42 #3
Eyes popping even wider, he rushes to obey, letting out a tiny squeak as Tiger tosses him the bottle of oil. He fumbles with it before finally managing to grab it securely, speedily taking up the position our Bonded demanded of him.
Last to join but no less eager, I slide into the space between him and Tate, who’s by the pillows and is tracing the edge of Ezla’s smaller ear like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
She lets him, but I can see in her eyes that she’s debating biting his arm off, even though she’s the one who invited us in here.
I think it’s the tenderness and affection he’s showing, but if she’s hoping for none of that, she’ll be sorely disappointed.
“Where do you want me, Love?” I ask lowly, reaching out and trailing my knuckles down her smooth back, experiencing that silken skin for the first time, satisfied beyond all reason when goosebumps rise beneath my touch. “Here?” My voice is a rough whisper this time.
Yes.
That velvet smoke in my head has a shudder working through my entire body.
With trembling hands, Alby dribbles the oil onto his palm, shooting me an uncertain look when he catches me watching him, one that tells me he’s still extremely anxious. In response, I dip my chin in encouragement, before taking the bottle from him.
For a moment, we all watch him as he spreads the scented liquid across both palms, wanting to witness our Bonded’s reaction to the first set of hands on her, and I feel a little guilty knowing this will only rev his nerves up higher.
But pride replaces that when he steels himself after another quick glance at Ezla’s face turned to the side on the pillow beneath her, her arms folded above her head and those mesmerising irises now hidden by closed lids; he carefully places his hands on her toned thigh, hesitating before gliding them up, and my dick twitches at the trail of glazed skin left behind.
A soft sigh leaves Ezla, and I’m suddenly back in action, spilling a generous puddle of oil into my own hand, the sweet cinnamon tickling my nostrils while I spread it to the tips of my fingers after Tate snatches the bottle from me. I long to be the one to pull a sound like that from her next.
Tate chucks the oil carelessly, almost whacking Cooper’s lights out from the unintended force, and the latter catches it with a glower his way—one the larger man doesn’t see because he’s obsessively fixated on where his large thumbs are digging circles into the object of his fixation’s shoulders.
It draws a pleased hum from her that sounds expectant for more, like a queen being fed grapes from a servant.
So I willingly give her what she needs, palms finding the warm skin of her back and gliding down to the two dimples above her underwear, unable to stop my thumbs from gently pressing into the faint dips.
Tiger takes her right thigh with his own glistening hands, while Cooper makes it work with the long arms resting against the pillow around Ezla’s head, because it’s clear she’s perfectly comfortable, and he doesn’t want her to have to shift even the minutest bit.
He’s really much more considerate and caring than he makes himself out to be, but I don’t think the way he appears is intentionally crafted; it’s clear to me that it’s the opposite, and he simply struggles to express his affections a little more than others do for reasons that aren’t mine to pry into.
“So beautiful, my Havoc.” Tate’s murmuring seems more like it’s an observation he’s making to himself unconsciously, but Cooper nods silently anyway as his eyes slide over Ezla’s milky-olive skin. “So, so devastating . . .”
Dragging my hands back up Ezla’s back, I massage the pads of my thumbs into the centre of it, flicking my eyes up to her face to make sure she’s still comfortable. “That good?”
She hums her assent, dark lashes fluttering lightly against her upper cheeks, and I keep my focus there while my hands continue moving of their own accord, wholly enchanted.
She doesn’t wear makeup, maybe because there’s no point when the majority of the world doesn’t see her face—or it’s simply her preference like many other Players when we’re more focused on not dying in the Games than how we look—but she doesn’t need it, not at all, and I adore how I get to see every little part of her with nothing in my way.
I greedily absorb all I can while I have the chance, knowing that, back out in reality, an opaque visor will keep her from me and the rest of the world:
I admire those long, thick lashes, her perfectly clear olive-tinted skin that looks paler against the obsidian-coloured material beneath her, the minor flick to the tip of her otherwise-straight nose, the satin of her lips that begs me to take a bite .
. . The lethal blackish-crimson slash is on the side pressed to the pillow, so I can’t study it how I’d like to, but it’s just as stunning as the rest of her.
Even if wrath scorches my insides every time I think about who might’ve hurt her, who might have deliberately scarred her like that when permanent marks are so easy to prevent with Avri these days.
