Page 11 of The Darkest Gift

Our gazes lock, a crackling current of understanding passing between us. This is what we live for - these stolen momentswhere we can unleash the darkest parts of ourselves. Where we can revel in the twisted games we play.

With Elijah caught between us, we've found the perfect pawn. A beautiful, breakable toy for us to wind up and watch spin out of control. The thrill of corrupting him, of drawing him into our web of depravity, is a high like no other.

Mason's lips curl into a wicked smirk, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction as he drinks in the debauched picture Elijah and I make. He knows exactly what he's doing to the other man, how he's unraveling him with every deep, punishing thrust. And he's savoring every second of it.

A guttural moan tears from Elijah's throat as Mason sets a brutal pace, each powerful thrust driving Elijah deeper into me. It's an exquisite chain reaction of pleasure - Mason fucking into Elijah, Elijah fucking into me, an erotic feedback loop that has all of us teetering on the razor's edge of ecstasy and madness.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Elijah chants, his voice broken and desperate. His face contorts beautifully, lost to the overwhelming sensations.

I cling to him, my nails scoring angry red lines down his skin as I roll my hips to meet each of his frantic thrusts. The coil of tension low in my belly winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Over Elijah's shoulder, I watch Mason as he takes what he wants. The muscles of his chest and arms flex and ripple with his movements, sweat beads along his brow. His expression is one of pure, animalistic pleasure, his teeth bared in a feral grin.

God, he's magnificent like this. A force of nature, unstoppable and all-consuming. I could watch him fuck Elijah for hours and never tire of the sight.

The obscene slapping of skin against skin, the wet squelching of lube, the symphony of our mingled moans and grunts - it allblends together into a depraved melody that fills the room. It's filthy and wrong and so goddamn perfect.

"Look at you," Mason growls, his voice low and rough with arousal. "You’re such a good boy, taking us both so well. Like you were made for this, made to be used and filled and utterly ruined. Isn't that right, pretty boy?"

Elijah can only whimper in response, too lost in sensation to form words. His thrusts are becoming erratic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release.

I can feel my own orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure cresting higher and higher. "I'm close," I gasp out, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "So fucking close."

Mason's dark eyes meet mine, blazing with wicked intent. "Then come," he commands, his tone brooking no argument.

As if on cue, Elijah's hand snakes between our sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding my clit. He rubs quick, tight circles, the added stimulation catapulting me to the brink.

"Oh fuck, oh god, yes!" I cry out, my back arching off the table as my orgasm crashes over me. White hot pleasure sears through my veins, my inner muscles clamping down around Elijah's cock in fluttering waves. The intensity of it steals my breath, leaving me gasping and trembling beneath Elijah's weight.

"Fuck, I can feel her coming," Elijah groans, his hips stuttering as he fights to hold back his own release. "Please, I need to—"

I feel the tension in Elijah's body, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. His breath comes in ragged pants against my neck, his control hanging by a thread.

Mason's voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, low and commanding. "Come, Elijah. Fill my wife up until she is dripping."

The words are barely out of his mouth before Elijah lets out a guttural groan. His hips jerk erratically, and I feel his cock pulseinside me. The heat of his release floods my core, triggering another wave of pleasure that has me crying out.

"Fuck," Mason grunts, his hips snapping forward one final time. His eyes never leave mine as he comes, and I watch in fascination as pleasure and something darker flashes across his features.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing.

A soft whimper escapes Elijah's lips, and I feel him slowly withdraw. The sudden emptiness makes me want to echo his sound, a feeling of loss washing over me as Mason pulls out of Elijah as well. I watch through half-lidded eyes as my husband moves away, sweat glistening on his skin. He saunters over to the bar area completely naked, his movements fluid and predatory even in the aftermath of our passion.

The clink of glass against glass fills the silence as Mason pours our drinks. I can't help but admire the play of muscles across his back, the way his dark hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. When he turns, three glasses of amber liquid in hand, his eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

Elijah's warm hands gently help me sit up, and I lean into his touch, still feeling boneless and sated. Mason approaches, offering me a glass with a knowing smirk. I take a sip, relishing the burn of bourbon as it slides down my throat.

"Well, that was... unexpected," Elijah murmurs, his voice husky. He steps away, accepting his own glass from Mason with a slight frown.

I watch as he downs the entire contents in one swift motion, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. The heavy thunk of the empty glass on the table seems to echo in the room. Elijah opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, frustration evident in the tightening of his jaw.

I raise my glass to my lips again, shooting a reproachful glance at Mason. "You could have at least let him get dressed first," I chide, my voice low and laced with disapproval.

Before Mason can respond, Elijah's frown deepens. He sways on his feet, his eyes rolling back as he crumples to the floor. The thud of his head against the carpet seems to echo in the sudden silence.

My breath catches as I watch Elijah collapse. A mix of exhilaration and trepidation courses through me. I knew this was coming, of course - it was always part of the plan. But seeing it play out, the sudden vulnerability of his naked form sprawled on the floor, sends a shiver down my spine.

"Was that really necessary?" I ask, arching an eyebrow at Mason. There's no real reproach in my tone, just curiosity.

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