14. Chapter 14

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."

I study him for a moment, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl slightly. Despite his attempts at appearing unfazed, there's an undercurrent of... something. Anxiety? Anticipation? It's hard to say.

"The truth," I ponder, selecting another piece of fruit from the tray. This time it's a slice of ripe peach, the flesh soft and yielding beneath my fingers. "Such a weighty concept. Tell me, Elijah, do you really want the truth? Or do you want confirmation of what you already know?"

I bring the peach to his lips, watching as he parts them almost involuntarily. The juice runs down his chin as he bites into it, and this time I don't resist the urge to wipe it away with my thumb. His skin is warm beneath my touch, a slight tremor running through him at the contact.

"You're deflecting," he says after swallowing, but there's less bite to his words now.

I smile, a slow, predatory curve of my lips. "Perhaps," I concede. "Or perhaps I'm giving you the chance to really consider what you're asking. And why."

My hand trails down his chest, fingertips dancing over the dried evidence of his earlier release. His breath hitches slightly, muscles tensing beneath my touch.

"Does it change how you see us?" I ask softly, my eyes never leaving his. "The possibility that we are killers? Does it make you question your own moral compass, knowing how attracted you are to us despite knowing that?"

Elijah's expression remains carefully blank, but I can almost imagine the war raging behind those icy blue eyes.

"Or perhaps," I continue, my voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "it excites you. The danger, the thrill of the forbidden. Tell me, Elijah, does your cock twitch at the thought of blood on our hands? Or maybe on yours?"

As if on cue, I see his cock stir slightly. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Ah," I breathe. "I thought as much."

Elijah swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. When he speaks, his voice is rough, strained. "You're trying to distract me," he accuses, but there's a lack of conviction in his tone.

I laugh softly, the sound rich and sinful. "Oh, Elijah," I purr. "If I were trying to distract you, believe me, you'd know it."

My hand travels lower, down to the juncture of his thighs. Elijah's breath hitches, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the way his pupils dilate despite his attempts to maintain composure.

"Someone will have noticed by now," Elijah whispers, his voice strained. "I had cases... court appearances..."

My fingers trace lazy patterns along his inner thigh, never quite touching where he desperately wants me to. "Oh?" I murmur, feigning surprise. "Do tell me more about these important obligations of yours."

Elijah's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "The Donovan case," he grits out. "High-profile murder trial. I was meant to be in court yesterday for opening statements."

I hum thoughtfully, my hand drifting dangerously close to his half-hard cock before veering away at the last second. "Sounds terribly important," I muse. "I do hope they found someone to cover for you."

A bead of sweat trickles down Elijah's temple as he struggles to maintain his train of thought. "And the Richardson file," he continues, his voice growing hoarse. "Corruption charges against a city councilman. Time-sensitive evidence that needs to be—ah!"

His words cut off in a sharp gasp as I finally wrap my hand around his length, giving him one long, slow stroke. "Needs to be what, Elijah?" I ask innocently, my thumb circling the sensitive head of his cock.

"P-processed," he manages to stammer out, hips jerking involuntarily into my touch. "Evidence that needs to be processed."

I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "How fascinating," I purr. "Please, do go on. Tell me all about the pressing matters awaiting your attention out there in the real world."

My hand continues its torturously slow pace, alternating between feather-light touches and firm strokes. Elijah's breathing grows ragged, his chest heaving with the effort of maintaining control.

"My assistant," he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as I twist my wrist just so. "She'll have noticed something's wrong. Probably called the police by now."

I chuckle, nipping at his earlobe. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I murmur. "We took care of everything. As far as anyone knows, you're on an impromptu vacation. Stress leave, doctor's orders. Very hush-hush, of course."

Elijah's eyes fly open, a mix of horror and grudging admiration flashing across his features. "You... what?" he breathes.

"Mhmm," I confirm, increasing the pace of my strokes. "We're very thorough, Elijah. Your assistant received a lovely bouquet of flowers this morning, along with a handwritten note expressing your gratitude for her hard work. Charged to your credit card, of course."

Elijah's eyes widen. "You didn't," he breathes.

"Oh, but we did," I purr, leaning in close enough that my breath ghosts over his ear. "An exquisite arrangement of white lilies and deep purple irises. The card praised her efficiency and thanked her for holding down the fort while you take some much-needed time off. We even remembered to mention her son by name–Tommy, isn't it? Said how we hope his Little League season is going well."

A shudder runs through Elijah's body, whether from my words or my touch, it's hard to say. His cock twitches in my hand, now rock hard. Just as he starts to thrust into my grip, seeking more friction, I abruptly let go.

Elijah groans in frustration, his hips still thrusting fruitlessly. "Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth.

I step back, picking up a slice of melon from the breakfast tray. "Language, Elijah," I chide gently. "We wouldn't want to forget our manners, would we?"

His eyes blaze with a mix of anger and arousal as I bring the fruit to his lips. For a moment, I think he might refuse, but then he parts his lips, allowing me to place the melon on his tongue.

As he chews, I continue as if we're having a perfectly normal conversation over breakfast. "We also took the liberty of rescheduling your court appearances," I say casually, selecting a grape from the tray. "Your doctor–a completely unconnected identity, by the way–faxed over some very official-looking paperwork citing extreme exhaustion and stress. The judge was quite understanding, all things considered."

Elijah swallows hard, his jaw clenching. "You're insane," he says, but there's a note of awe in his voice that belies the accusation. "Both of you. Completely fucking insane."

I laugh, the sound rich and decadent like aged whiskey. "Oh, pretty boy," I purr, trailing a finger down his chest. "There's a very high probability that you're right about that."

My hand drifts lower, ghosting over his still-hard cock without actually touching it. Elijah's breath hitches, his muscles tensing in anticipation. But instead of giving him the friction he so desperately craves, I veer off at the last second, picking up the coffee mug instead.

"More coffee?" I ask innocently, holding the mug to his lips.

Elijah takes another sip of the rich, dark coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. As I lower the mug, he licks a stray droplet from his lower lip, the action more sensual than it has any right to be.

"You can't keep me here forever," he says, his voice low and measured. "Someone will figure it out eventually. No matter how thorough you think you've been."

I smile, a slow, predatory curve of my lips that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "We don't intend to keep you forever," I purr, setting the mug back on the tray.

His eyes narrow at my words, brow furrowing as he tries to decipher the hidden meaning behind them. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows catches the flecks of darker blue in his irises, making them shimmer like the surface of a stormy sea.

"What does that mean?" he asks, a hint of wariness creeping into his tone. "Are you... are you going to let me go?"

I don't answer Elijah's question. Instead, I simply smile–a slow, enigmatic curve of my lips that reveals nothing. Turning away from him, I pick up the silver breakfast tray, the delicate china clinking softly as I lift it.

As I walk towards the door, I begin to hum again, the melody of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" floating through the air like wisps of smoke.