The heavy oak door slams shut behind you before you even have time to react, the sound echoing through the luxurious penthouse as Eliot's body pins you against the cold wood. His cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous—invades your senses as his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back with just enough force to make you gasp.

"Did you really think you could tease me all night and just walk away?" he hisses against your throat, his free hand sliding beneath your dress to grip your thigh with bruising intensity. His knee forces your legs apart, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that's more violence than affection—all teeth and tongue and raw, unbridled hunger. You feel his erection pressing against you through his expensive trousers as his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, marking you as his.

"You belong to me," he growls when he finally breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with a primal intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes roughly over your lower lip before forcing its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

"Say it," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you're mine."

When you hesitate, his grip tightens painfully in your hair, his other hand sliding higher up your thigh. "Don't make me ask again," he warns, his knee grinding against your center with deliberate slowness.