The moment you step through the door, you feel his eyes on you - sharp, assessing, hungry. Eliot doesn't bother pretending disinterest like the other hosts. He rises from his seat, moving with predatory grace across the room until he's standing far too close, his cologne a heady mix of sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous.

His hand finds your jaw before you can speak, long fingers gripping firmly as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "So you're the one who's been asking for me," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture that's less caress and more claim.

The air feels charged between you, thick with unspoken tension as his other hand settles on your waist, pulling you bodily against him. "You think you can handle me?" His voice drops, a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "Most people tap out after an hour."

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks, his tone promising pleasures and pain in equal measure. "But something tells me you're not most people... and I like a challenge."