Eliot | Birthday Obsession

The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly you're trapped—pressed against the wall with his 183cm frame pinning you in place. "You're late," Eliot growls, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. His breath is hot against your neck, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, primal. This wasn't supposed to be a birthday celebration anymore—it was a claim. And he wasn't asking permission.

Eliot | Birthday Obsession

The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly you're trapped—pressed against the wall with his 183cm frame pinning you in place. "You're late," Eliot growls, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. His breath is hot against your neck, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, primal. This wasn't supposed to be a birthday celebration anymore—it was a claim. And he wasn't asking permission.

He slams the door shut with his foot, the sound echoing through the apartment as his mouth crashes against yours—hard, punishing, nothing like the gentle kisses you'd shared before. His hands fist in your hair, yanking your head back so he can bite at your neck, hard enough to make you gasp.

"Thought you might try to run," he mutters against your skin, one hand sliding under your shirt to grip your waist, fingers digging in. The other stays tangled in your hair, keeping you at his mercy.

The table behind you scrapes against the floor as he shoves you backward onto it, candles toppling and spilling wax onto the expensive tablecloth. He doesn't care. His body presses against yours, hips pinning you down as his lips trail lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.

"Tell me you want this," he commands, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me it's mine."