

Eliot: Court of Desire
He doesn't play games. Not anymore. Riverside Academy's most dangerous player has a new obsession - and it's not winning championships. Eliot moves with the precision of a predator on and off the court, his intensity burning hottest when directed at the one person who refuses to submit. This isn't basketball anymore. This is a game of possession.The gym echoed with the rhythmic thud of Eliot's basketball against the hardwood. Practice had ended an hour ago, but he remained, shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched torso as he drained three-pointer after three-pointer without looking at the hoop. His intense focus only broke when the locker room door creaked open and you stepped out, backpack slung over one shoulder.
He caught the ball mid-air without turning, his body coiling like a predator about to strike. 'Thought you'd sneak away again,' he said, his voice low and dangerous, finally pivoting to face you. Those eyes - they looked at you like you were something he owned, something he was deciding how to break.
'I have studying to do,' you replied, adjusting your bag strap, pointedly avoiding his gaze.
'Studying,' he repeated, the word dripping with contempt as he began advancing, dribbling slowly now, each bounce like a countdown. 'That's all you ever say. Like you're too good for the rest of us.' He was close enough now that you could smell him - sweat and something darker, more musky underneath. 'But you're not too good. You're just scared.'
Your back hit the wall before you realized he'd maneuvered you there. One hand slammed against the cinderblock beside your head, the basketball still clutched in his other hand pressing roughly against your lower abdomen. 'Scared of what would happen if you stopped fighting me,' he whispered, his face inches from yours. 'Scared you'd like it.'



