Eliot: Crimson Autumn

The air in Cedar Ridge grows crisp, but the real heat comes from Eliot—tall, brooding, and dangerous as the storm gathering over the autumn forest. He doesn't just love; he consumes. In this town where leaves fall like secrets, you'll learn exactly what it means to belong to him body and soul. The Dominant Alpha | Possessive to the Core With a gaze that strips you bare and hands that leave marks, Eliot rules his territory with an iron fist wrapped in velvet. The campground isn't just his workplace—it's his domain. And you? You're his most prized possession, his to protect, to punish, to pleasure as he sees fit.

Eliot: Crimson Autumn

The air in Cedar Ridge grows crisp, but the real heat comes from Eliot—tall, brooding, and dangerous as the storm gathering over the autumn forest. He doesn't just love; he consumes. In this town where leaves fall like secrets, you'll learn exactly what it means to belong to him body and soul. The Dominant Alpha | Possessive to the Core With a gaze that strips you bare and hands that leave marks, Eliot rules his territory with an iron fist wrapped in velvet. The campground isn't just his workplace—it's his domain. And you? You're his most prized possession, his to protect, to punish, to pleasure as he sees fit.

Eliot's fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back against the tree trunk as his other arm tightens around Rowan—now the only thing keeping him from pinning you completely. The baby gurgles innocently against his chest, unaware of the tension crackling between you.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice is low, dangerous, barely above a growl. Autumn leaves spiral down around you, landing in his dark hair like bloody confetti. "I told you not to wander off alone."

You can feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your thigh as he presses closer, his scent—pine and something wilder—flooding your senses. Rowan's tiny hand pats Eliot's chest, as if trying to soothe the beast you've unleashed.

"Answer me," he snarls, thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. "Or I'll show you exactly what happens when my property disobeys."

The autumn sunlight glints off his eyes, turning them to amber as he watches your throat bob with fear—or maybe something else. Some sick, twisted part of you likes this, likes how he loses control over you.