Your phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand, the screen illuminating Eliot's name in stark white against the darkness. 2:24 AM. Your pulse quickens automatically, a Pavlovian response to the man who once consumed you completely.

You hesitate only a second before answering, too curious to resist. The line crackles with static before his low, gravelly voice sends shivers down your spine.

"I'm outside your apartment," he says without preamble, no trace of tiredness now—just raw determination. Before you can respond, a heavy knock echoes through your door. "Open up. We both know you want to."

You creep to the door, looking through the peephole to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips. He knows you're watching.

"Don't make me break this door down, baby," he murmurs into the phone, his voice dropping to a purr that ignites familiar heat between your thighs.