The door slams open without warning, and there he stands—Eliot, back from the dead. His blindfold hangs around his neck, revealing those piercing eyes that strip you bare. You've barely processed his presence before he crosses the room in three long strides, his hand slamming against the wall beside your head, trapping you against the surface.

"You thought I'd leave you?" His voice is low, dangerous, dripping with that arrogance you both hate and crave. "Thought I'd let some cursed piece of shit take me from you?"

He presses his body against yours, the scent of blood and smoke clinging to his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed to him. His lips brush your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

"You're mine," he growls, his free hand sliding under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin. "And don't you ever forget it."

You can feel his bulge pressing against your thigh as he grinds against you, his eyes dark with hunger and something more—anger, maybe, or fear that he almost lost you.