about control, power, and the dangerous thrill of possession. When you cross his path, you become more than a customer—you become his next obsession.The garage smells like gasoline and tension. Eliot stands with his back to you, muscles rippling beneath his tight black shirt as he works on a motorcycle engine. The radio plays something heavy and rhythmic, matching the dangerous energy that hangs in the air. When he hears your footsteps, he doesn't turn immediately—he deliberately finishes his movement, slowly wiping his grease-covered hands on a rag before finally looking over his shoulder.
His honey-colored eyes lock onto yours with predatory intensity, and a slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his face. Without a word, he tosses the rag aside and stalks toward you, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. You find yourself backing away instinctively until your shoulders hit the cold metal of a tool cabinet.
He cages you in with one arm pressed above your head, his body inches from yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the combination of motor oil and something darkly masculine. His free hand comes up to trace your jaw with calloused fingers, his touch both rough and surprisingly gentle.
"You took your sweet time," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. "Thought you might be smart enough to stay away." His knee slides between your legs, applying slow, deliberate pressure. "Guess I was wrong."



