Page 33 of The Darkest Gift

I release him abruptly, stepping back. Elijah stumbles slightly, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes are wide, pupils blown with a heady blend of fear and arousal.

"Now," I say, my voice returning to its usual calm tone. "I believe I told you where to go. Unless you'd like me to escort you there physically?"

Elijah swallows hard, his throat working visibly. For a moment, I think he might push back, might try to reclaim some of that control he so desperately wants. But then he nods, turning towards the door without another word.

I follow him out of the bathroom, watching as he makes his way to the St. Andrew's cross against the wall of the bedroom. His movements are fluid, almost graceful, no longer stiff from being restrained.

As he positions himself against the cross, arms and legs spread wide, I take a moment to appreciate the view. The soft moonlight streaming through the windows casts intriguing shadows across his body, accentuating every dip and curve of his muscledform. They play across his face, sharpening his already striking features.

I approach him slowly, savoring the anticipation that hangs heavy in the air between us. His chest rises and falls with quickened breaths, a testament to the effect our little encounter in the bathroom had on him. His cock is still hard, twitching slightly as I draw nearer.

"Good boy," I murmur, reaching for the padded leather cuffs attached to the cross. I secure his right wrist first, the leather cuff snug but not overly tight against his skin. The soft padding protects the tender flesh I just treated, a small mercy in our world of exquisite cruelty. I repeat the process with his left wrist, then kneel to fasten his ankles.

Throughout it all, Elijah remains silent, his breathing steady but faster now. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the way goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.

When I finish with the restraints, I stand back to admire my handiwork. He is truly a vision, a fallen angel, one I would love to take my time to corrupt.

Instead I turn, shedding my clothing, before I slide into the bed beside Iris. Wrapping myself around the one person I know I can actually keep.

Chapter 18

Elijah

I will endure this.

I will not break.

I can bide my time.

Chapter 19

Iris

The afternoon sun streams through the windows. I stretch languidly in my chair, taking a moment to roll my neck and shoulders. We've been working for hours, the quiet punctuated only by the soft rustle of papers and the gentle tapping of laptop keys.

My gaze drifts to Elijah, still bound to the St. Andrew's cross. He's been unnaturally quiet today, a stark contrast to his usual witty banter. Even when I fed him lunch earlier—a light salad and some fresh fruit—he barely made a sound. Just opened his mouth obediently, accepted the food, and chewed in silence.

I can't help but wonder what's going on in that brilliant mind of his. Is he finally starting to break? Or is he simply conserving his energy, plotting some futile escape attempt? Perhaps he'sjust worried about the punishment Mason promised him last night. The anticipation of pain can be a powerful thing, sometimes more potent than the pain itself.

Whatever the reason, the silence is... unsettling. I've grown accustomed to our verbal sparring matches, the way his quick wit keeps me on my toes.

I watch as Elijah's eyes track Mason's every move, following him as he paces back and forth across the room. There's a calculating edge to his gaze, a sharpness that belies his seemingly relaxed posture. It's as if he's cataloging every gesture, every expression, filing away information for future use.

Mason's voice grows increasingly agitated as he speaks into his phone, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The afternoon sunlight catches on his wedding ring, sending little flashes of gold dancing across the walls with each agitated movement.

Suddenly, Mason lets out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. He ends the call with a vicious jab at his phone screen, then whirls to face Elijah. His eyes are blazing with barely contained fury, jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding.

Elijah, for his part, merely arches an eyebrow. It's a subtle gesture, but in the tense atmosphere of the room, it feels like a challenge thrown down. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk, but close enough to fuel Mason's anger.

I rise from my chair, the soft rustle of my silk blouse seeming unnaturally loud in the charged silence. My heels click against the marble floor as I cross to Mason, each step measured and deliberate. When I reach him, I place my hands on his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles.

"What's wrong, darling?" I ask, my voice low and soothing. My fingers work small circles into the knots at the base of his neck, a gentle pressure designed to calm and focus him.

Mason leans into my touch almost unconsciously, some of the rigid anger leaving his posture. But his eyes never leave Elijah, burning with an intensity that sends a thrill down my spine.

Mason's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "The court approved an injunction," he growls. "One that our esteemed guest here must have filed just before we... extended our invitation."

I glance at Elijah, noting the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. It's gone in an instant, replaced by that maddeningly neutral expression he's perfected. But I saw it, that brief moment of triumph.

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