Page 32 of The Darkest Gift

Next, he moves to his shoulders and chest, the soft terry cloth gliding over golden skin still flushed from the heat of the shower. He's methodical in his movements, almost teasing in their slowness. His eyes never leave mine as he works. His gaze is steady with an undercurrent of heat that makes my blood simmer. It's a look I know well, one I've seen countless times in Iris's eyes. That perfect blend of defiance and desire, daring me to make a move.

The towel dips lower, skimming over the flat planes of his stomach, following the sharp cut of his hip bones. He takes his time, letting the fabric linger just above where I know he wants me to look. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, silently daring me to break first.

I don't. Instead, I lean back against the counter, arms crossed, the very picture of nonchalance. But inside, I'm far from calm. Every move Elijah makes sends a jolt of electricity through my body, desire coiling hot and heavy in my gut.

He continues his slow descent, rubbing the towel over his thighs, down his calves. When he bends to dry his feet, the movement gives me a tantalizing view of his ass, perfectly rounded and still glistening with stray water droplets.

Finally, Elijah straightens, letting the towel fall to the floor with a soft thump. He stands before me, completely bare and utterly unashamed. Water still clings to his eyelashes, making them appear even longer and darker than usual. A single droplet trails down his neck, over his collarbone, and I find myself fighting the urge to lean forward and lick it away.

"See something you like?" Elijah asks, his voice low and rough.

I can't help the chuckle that escapes me. "You know I do," I reply, letting my gaze rake over him appreciatively. "You're quite the exhibitionist, aren't you?"

He shrugs, the movement causing muscles to ripple beneath golden skin. "When in Rome," he says with a smirk. "Orin this case, when held captive by two incredibly attractive psychopaths."

I laugh outright at that. "Touché," I concede. "Now, let me see your wrists."

Elijah steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He holds out his arms, wrists up, showcasing the angry red marks left by the restraints.

I open the jar of soothing cream, the sharp medicinal scent cutting through the lingering steam. Dipping my fingers into the cool gel, I gently take hold of Elijah's right wrist.

"This might sting a bit," I warn, gently applying the cream to Elijah's abraded skin. He hisses softly through his teeth but doesn't pull away.

I take my time, massaging the soothing gel into his wrists with careful, deliberate motions. My thumbs trace slow circles over the delicate skin, working the cream deep into the angry red marks. Elijah's pulse flutters beneath my touch, a rapid staccato betraying his outward calm.

When I'm satisfied with his wrists, I sink to my knees before him. From this angle, I have an unobstructed view of his body, still damp and glistening from the shower. Droplets of water cling to the fine hairs on his thighs, catching the dim light like tiny diamonds. The scent of his clean skin mingles with the medicinal aroma of the cream, creating an intoxicating blend.

I lift one of Elijah's feet, placing it on my thigh to give me better access to his ankle. The chafed skin here is even more tender, and he can't quite suppress a wince as I start to apply the cream. I work slowly, methodically, my fingers kneading into the tight muscles of his calf as I go.

"Relax," I murmur, glancing up at him through my lashes. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not right now, anyway."

A soft snort escapes him, but I feel some of the tension leave his body. As I switch to his other foot, I can't help but notice thatElijah isn't entirely unaffected by my ministrations. His cock, semi-hard when he stepped out of the shower, is now fully erect, jutting proudly just inches from my face.

I smirk to myself but say nothing, focusing instead on finishing my task. When I'm done, I rise smoothly to my feet, retrieving soft strips of cloth from a nearby drawer. With the same careful attention, I wrap each of Elijah's wrists and ankles, protecting the abraded skin.

Throughout it all, Elijah remains silent, watching me with those piercing blue eyes. There's a challenge there, a silent dare for me to acknowledge the effect I've had on him. But I won't give him that satisfaction. Not yet.

"There," I say, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "That should help with the chafing."

Elijah flexes his wrists experimentally, then nods. "Thank you," he says, his voice low and slightly rough.

I meet his gaze steadily. "You know where to go," I tell him, my tone brooking no argument.

I watch as Elijah's expression shifts, that flicker of disappointment quickly masked by his usual smirk. But I caught it—that brief moment where he thought, perhaps hoped, that I would give in to the temptation he so artfully presented.

"As you wish," he says, his tone deceptively light. He takes a step towards the door, then pauses, turning back toward me. "Though I have to say, I'm a little hurt. Here I put on such a lovely show, and you didn't even give me a standing ovation."

I can't help the low chuckle that escapes me. His wit is sharp as ever, even in this situation. It's part of what makes him so captivating, so dangerous.

"Oh, pretty boy," I purr, letting my gaze rake over his body one last time. "Trust me when I say your performance was... deeply appreciated. But you seem to have forgotten something very important."

I close the distance between us in two long strides. My hand shoots out, fingers tangling in his damp hair and yanking his head back. He gasps, more in surprise than pain, as I bring my lips to his ear.

"You're not the one calling the shots here," I growl, my voice low and savage. "You don't get to decide when or how you're touched. You don't get to manipulate me with your little displays, no matter how enticing they might be."

My other hand trails down his spine, feeling the shiver that runs through him at my touch. When I reach the small of his back, I pull him flush against me, letting him feel the hard line of my cock through my tailored slacks.

"This?" I continue, grinding against him slightly. "This is mine. To use or not use as I see fit. Your pleasure, your pain, your very breath—it all belongs to me. To me and Iris."

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