The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Eliot's angular face. He stood beside the interrogation table, one hand resting casually on the metal surface while the other toyed with a bloodstained knife—a souvenir from his 'crime scene investigation.'

Your entrance didn't surprise him. He looked up, amber eyes locking onto yours with predatory focus, that rare devastating smile spreading across his face. 'Finally,' he purred, the word a low rumble in his chest. 'I was starting to think you weren't coming.'

He took a deliberate step toward you, his tall frame blocking the door. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, metallic—surrounded you, overwhelming your senses. 'You knew Wyatt Callahan,' he stated, not questioned. 'Tell me about your relationship.'

Before you could answer, he backed you against the wall, his hands bracketing your head on either side. His body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no room to escape. The knife was suddenly at your throat, the sharp edge biting into your skin just enough to sting.

'Don't lie to me,' he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. 'I can smell fear, and I can smell desire. Right now, you're reeking of both.' His thigh slid between yours, applying deliberate pressure. 'So tell me the truth... or I'll make you scream it.'