Page 24 of The Darkest Gift

The coil of tension inside me finally snaps. My orgasm crashes over me in waves of white-hot pleasure, stealing my breath and making my vision blur. I scream Mason's name as I come, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around his cock.

"Fuck, yes," Mason hisses, his hips never slowing. "That's it, milk my cock with that tight pussy."

Through the haze of my climax, I hear a strangled groan. My eyes flutter open to see Elijah's head thrown back, his entire body going rigid. His cock twitches violently, thick ropes of cum shooting across his abs and chest. The sight of him coming, purely from watching us, sends another aftershock of pleasure through me.

Mason chuckles darkly, his voice strained as he chases his own release. "Look at that, darling. Our pretty boy couldn't help himself. Came without even being touched."

He punctuates his words with particularly deep thrusts, each one drawing a whimper from my oversensitive body. I can feel him swelling inside me, on the verge of his own climax.

"Where do you want it, love?" Mason grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Inside you? Or should I paint that gorgeous skin of yours? Let Elijah see how beautiful you look covered in my cum?"

The possessive edge to his words sends a thrill through me. "Inside," I gasp. "Please, Mason. Fill me up."

With a guttural groan, Mason buries himself to the hilt inside me. I feel him pulse, flooding me with his hot release. He grinds against me, working himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of our heavy breathing. Then Mason slowly withdraws, both of us hissing at the oversensitivity. I feel his cum start to trickle out of me.

Mason chuckles as he looks at Elijah, still bound and trembling in the aftermath of his unexpected orgasm. "My, my," he purrs, his voice a sinful caress. "What a naughty boy you are. Coming without permission, without even being touched."

He rises languidly, his movements fluid and predatory. Approaching Elijah, Mason trails a finger through the cooling cum on his chest. "Quite impressive, really," he muses, bringing his finger to his lips and tasting it with a wicked smirk. "But terribly naughty."

I watch from my position on the floor, still catching my breath, as Mason leans in close to Elijah. His lips brush against Elijah's ear as he speaks, voice low and menacing. "You'll be punished for that tomorrow, pretty boy. Severely."

Elijah's breath hitches, a shiver running through his body that has nothing to do with the chill in the air. Mason's hand wraps around his throat, not squeezing, just a reminder of his power. "For now, though," he continues, "you get to wear your shame while we work. All. Day. Long."

Chapter 14

Iris

The late morning sun filters through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in soft golden light. I hum softly to myself as I carry a silver tray laden with an assortment of breakfast foods–fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a steaming mug of coffee. The delicate china clinks gently with each step, joining the melody on my lips.

Elijah watches me approach, his ice-blue eyes tracking my every movement. His expression is carefully neutral, giving nothing away. Dried cum is flaking on his chest and abs from his earlier loss of control; the sight sends a thrill through me.

As I set the tray down on a nearby table, Elijah finally breaks the silence. "You know," he says, almost conversationally,"you're a little bit psychotic. You realize you're humming 'The Twelve Days of Christmas,' right?"

I pause, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Am I?" I muse, picking up a plump strawberry from the tray. "How fitting."

I step closer to him, holding the fruit to his lips. "Open," I command softly.

Elijah hesitates for a moment before parting his lips. I place the strawberry in his mouth, my fingers lingering perhaps a second too long. As he bites down, a drop of juice escapes, trailing down his chin. I want to lick it up, but I don’t.

"Tell me, Iris," Elijah says after swallowing, his tone carefully casual. "Do you really kill people?"

I pick up a piece of croissant, considering his question as I bring it to his mouth. His expression remains blank, unreadable, but there's an intensity in his gaze that belies his nonchalant tone.

"Now, now," I chide gently, pressing the pastry to his lips. "That's not the kind of question one asks over breakfast, Elijah."

He takes a bite, never breaking eye contact. There's a challenge in those icy depths.

"Although," I continue, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I suppose breakfast is as good a time as any to discuss such things. After all, death and sustenance often go hand in hand, don't they?"

I pick up the coffee mug, blowing gently on the surface before bringing it to his lips. Elijah takes a sip, his brow furrowing slightly at my cryptic response.

"You didn't answer my question," he says after I've lowered the mug.

I hum thoughtfully, selecting a slice of apple from the tray. "Didn't I?" I muse, tracing the fruit along his bottom lip. "Perhaps the answer isn't as simple as you'd like it to be.”

Elijah's jaw clenches, a flicker of frustration passing over his features before he schools his expression back to neutrality. "I'm not looking for simple answers," he says, his voice low and measured. "I'm looking for the truth."

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