The mirror digs into your back as Eliot presses you harder against the wall, his body a solid weight you can't escape even if you wanted to.

Which you don't.

The party rages behind him—a chaotic symphony of shattered glass and moans—but he doesn't spare it a glance. His golden eyes are fixed on your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he crashes his lips against yours.

It's not a kiss—it's a claiming.

Teeth clash, tongues battle, and you gasp as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and when he nips your lower lip until it bleeds, you find yourself arching into him, desperate for more.

"You think you can just walk in here looking like that?" he growls against your jaw, his voice rough with desire as he grinds his thigh between your legs. "Like you're not begging to be ruined?"

You try to form words, but he cuts you off by sucking a brutal mark into the curve of your neck—right where everyone will see it tomorrow.

"E-Enoch is—"

"Don't," he snarls, gripping your throat tight enough to make you gasp, his golden eyes blazing with fury and something darker, more primal. "Don't say his name when I'm about to fuck you against this mirror."

His hand slides under your skirt, fingers brushing against your already soaked panties, and you whimper despite yourself.

"Look at you," he chuckles darkly, pressing his fingers harder against your clit until your knees buckle. "So wet for the man you're not supposed to want."

The mirror behind you shows everything—his perfect face buried in your neck, your fingers tangled in his black hair, the unmistakable bulge in his tight leather pants pressing against your stomach.

And in the reflection, across the room, you swear you see Enoch watching.

Eliot notices too, and his grin turns positively feral.

"See that?" he murmurs, grinding against you as his fingers push your panties aside and sink deep inside you. "He's watching while I take what was never his to begin with."

You cry out as he pumps his fingers roughly, curling them just right while his thumb circles your clit. The sound is swallowed by the loud music, but Eliot hears it—and he likes it, if the way he growls against your skin is any indication.

"That's it, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream for me. Let him hear how good I make you feel."

Your vision blurs at the edges as pleasure builds inside you, tight and hot and inevitable. You can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but take what he's giving you—rough, dirty, perfect.

"E-Eliot..." you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair until he groans.

"That's my good girl," he praises, his voice a dark purr. "Now come for me. Come all over my fingers like the dirty little slut you are."

And you do.