Page 36 of The Darkest Gift

I laugh, the sound raising goosebumps on Elijah. "Oh, pretty boy," I purr, "you have no idea."

My own blades join Mason's as they dance across Elijah's skin. We work in tandem, years of practice evident in the way our movements complement each other. Thin red lines appearin our wake, crisscrossing Elijah's golden skin like a macabre work of art. Each one draws a hiss or gasp from our captive, his muscles tensing and relaxing in waves. The blood wells up in delicate beads, like rubies against golden sand and we can’t resist painting patterns on his skin with it.

"Fuck," Elijah gasps as my knife traces a particularly sensitive spot along his ribs. "Is this supposed to be punishment? Because I've got to say, your technique could use some work."

Despite his words, I can see the effect we're having on him. His cock is hardening, twitching with each new cut. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, evidence of his body's betrayal.

"Oh?" I muse, trailing my blade along the inside of his thigh. "And what would you suggest? More pressure, perhaps?"

To emphasize my point, I press down slightly harder, watching as blood wells up in the wake of my knife. Elijah's breath hitches, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Careful now," Mason warns, his voice a low growl. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Elijah lets out a bark of laughter, the sound tinged with hysteria. "Hurt myself? That's rich, coming from the psychopaths currently carving me up like a Christmas turkey."

I can't help but chuckle at his sass. Even now, spread out and bleeding on our floor, he still manages to keep that sharp tongue. It's part of what makes him so irresistible.

"Such a mouth on you," I tsk, letting my blade dance dangerously close to his cock. "I'm starting to think you enjoy this."

Elijah's eyes widen as he watches the knife hover near his most sensitive areas. "You wouldn't," he breathes, but there's a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Wouldn't I?" I purr, letting the flat of the blade rest against his inner thigh. "You seem awfully... excited for someone who claims to hate this so much."

As if to prove my point, Elijah's cock twitches again, another bead of precum joining the first. "Fuck," he breathes, his head falling back against the cool marble floor.

I can't help but laugh at his bravado. "Oh, pretty boy," I purr, leaning in close enough that my breath ghosts over his ear. “I don't think your body got the memo about this being a punishment."

His cock lies hard against his stomach. The sight sends a jolt of arousal through me, heat pooling low in my belly.

"Look at you," Mason murmurs, his free hand trailing down Elijah's chest, fingers dancing through the droplets of blood. "So hard for us. So eager, even as you pretend to hate it."

Elijah's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "It's just a physical reaction," he grits out. "It doesn't mean anything."

I chuckle. "Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy. Maybe if you say it enough times, you'll start to believe it."

My blade resumes its dance across his skin, leaving delicate red lines in its wake. I take my time, savoring each shuddering breath, each tiny whimper that escapes Elijah's lips despite his best efforts to stay silent.

Mason's knife traces the curve of Elijah's hip, dipping dangerously close to his straining erection. "I wonder," he muses, his voice a low growl, "how sensitive you are down here. Shall we find out?"

Before Elijah can protest, Mason drags the flat of the blade along the length of his cock. He lets out a strangled moan as the cool metal glides along his heated flesh. His hips buck, seeking more contact even as he tries to pull away.

"Fuck," he gasps, his chest heaving. "Oh god, please..."

Mason chuckles darkly. "Please what, Elijah? Please stop? Or please don't stop?"

Elijah squeezes his eyes shut, his face flushed with a combination of arousal and shame. "I... I don't know," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

I watch, fascinated, as another bead of precum wells up at the tip of Elijah's cock. The sight sends a jolt of heat straight to my core, my own arousal building with each passing moment.

Mason's eyes gleam with wicked amusement as he continues to tease Elijah with the flat of the blade. "You know," he purrs, "I could take care of this for you. If you want."

Elijah's eyes fly open, locking onto Mason's face. There's a war raging behind those icy blue depths - desire warring with pride, need battling against his stubborn will.

"What's the catch?" he asks, his voice rough with barely contained lust.

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Mason's face. "Oh, there's always a catch, pretty boy. The condition is this - I'll make you come, but only after you make Iris come first."

Elijah's breath hitches, his gaze darting between Mason and me. I can see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of his, weighing his options, considering the implications.

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