56 #2
I’ve noticed she doesn’t typically drink much, but then again, none of us do. And when the occasion calls for it, we’re more concerned by the food. Other than Coops, maybe . . . and sometimes I’m very tempted by the glowing bubbly liquids—they look ravishing for consumption.
“I’d advise you not to eat the dumplings, however. They are spicy enough to have your tongue burning for several hours.”
I eye the sinflae warily, unable to believe the two million fancy, hard-to-pronounce hors d’oeuvres on display everywhere I look, none of which I’ve ever heard of. It feels like I’m eating on another planet.
Then I process her last words. I suppress a laugh. “Spicy, badass Deadly Nightshade doesn’t like spice?”
The scary look she sends me tells me she’s considering maiming me, but I’m used to that cutie-potato expression by now—
“Try the dumpling, Tiger.”
Oh.
Oh no. I know that tone.
It means I fucked up. Big time.
Tate snickers and mutters something encouraging our Bonded to “give me the torture I deserve”.
I know my face morphs into the sheer terror that floods my insides. “Mercy, Ezzy! Please! I just thought it was ironic—”
“Pick. Up. A. Dumpling.”
My fingers snatch up the small white ball.
Heart pounding, I raise my eyes back up to Nightshade’s, pleading with her through them.
“Take a bite.”
I hesitate for just a moment.
Then I take the tiniest bite possible.
I spit it back out in an instant, eyes leaking more than a waterfall as it plops onto my plate with a wet slap.
Sticking my scorched tongue out, I wave my hands about frantically, trying to cool both my face and mouth down.
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT—” I wheeze through my attempts.
“THAT’S NOT A DUMPLING! THAT’S LITERAL LAVA! ”
My evil Bonded pouts mockingly, and my dick betrays me with a cheerful jerk. “Go ahead and finish that, Tiger,” she croons. “It is only one small bite, after all.”
I make a strangled noise in the back of my throat, shaking my head rapidly.
“No, no!” I cough, blindly reaching for some water to save my poor throat before it’s permanently damaged, chugging a load.
Half misses my mouth and spills down my chin before I slam the glass back down on the table.
“I’m a good boy! I’M A GOOD WHORE!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
The clink of a glass is the only sound that ensues as all other in the ivory-and-gold dining room disappears.
Oopsies . . .
Peeking an eye open after having screwed them shut with all my might during my accidental announcement, I take in the scandalised faces of all the elite mid-to-elderly-aged guests.
A beat passes.
Then Tate guffaws, slapping the table hard enough to make everything on it rattle. Even my blood brother rubs a hand over his jaw in attempt to smooth out his expression, while Cooper is blatantly smirking.
The betrayal!
My bestie looks mortified, sunk so far down in his chair he might as well be under the table, cheeks flaming as much as mine still are from that bite of hellfire.
“Do not stare at my Bonded. They are for my eyes only.”
The guests’ heads snap away faster than sound travels, while ours do the same but end up in Ez’s direction, stunned.
Then Tate’s eyes darken with a salacious greed, and he murmurs, “Oh, Havoc, baby . . .” His hand moves under the table, and I have no doubt that he’s rubbing his dick right now. “You’ve made me so hard. That possessiveness is orgasmic.”
Slitted eyes shift to him from where they’d been keeping a lingering glare fixed on the other tables.
He moans.
Arousal snakes through the bond.
Everyone straightens.
Cock pulsing immediately, I know DN’s opened her mind to all of us again when I hear Tate’s voice in it, and therefore mine: Fuck, Havoc, are you wet for me?
For us? He tacks that on the end as an afterthought, like he still only sees Nightshade as his, but I can’t complain when he’s so much calmer about it than he used to be .
. . even if when it was time to pass her to me during the dancing half an hour ago, he attempted to punch my lights out.
It’s a work in progress.
I am not, Wifey replies evenly, features detached as she takes another calm sip from her glass.
Such a little liar today, Vengeance, Cooper croons.
I will—
Ezla, Love, do you want some help with that ache? Scotty cuts her off before she can tell us how much she’d love to rip our fingernails and toenails out and stab them into our skin until we resemble hedgehogs.
