38 #2
And they don’t just have savoury options: sweet cherries and caramel waft over to me with a wave of new servers; large cakes, small cakes, chocolate cakes, caramel cakes .
. . all decorated with icing, fondants, and fluffy swirls in a multitude of colours; more bite-sized treats are scattered throughout, platters filled with every flavour of macarons and cute chocolate-covered things that I can’t even begin to guess what they are; I see éclairs which are the vanilla shade of custard, the pink and red of strawberry, the rich colour of milk chocolate—every flavour imaginable; and there’s other pastries bathed in white powder, as well as gingerbread and shortbread, cookies and brownies, fudge cubes and whipped cream and turkish delights, and an array of sweets that’ll leave my brother’s teeth rotten by the end of the day, no doubt.
There’s just more, more, more, and I give up on trying to catch a glimpse of everything.
I never thought I’d see so much food, so much colour in one place. And it’s a good thing the table’s the size of a football field, because otherwise there’s no way all of that would fit on it.
I can only gape as the last round is brought out, with servers carrying empty glasses for the array of non-alcoholic beverages in the jugs in their hands—I’m not even going to try to learn what each of those are, but a glimpse tells me they range from water and milk to fizzy drinks that could burst your head off—and gleaming plates, far too much cutlery, and napkins.
When the large doors finally close with a soft thump after they leave, a thick silence envelopes the room.
Before my brother, of course, blows through it.
“OH MY GOD! Ezzy, I love you! Please marry me!”
He launches himself at her, and she calmly steps to the side, causing Tate to grunt as Tiger slams into him instead. “Get off, little fucker. This body is for Havoc’s hands only.” He shoves my brother back, who pouts.
“I wasn’t aiming for you! Wifey is playing hard to get!”
Tiger then swivels to face our Bonded and attempts to bite his lip off.
Okay, no. I need to give him some pointers on that because that’s difficult to watch.
“Don’t worry, Nightshade, I’ll be your hubby one day!”
“Eat.” Her voice is toneless.
“Yes, ma’am!” Saluting her, he hurries over to the table with hearts in his eyes, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s more excited about the food than he’s ever been to see me after our years apart.
I am not jealous over food.
Following at a much calmer pace that belies my eagerness to tuck in, I roam my eyes over everything once more before grabbing a plate—which is actually one of the few things in this region that are as commonly white as they are black—and getting to work on loading it up with my first helping, because there’s no way I’ll be leaving this room without trying everything I want to.
Half of what’s here I’ve not even tasted before, and not because they’re rarities, but because even if my meal plan is more flexible than Alby’s ever was, it’s still pretty rigid.
I don’t mind too much since it helps me keep fit for the Games, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to a wider variety sometimes.
And once again the woman my heart aches for is the one providing that.
I flick my eyes up as Ezla grabs her own plate, then watch her almost as obsessively as Tate always does as she loads it up.
My heart gives a whopping thump, a pleasant fluttering sensation spreading through my stomach.
It’s such a mundane thing from her, and although I know logically she must do normal things like this all the time, I’ve never seen her anywhere other than in training or the Games, kicking ass like the deadly goddess she is.
When her gaze shifts up, it locks with mine, and I feel my composure slip, cheeks warming yet again because of this woman. I never used to blush before her, hardly knew the meaning of the word, and I quickly look away, clearing my throat, embarrassed—another thing I’m not used to being.
She’s ruined me.
And I can’t say that I mind.
Once we’ve all got crowded plates and have filled our glasses with the drinks we wanted, we find our seats, Ezla taking her place at the head of the table while we pull out the chairs on that end, Tate all but hurling Cooper out of the way to get to the one closest to her.
“There’s another one right there,” Cooper huffs in irritation, gesturing to the chair opposite on our Bonded’s left.
Tate scowls. “I want this one.”
“Whatever.” Cooper rounds the table to take the seat he’d pointed out, and I put myself in the one on his left.
Tiger falls on my other side, while Alby ends up next to Tate, whose crazed, intense hungry eyes are boring into Ezla, tracking her fork’s movements, then her mouth’s as she wraps her lips around the meat at its end.
Great, and now I’m staring, too.
Licking those luscious lips, I watch her tongue drag across the naturally rosy surface, imagining my mouth there instead, sucking her flesh between my teeth.
