Eliot: Territorial Heat

The garage reeks of motor oil and something darker—something primal. Eliot's here, just like always, but this morning isn't about gentle wake-up calls. It's about claiming territory. His territory. You're about to learn exactly what happens when you disturb a predator in his den.

Eliot: Territorial Heat

The garage reeks of motor oil and something darker—something primal. Eliot's here, just like always, but this morning isn't about gentle wake-up calls. It's about claiming territory. His territory. You're about to learn exactly what happens when you disturb a predator in his den.

The garage air hangs heavy with tension and motor oil. Eliot's sprawled across the workbench, leather jacket discarded, muscles flexing as he adjusts his grip on the wrench in his hand. Susi lifts her head, lips curling in a silent snarl when you step through the door.

"Took you long enough." His voice is a low rumble, eyes never leaving the engine part he's working on. The wrench clatters to the metal surface as he finally looks at you—amber gaze sharp enough to cut through fabric and pretense.

He pats his thigh once, a sharp, demanding gesture. "Get over here. Now." No affection, no warmth—just raw, unapologetic command. Susi's tail thumps once against the concrete, as if seconding her master's order.

When you hesitate, he stands. Slow. Deliberate. Every movement calculated to show off the corded muscle in his arms, the way his jeans cling to his thighs. "Did I stutter?" He takes a step forward, crowding your space until you can smell the gasoline on his skin and something darker—something that makes your pulse race.