Page 7 of The Darkest Gift

The space between us evaporates as his lips capture mine, demanding and insistent. It's a kiss that speaks of hunger and hidden agendas, and I respond with equal fervor, my fingers tangling in his hair.

Yet even as we fall into the abyss of our mutual seduction, I can't help but relish the thought of the game ahead. Because Elijah isn't the only one weaving a web of temptation—Mason and I are masters at this game, and our version is far more sinister.

With every lingering touch, every whispered word, I draw Elijah deeper into our world—a world where passion is laced with peril, and surrender is just the beginning. And I can't wait to see how he'll fare when he realizes he's not the only hunter here.

Elijah's hand finds my bare thigh again, his touch electrifying as he slips higher underneath my gown. A groan escapes him when he realizes there's no barrier, no underwear to impede his exploration.

"You came prepared," he whispers against my lips, his voice husky with desire.

I smirk, relishing the hunger in his eyes. "Underwear would have ruined the lines of my gown. I couldn't have that, could I?"

His fingers dig into the skin of my ass, drawing a gasp from me that he immediately takes advantage of. His tongue sweeps intomy mouth, battling with mine in a dance as old as time. The taste of him—whiskey and sin—intoxicates me.

As we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment, a part of my mind drifts to Mason. I sometimes think he misses the best part when we play this game—the initial collision, that spark of passion that ignites everything. What's burning between Elijah and me right now is brighter and hotter than all of our previous conquests.

There's something different here, I realize. I feel it in every part of me—the battle of wills is stronger, the subtle sense of danger more pronounced. It doesn't normally come with our prey, this crackling tension that has me aching with need.

I reach out, my hand brushing against the front of his pants, finding him hard and straining against the material. I slide my hand more firmly against him and Elijah breaks the kiss, his blue eyes dark with desire. "You're playing with fire, Iris," he warns, his voice a low growl.

I can't help but laugh, the sound tinged with both mirth and arousal. "Oh, darling," I purr, tracing a finger along his jaw, "I'm the one who lights the match."

My breath catches as Elijah suddenly lifts me, his strong hands gripping my thighs. For a moment, I think he'll carry me to one of the nearby leather sofas, but he surprises me, moving instead towards a solid wood table across the room.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice husky with desire.

His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, "Giving you what you're asking for."

The cool surface of the table sends a shiver through me as he sets me down, my gown riding up dangerously high. Elijah's hands are on either side of me, caging me in, his body radiating heat.

He moves to slide a hand up my inner thigh, the touch electric against my sensitive skin. I gasp as his fingers find my alreadywet pussy, my body arching against the hard table beneath me. Elijah's exploration is thorough, teasing, his fingers tracing my folds before pushing two inside. He curls them just right, and I can't help the moan that escapes me.

"So responsive," he murmurs against my neck, his thumb brushing my clit in tandem with his fingers' movements. "I wonder what other sounds I can draw from you."

Elijah isn't subtle, isn't slow. He takes what he wants with a fervor that leaves me breathless. His head lowers to my chest, tongue tracing a hot line along my collarbone. I'm so lost in the sensation that I almost miss the faint click of the lock.

My eyes, half-hooded with pleasure, catch movement by the door. It opens and closes on silent hinges, and my heart leaps into my throat as I make out a familiar figure. Mason.

He moves quietly into the room, his dark eyes flaring with heat as he takes in the scene before him. The tension in the room thickens as Mason breaks his silence, the leather of the armchair creaking as he settles into it.

The sound startles Elijah, who jerks upright, his mouth open on a pant. His eyes narrow at Mason, but I feel a subtle shift in his demeanor. Despite the interruption, Elijah doesn't remove his hand from between my thighs. His fingers continue to move, only slower now, and I can't suppress a whimper.

Mason's lips curl into a smirk, his gaze never wavering as he watches us. The air crackles with an electric tension.

Elijah tilts his head, a challenge evident in his stance. "Can I help you, Mr. Blackwood?" he asks, his voice husky. "I don't believe I invited you to this particular party."

I feel Elijah's pulse quicken against my skin, his breath coming faster. He's affected by Mason's presence, though he's trying to hide it. I can read the signs this close – the slight dilation of his pupils, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers.

Mason chuckles, the sound low and savage. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I see Elijah react viscerally to it—his jaw tightens, a muscle flickering beneath his skin as if he's biting back an instinctual response. His breath comes faster, sharper, betraying the tension thrumming through his body. Mason relaxes further into the chair, his posture deceptively casual. But I know better—I can see the predatory glint in his eyes, the coiled tension in his muscles.

"I see you've met my wife."

Chapter 6

Iris

Elijah freezes, his fingers stilling inside me. I can practically see the gears turning in his mind as he processes Mason's words. His eyes dart between us, realization dawning.

"Your wife," he repeats slowly, a mix of shock and something inscrutable in his voice.

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