Let’s hope she didn’t hear that and get any ideas.
No. Her tone is dispassionate.
Liar.
She sends out a low warning growl aimed at Cooper. Then tenses when Scotty—who’s sat on one side of her with Alby on the other—moves his hand to rest gently on her lower back.
What do you think you are doing? Ezla hisses, though her face shows none of the internal war going on between her and us as she keeps up her cold and collected facade for the rest of the room.
I said: Do you want some help with that ache, Love? he repeats steadily, not letting up today.
Her jaw grinds, and no words float to me or anyone else in response.
That hand on her back moves lower, before sliding around to her front and disappearing. Disappointed, which I hope is clear by the big pout on my lips, I debate crawling under the table to have a look—when an image pops into my head.
Ezzy had briefly filled the other four in our group in on that tad bit of information when we first sat down, and my brother is clearly putting the knowledge to good use as he projects the sight of his hand slipping through the slit in Ez’s dress into her mind, where I sit with a cinematic view, front-row seat.
Please me, DN snaps abruptly, as if this was her idea all along, when Scotty’s hand teasingly inches higher. She’s always needing to be in control.
Scotty doesn’t object. Yes, Love.
With the gold satin covering his hand, I can’t see near enough, but with the way Ezzy jolts subtly and smouldering blue eyes zip up to her face when my brother’s hand must reach her centre, I’m aware of exactly what’s there—or not there—even before I hear his voice through her mind: No underwear, Love?
Tate grunts and adjusts himself with the inconspicuousness of a hippo whizzing by on shimmering pink roller skates with a matching tutu. Lift the dress and show me my pussy.
Ours, Scotty reminds him. And no.
A threatening rumble like an avalanche sounds from my left where Tate sits.
From Cooper, who sits on my right between me and my bestie, I hear, Cool it. Unless you want others to see the pleasure written all over our Bonded when she cums?
Tater Tot halts everything at once.
I shift, trying to relieve some of the pressure on my erection, breath catching when Ez’s does as Scotty touches her between her thighs.
I zoom in on the image he’s still displaying to us all, imagining the stretch of her pussy around his fingers as the liquid-like lustrous material of her dress moves up and down with his actions.
A whimper has me shooting a quick glance at Alby, and I see my lucky bestie getting VIP viewing in the cinema to watch everything. His wide eyes stare down at Ezla’s lap beside him, his face red and his chest rising and falling in short little pants.
I whip my attention back to Ezzy as pleasure spirals through the bond, and I watch from Scotty’s perspective as his hand speeds up, and keeps speeding up, until—
Stop. DN’s hand latches onto his forearm like a vice, and he stills, eyes slowly rising to meet hers. We are leaving.
Did I do something wrong? Scotty asks, a rare pinch of vulnerability in his words, tension lining every inch of him.
I know how important it is to him that he treats Ezla right and gives her everything she needs, and it would kill him if he ever accidentally pushed her too far or did something she doesn’t like when he’s only trying to take care of her.
No. I am aroused and would like some privacy.
Tension, shock, and anticipation stuff the air full until it’s overwhelmingly thick with it. Is she . . . ?
I would like more pleasure. Come.
Heart banging around inside my ribcage, I spring up to my feet like a rocket, uncaring that my thighs smack into the table as I rush to follow my Bonded, my brothers hot on my heels.
But then my eyes catch on furious poo-coloured ones as we pass by the other guests who are still eating, and I can’t help it.
I stick my tongue out and blow a raspberry at the Game Master.
“Fuck’s sake,” Scotty curses viciously at the same time I let out a delighted squeal when Ezzy drags me to her side like I’m a naughty kid running off in a supermarket.
The limos are lined up in a row at the end of the long white carpet when we exit the building through the gold double doors, and I feel a little sorry for the drivers who have to sit there staring into space while everyone parties inside.
But those thoughts are quickly dismissed as Wifey continues to drag me around like I’m her own little pet.
Woof, I push her way, knowing she’ll have her end of the bond open like she has the majority of the night, and I could swear her lips tick up at the corners before she flattens them again.
This is going to be the best night ever. I can feel it.