Page 34 of The Darkest Gift

"Is that so?" I muse, my hands still working their magic on Mason's tense muscles. "How... inconvenient."

Mason snorts, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "Inconvenient is an understatement. It effectively halts all operations for at least the next month, possibly longer. My client stands to lose millions."

I hum thoughtfully, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Well then," I purr, letting a hint of seduction creep into my voice, "I suppose we'll just have to find a way to make our guest regret his actions, won't we?"

Mason turns to face me, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. The fury in his eyes transforms into something more dangerous. It's a look that never fails to send a delicious shiver down my spine.

"You're right," he says, his voice rough. "I'll need to go in tomorrow to lodge an appeal. But in the meantime..." His gaze flicks back to Elijah, who's watching our exchange with barely concealed interest.

I lean in close, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "It is the fourth day of Christmas, after all," I murmur, my voice dripping with dark promise. "And I have the perfect idea in mind."

As I whisper my plan to him, I feel Mason's breath hitch. His hands come to rest on my hips, fingers digging in with bruising force. When I pull back, his eyes are filled with desire, pupils blown wide.

"Oh, my love," he purrs, "you always know just what I need."

I smirk, trailing a finger down his chest. "Of course I do. That's why you married me."

Mason chuckles. "One of many reasons," he agrees. His gaze shifts back to Elijah, who's watching us with a mix of wariness and reluctant arousal. "But for this... we'll need to move him. Secure him spread out on the marble floor."

I nod, already picturing the scene in my mind. The cool, smooth marble against Elijah's heated skin. The way the afternoon light will play across his body, highlighting every curve and plane. The contrast of the dark restraints against the pale stone.

"Shall we?" I ask, gesturing towards our captive.

Mason nods, his earlier anger now channeled into focused intensity. We move towards Elijah in perfect sync, a predatory grace in our steps.

As we begin to unclip his restraints from the cross, I lean in close to Elijah's ear. "I hope you're ready, pretty boy," I purr.

We work in tandem to secure Elijah to the hidden bolts in the marble floor, each movement precise. The cool stone must feel shocking against his heated skin as we arrange his limbs, spreading him out like a sacrifice on an altar. The afternoon sunlight streams through the windows but I also turn on the overhead chandelier, casting an ethereal glow across his body and making the polished marble gleam.

Mason and I step back, admiring our handiwork. Elijah lies spread-eagled on the cool marble floor, his golden skin a stark contrast against the pale stone.

I turn to Mason, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Shall we make ourselves more comfortable, darling?" I purr, my fingers toying with the top button of my silk blouse.

Mason's eyes darken with desire as he nods. "I think that's an excellent idea," he agrees, his voice low and rough.

We begin to undress, our movements unhurried and deliberate. Even when working from home, we make an effort to dress professionally in case of unexpected video meetings. The process of shedding these layers feels almost ritualistic, like peeling away the facades we present to the outside world.

I start with my blouse, fingers working each delicate pearl button with practiced ease. The whisper of silk against my skin sends a pleasant shiver down my spine as I let the garment fall to the floor. Beneath it, a lacy black bra hugs my curves, a stark contrast against my pale skin.

Mason's eyes rake over me appreciatively as he loosens his tie. The rich burgundy silk slides through his fingers before joining my blouse on the floor. His nimble fingers make quick work of his shirt buttons, revealing tantalizing glimpses of tanned skin and toned muscle.

I reach behind my back to unzip my pencil skirt, letting it pool around my feet before stepping out of it gracefully. The matching black lace panties barely cover anything, leaving little to the imagination. I can feel Elijah's gaze burning into me, even as I keep my focus on Mason.

As Mason shrugs off his shirt, I take a moment to appreciate the play of muscles beneath his skin. Years of rigorous workouts have sculpted his body into a work of art, all lean lines and defined abs. A smattering of dark hair trails down his chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks.

I step closer to him, my hands coming to rest on his belt buckle. "Allow me," I murmur, my voice husky with desire. Imaintain eye contact as I slowly undo his belt, the soft clink of metal loud in the charged silence of the room.

Mason's breath hitches as I unbutton and unzip his slacks, letting them fall to the floor. He steps out of them, now clad only in snug black boxer briefs that do little to hide his growing arousal.

With a small smile playing at my lips, I move to the ornate chest in the corner. The antique wood is smooth beneath my fingers as I lift the lid, revealing the treasures within. After a moment of consideration, I select a particular box—sleek black lacquer with delicate silver filigree.

Turning back to Mason, I present the box with a flourish. "On the fourth day of Christmas," I purr, my voice low and rich with promise, "your true love gives to you... four sharp knives."

Mason's eyes light up as I open the box, revealing the gleaming blades nestled within. Each knife is a work of art in its own right—perfectly balanced, razor-sharp, with handles of polished ebony and silver.

Elijah's sharp intake of breath is audible in the hushed room. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the knives, a complex mix of emotions flashing across his face—fear, yes, but also a grudging fascination.

Mason picks up one of the knives; they are identical, delicate things with a long thin blade the length of my hand. He tests the edge against his thumb, humming in satisfaction when it draws a bead of crimson. He holds the knife up to the light, admiring the way it gleams.

---