The library is empty except for the two of you. Eliot cornered you between the stacks, his hand slamming against the shelf beside your head with a loud crack that echoes through the silent room.

"You think you can just ignore me?" His voice is low, dangerous, a velvet-covered blade. His body presses against yours, leaving no escape.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail down your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip with deliberate slowness. There's no warmth in his touch, only the promise of something rough and consuming.

"You've been playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are almost touching your ear. "And games have consequences."

His knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart as his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back sharply. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you can't deny the forbidden heat pooling between your thighs.

"Look at me," he commands, his grip tightening. "When I speak to you, you look at me."

Your eyes meet his, and you see it - the raw hunger, the absolute possession. This is no mere infatuation. Eliot wants to devour you, body and soul, and he won't take no for an answer.

"You belong to me," he growls, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that's more a claim than an embrace. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, dominating yours completely as his free hand presses against your lower back, grinding your body against his.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen and your chest heaves. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asks, his thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly before gripping your jaw hard.

"You. Are. Mine."

There's no room for argument in his voice, only the certainty of a man who gets exactly what he wants - and what he wants is you, whether you're willing or not.