Cock already leaking, I remain fixated as she picks up her napkin and dabs at the corner of her mouth, even though there’s nothing there.
It’s clear from the small action that her upbringing was nothing like mine, as I already knew with the Game Master as her father.
Not that it makes me think of her any differently.
In fact, it’s rare I even think of her in relation to the creator of the Games; she’s grabbed my attention way more than he ever has on television, and that was before I even met her, before I had any of these feelings I do now.
Even with his title, she outshines him by far.
“If you all get so tremendously aroused by me eating steak, I do wonder how easy it would be to make you come.”
I choke on air.
Cooper is not so lucky and chokes on the potato he’d been chewing, and I give him a firm slap on the back.
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, voice wheezy. Snatching up his glass of water, he chugs the entire thing with his head tipped back.
“You thinking about us cumming for you, Havoc, baby?” Tate purrs.
Flattening my hand over my already-tidy dark blond hair, I try to regain my composure while Ezla meets his gaze without an emotion in sight. “No.”
“Well, I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s very easy for you to make me cum, my Havoc. Any time, any place.” He winks at her, and I look over to my brother who, sure enough, attempts to replicate it.
Internally, I let out a long and heavy exhale.
Tiger then flashes a wide, charming smile, which I admit is more successful, but that’s just his signature grin. He should probably stick to that.
Ezla stares.
Alby glances at me with wide please-help-me eyes, and I quickly change the subject so he doesn’t combust into flames.
After that, we fall into easy conversation, talking and laughing while we eat, though whenever we try to engage our Bonded, she either answers curtly enough that there’s no room for further inquiries, or she dismisses us entirely, focusing on her food without bothering to look at any of us.
Her responses, or lack thereof, don’t stop us from trying, but every time we fail, Tate appears a moment closer to either flipping the entire table, jumping on Ezla and making her acknowledge him, or dropping to his knees and begging for her.
None of those are very good options.
I end up having a few courses of mains, and I’ve lost count of how many my brother’s had before we move on to desserts around the same time; I pick some eton mess in an expensive-looking crystal glass, and even though I’m pushing my limits after the volume of my previous helpings of creamy chicken pasta and the multitude of other bits and bobs I’ve tried, I also scoop up some vanilla ice cream and a toffee éclair.
I’m not even a big fan of sweet things most of the time—not like Tiger, who has the biggest sweet tooth I’ve ever known and a meal plan he’d disregard whenever he could to go over the desserts limit at EvTS 308.
Although that really only ever happened when we were able to visit home and he’d eat the entire fridge.
But all these choices in front of me look way too good to pass up, so I’m not missing the opportunity while it presents itself, and I have no idea if or when we’ll get another.
Just as we’re finishing up our desserts, there’s a ragged groan.
“Oh, fuck. Please let me fuck you, Havoc. I’ll do anything.”
I glance to my right and swallow thickly when I see Ezla licking whipped cream from her spoon.
After that sight, I’m not far behind Tate with his begging, body twitching with the need to show my Bonded how I yearn for her.
Yet I can only watch her, heat suffusing through me with each of her unintentionally enthralling movements, my mouth dry.
“Or let me lick your pussy. It’s better than any dessert on the table, I already know it.”
Agreed.
Shut up, Scotty, I hiss internally. She could be reading my thoughts right now, and although she doesn’t ever give anything away, I sometimes worry Tate’s strong advances make her uncomfortable, and I’d never want to do the same.
She ignores him, and a low, dangerous rumble works its way through him.
“Hot tub time!” Tiger blurts, shooting from his seat with a squeak of his chair legs across the taalk, and I let out a small breath of relief when I see Tate squinting his way instead of plotting Ezla’s kidnapping to keep her with him forevermore.
Cooper stands as well, tucking his chair back in before eyeing the circular obsidian tub. “So, what? We’re just going in naked?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I wear breifs under my Avri suit.” Tiger starts to undress without shame, and I move my gaze back to Cooper, not needing to see that.
His brows slash downwards. “What the fuck, man? Of course I wear underwear.”
“I don’t always.”
“Lovely to know, Tate,” I mutter as I get to my feet, the man in question following after finishing his last mouthful of food. Alby rises more tentatively.