But now’s not the time to ruin the moment by demanding she dredge up her past, and I keep up my movements, sweeping my palms outwards and down her side, a pleased smile forming on my lips at the near-undetectable twitch of her muscles when my hands easily swallow her back.
“We should request some hot-cinnamon-scented oil,” Cooper mutters then, a deep frown tugging at his features as he runs his own hands over the length of our Bonded’s arm with serious concentration, far more than is needed for the simple task. “This is too sweet for her.”
Tiger’s tongue pokes through his teeth with his own focus, expressive face twisted like this is the most important job he’s ever done. “I agree. Wifey is too fiery.”
Ezla hums her agreement, and my lips twitch in amusement. I murmur, “Ferocious girl.”
“I am a woman.”
A soft chuckle leaves me. “Woman,” I correct myself, arm extending to travel my touch higher, closer to where Tate’s hands still work on her shoulders.
“Hmmm . . . When is your birthday, Ez?”
“Soon,” she answers my brother descriptively.
“Could you be more specific, DN? I don’t know how to read your mind yet—it’s a work in progress.”
“You will never get past the walls in my mind,” she says tonelessly, eyes staying closed, and Tiger sticks his bottom lip out. “But if you must know . . .” He perks up again. “It is the day after The Bonding Games finishes.”
“Awww . . . you’re just a baby,” Tiger coos, and I shoot him a what-the-fuck?
look because she’ll be turning nineteen, the same age as him.
And it’s not like this is news either; even if none of us knew her exact date of birth, her age is always splashed everywhere, highlighting the phenomenon she became from crushing her first Bonding Games back in 4052 at only thirteen years old.
Ezla’s brown eye opens a slit, a death stare revealed digging into Tiger.
“I’m sorry!” he shrieks, raising his hands in defence—before he immediately realises his mistake when her glare intensifies, smacking his hands back down a little bit too close to her ass . . . which my eyes have a feast on as I watch the cheeks jiggle slightly . . . and her thighs tighten subtly.
She liked that.
My eyes whip up to her face, then back to her ass. Tate grunts and adjusts himself in my peripheral, while Alby’s eyes dart everywhere like he’s trying to be respectful but ultimately failing as his wide gaze keeps flitting back to her backside.
I move then, allowing myself to give in to the unrelenting desire that’s been pummelling me this entire time, no matter how hard I’ve tried pushing it to the background.
Swallowing thickly, my right hand smooths down her back again .
. . before going lower. Reaching the desired destination, I grip a handful of that plump ass, a rough huff of breath leaving my lips as they part in awe.
And Ezla moans.
She doesn’t unleash her razor-sharp claws, doesn’t slice into me with an icy dagger of vicious words. She moans for me.
“Do you like that, Love?” I rasp, giving her ass cheek a firm squeeze.
“Hmmm . . .”
My lips twitch as I fight to contain my smile. “Will you give me your words?”
An eye opens to spear another glare through the air, aiming it at me this time, before it closes again. That’s all I get.
Suddenly, Tate’s hand snaps down her body, snatching up her other ass cheek in a much rougher grasp than I did. He grunts, shamefully rubbing his dick through his briefs with his free hand as he massages her flesh—before pulling his hand back and smacking it hard, making it bounce.
Brows darting up my forehead, I worry he might have gone too far, that Ezla will bare her fangs now and strike without hesitation. But again, before that thought’s even fully formed, she does nothing of the sort.
But rather arches her spine and raises her ass for more.
A whack! cuts through the air in the next second as my brother very rudely whops my hand away in place of his own, eyes wide with excitement as he gropes our Bonded enthusiastically, and I internally grouch.
Watching with hooded eyes, Cooper asks lowly, “Do you want more, Vengeance?” Wetting his lips, he reaches out more hesitantly, as if he’s not yet sure if it’s a good idea to touch her, but he ultimately gives in; trapping his lower lip between his teeth, two fingers hook under the strap of her thong, tugging the fabric almost teasingly and drawing it tighter between her ass cheeks.
Stretching out like a cat, Ezla rises to her knees and looks over her shoulder at us. “Please me,” she orders in something like a threatening purr, deadly but with a texture like satin.
Holy hells.
Lava floods my veins.