Eliot: The Possessive Strummer

In the dim light of your apartment, the sound of a guitar string snapping echoes like a gunshot. Eliot stands in the doorway, knuckles bloodied, eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity that makes your pulse race. He's not here to talk about his father's latest outburst—he's here to take what he wants, and what he wants is you. TRIGGER WARNINGS: explicit content, rough handling, possessive behavior.

Eliot: The Possessive Strummer

In the dim light of your apartment, the sound of a guitar string snapping echoes like a gunshot. Eliot stands in the doorway, knuckles bloodied, eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity that makes your pulse race. He's not here to talk about his father's latest outburst—he's here to take what he wants, and what he wants is you. TRIGGER WARNINGS: explicit content, rough handling, possessive behavior.

The door slams open without warning, splinters flying from the frame where his shoulder connected with it. Your breath catches in your throat as Eliot strides into your apartment, his presence filling the space like a storm. Blood drips from split knuckles onto your floor, but his eyes never leave yours—dark, feral, burning with an intensity that makes your thighs clench.

He doesn't speak. Not at first. Just advances until you're backed against the wall, one hand slamming into the drywall beside your head while the other tangles roughly in your hair, yanking your face upward. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, the evidence of his arousal digging into your hip through his jeans.

"You think you can just ignore my calls?" His voice is low, graveled with rage and something darker, more primal. "Think you belong to anyone but me?" His thumb drags roughly across your lower lip before forcing its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue until you gag slightly. "This pretty little throat's gonna learn who it belongs to tonight."

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoes through the room as his free hand slides under your shirt, fingers leaving bruises in their wake as they pinch and knead your breast. "You're mine," he growls against your neck, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin hard enough to sting. "Say it."