5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Iris

We don't have to go far before Elijah finds an empty room, his hand firm yet casual as it wraps around my wrist and pulls me inside. The door clicks shut behind us, cutting off the faint hum of holiday music and the muffled, false laughter of the gala. My lips twitch in a subtle smirk when I hear the lock slide into place, but I'm already moving further into the room, my eyes sweeping across it, taking it all in.

The space is pure indulgence. Of course, it would be—this entire event was designed for the bored elite who thrive on extravagance. The hotel itself is more like a country club, catering to those who can afford to buy their way out of monotony. But this room… this room suits me perfectly. Dark tones dominate the space—the kind of dark that feels intentional, seductive. Leather accents gleam under the warm glow of brass lamps, and the sharp scent of polished wood mingles with hints of aged leather. A library, styled somewhere between a private cigar lounge and a sanctum for whispered secrets.

The sofas scattered through the room are deep and inviting, upholstered in rich, nearly black leather that glimmers faintly under the light. The walls are lined with bookshelves, each packed with thick volumes whose spines are worn but timeless. It’s the kind of place that feels intimate, charged. Dangerously quiet, as though it holds its breath, waiting for whatever might unfold.

I stop without realizing it, caught up in the mood of the room. The air here feels heavier, thicker, wrapping around me like a velvet curtain, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it. That is, until I feel him—a presence at my back, solid and certain. Warmth radiates from his body, brushing against mine, and I inhale sharply as he steps even closer.

Elijah’s hand skims up my arm, deliberate and slow, before he sweeps my hair over one shoulder. His touch is practiced, precise, but there’s something raw just beneath the surface, like he’s teetering on the edge of control. His breath ghosts over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine, and then his lips, soft and cool, press against the curve where my shoulder meets my neck.

"Is this what you want, Iris?" Elijah's voice is a husky whisper, lips brushing my earlobe, sending a cascade of shivers through me.

"Maybe," I tease, tilting my head to grant him better access. His hands explore the contours of my body, each touch sending electricity zipping under my skin. He's good at this—too good—and part of me wonders if it's just a game for him too. But I'm not easy prey; I'm a predator in my own right.

"Only maybe?" His chuckle resonates against me, vibrating through his chest to mine. Our bodies are close but not quite touching, the space between us charged with anticipation. This is a dance, one full of push and pull, give and take.

"Convince me," I say, throwing down a challenge like a velvet gauntlet.

He accepts it eagerly, fingers tracing the neckline of my dress, dipping just low enough to promise more. My breath hitches, but I don't break. Instead, I lean back into him, feeling the solid press of his body. His other hand ventures downward, ghosting along the curve of my hip before settling with a possessive grip that suggests he won't be letting go anytime soon.

But as his lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear, my mind wanders to plans of my own; a seduction layered within a seduction. I can feel the pulse of something sinful and thrilling coursing between us, a reminder of the games Mason and I play—games that Elijah is now a part of, whether he knows it or not.

Elijah's breath fans hot against my neck, his lips grazing over the tender skin with a promise of sin. I tilt my head, granting him better access, and he hums a low note of approval. His fingers inch up the side of my thigh, taking advantage of the slit in my dress, bold and unapologetic, and every touch is a spark that threatens to ignite.

"Am I getting warmer?" His voice is a husky whisper, laced with dark honey and temptation.

"Scorching," I reply, my own tone matching his seductive timbre. The air around us is thick with desire, and I savor the power of this moment—this delicious tension that I can draw out or snap like a wire.

I turn in his embrace to face him, our gazes locked in a heated duel. Elijah's eyes are an icy blue, like crystal clear water deep enough to drown in, but I'm not one to succumb to the depths. Instead, I meet his intensity with my own, my green eyes a challenge.

"Your move," I taunt, and it's not just an invitation—it's a gauntlet thrown. I watch, fascinated, as the corners of his mouth lift in a grin that's wicked.

His hand slides behind my neck, pulling me closer until our lips are a mere breath apart. "You have no idea what you've started, Iris," he whispers. But oh, I do—I know exactly what I've unleashed.

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 into my 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 already wet 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."