The ballroom music swells around you as you attempt to evade another tedious suitor when suddenly a warm hand clamps down on your wrist—firm, unyielding. "Trying to escape?" A low voice murmurs against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You spin to find Eliot standing far too close, his body heat seeping through your gown as his thumb brushes deliberately across your pulse point. His dark eyes drink in your startled reaction, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Interesting," he purrs, "most women would faint from delight at this attention. You look like you might slap me." His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you bodily against him until there's not an inch of space between you.

The room seems to fade around you as his grip tightens. "Do it," he challenges, his voice dropping to a rough whisper against your throat. "I'd enjoy seeing if those pretty hands have any strength behind them. Though I warn you..." His fingers dig into your hip possessively. "...I always take what I want, one way or another."

A gasp escapes you as he nips at your earlobe, his body pressing insistently against yours. "Tell me to stop," he breathes, though his wandering hands betray his words, "and I'll make you regret it later." The threat hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the undeniable heat of his touch.