Page 38 of The Darkest Gift

Finally, Elijah collapses back against the marble floor, utterly spent. His chest heaves as he gasps for air, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. The cuts we made earlier have mostly stopped bleeding, leaving intricate patterns of drying blood across his torso.

Mason pulls off Elijah's softening cock with an obscene pop. He licks his lips, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Crawling up Elijah's body, he hovers over him, their faces inches apart.

"I hope you're comfortable," Mason murmurs. "Because you're going to be staying right here for the rest of the night."

Elijah's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice hoarse from his earlier cries.

Mason's smirk widens. "Well, you see," he says conversationally, as if discussing the weather, "I rather enjoy the sight of you wearing my wife's release." His fingers trail through the sticky remnants of my orgasm on Elijah's chin. "And I think you'll look even better wearing mine."

Before Elijah can process what's happening, Mason straddles his chest. He takes his own hard cock in hand, stroking it rapidly. "Open wide, pretty boy," he growls.

Elijah, still dazed from his intense orgasm, complies almost automatically. Mason groans as he comes, thick ropes of cum painting Elijah's face and open mouth. Some lands on his tongue, more splatters across his cheeks and forehead.

When he's done, Mason sits back, admiring his handiwork. Elijah lies there, stunned, cum dripping down his face.

"Perfect," Mason purrs, running a finger through the mess on Elijah's cheek. "Now, as I said, you're going to stay right here, wearing our cum, for the rest of the night. Sweet dreams, Elijah."

With that, Mason stands and offers me his hand. I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. As I rise, I suddenly notice the change in the light. The warm glow of the afternoon sun has faded, replaced by the soft illumination of the crystal chandelier above. Outside the large windows, night has fallen, the manicured grounds of our home are barely visible in the moonlight.

Mason guides me towards our bed, his hand a warm presence at the small of my back. The soft sheets whisper against my skin as I slide beneath them, a stark contrast to the cool hard marble floor we've been kneeling on. The mattress dips as Mason joins me, his body radiating heat as he settles in beside me.

I open my mouth, ready to protest the early night. After all, there's still so much we could do with our captive guest. But before I can voice my thoughts, a massive yawn escapes me, catching me by surprise. Suddenly, the weight of the day's activities crashes down on me, exhaustion seeping into my very bones.

Mason chuckles softly, pulling me close. "Rest, my love," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple. "We have all the time in the world to play with our pretty boy, at least for the next week."

I burrow into his embrace, my head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat is soothing, lulling me towards sleep.

Chapter 21

Elijah

Iwillendure.

Iwillbide my time.

Chapter 22

Mason

I'm already up and dressed when Iris picks up our discarded knives from the night before to start meticulously cleaning them. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting a glow across the room but it’s not chasing away the chill in the air. I adjust my tie, smoothing down the rich silk before turning my attention to our guest.

Elijah lies on the marble floor, exactly where we left him last night. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and steady. In the gentle morning light, he looks almost peaceful—a stark contrast to the evidence of our activities painted across his body. Dried blood from our knife play forms intricate patterns on his golden skin, interspersed with the flaking remnants of our combined releases on his face and chest.

For a moment, I'm struck by how beautiful he looks like this. Vulnerable, marked, claimed. It's almost a shame to disturb him. Almost.

I crouch down beside him, taking in the details. The long lashes resting against his cheeks, the slight furrow between his brows even in sleep. He appears more relaxed than he has been since we first brought him home from the gala, his usual tension melted away in unconsciousness.

Part of me is tempted to let him sleep, to preserve this moment of tranquility. But practicality wins out. I need to get him cleaned up and secured on the cross again before I leave to deal with the injunction he so kindly left for me.

"Time to wake up, pretty boy," I murmur, running a finger along his jaw.

Elijah's eyes flutter open, confusion clouding those icy blue depths for a moment before recognition sets in. I watch as awareness crashes over him, his body tensing as he remembers where he is.

"Good morning," I say, my voice deceptively cheerful. "Did you sleep well?"

Elijah's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "Like a baby," he croaks, his voice rough from sleep. "Nothing quite like a marble floor to lull you into sweet dreams."

I can't help but chuckle at his sarcasm. That sharp tongue of his still refuses to be silenced.

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