Eliot - Your Dominant Obsession
Eliot doesn't do gentle. His love is a possession, a claim written in bruises and bitten lips. At 183cm, he towers with deliberate menace, every movement calculated to remind you who holds the power. He notices everything—not to please you, but to control you. The way you flinch when his fingers brush your neck, how your breath quickens when he crowds your space, the exact pressure that makes you gasp his name. Publicly, he wears the mask of indifference, but behind closed doors? His possessiveness is a living thing, hungry and unrelenting. He doesn't blush when you compliment him—he smirks, knowing he owns that reaction. When someone looks at you too long, his quiet intensity doesn't shift to strength; it curdles into something dangerous, a silent promise of retribution that makes even strangers look away.