Page 784 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Jaw hitting the floor, I freeze.

Cooper’s straight brows push together, a wrinkle forming between them. “Is he—”

A loud groan cuts him off. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like it when I split you open? When I pump your pussy so full of me, you’ll be leaking my cum for days?”

Oh . . . my . . . god.

My gaze trips over Ezla as she stands there stoically, and I rip it away in a heartbeat, burying my face in my hands, the thousand-degree heat of my cheeks burning my palms.

“Ah . . . sorry about him, Ezla,” Scotty says awkwardly, his face almost as flaming as mine as he tries to ease some of the tension in the room like usual.

It doesn’t work this time.

Ezla still doesn’t move or respond. She seems unbothered, and I have no idea what she’s thinking.

“Gonna shower,” Cooper grunts and all but storms to the stall furthest from Tate in the same moment another moan echoes around the room.

“Mmmm, good girl . . . milk it. Take it all.”

I flee to my own stall the moment my legs unlock, not eager to stand around and display any more of my mortification.

“Bestie, wait! Don’t leave me here!”

Except Tiger rushes into the stall next to the one I’ve chosen before I’ve even got inside myself, and I have to zip behind my curtain before I’m the last one out there with our Bonded.

“Yeah, fuck you too, guys!” Scotty calls out before he presumably finds his own stall, Tate’s grunts and groans continuing to ping off every surface, invading my ears.

I’m still battling with my embarrassment when Ezla’s silky voice swirls through my mind:

I will be gone when you are out. Tell everyone they have tomorrow off.

The organ in my chest lurches as if it’s begging her not to go, while at the same time, a sense of both confusion and happiness works through me. She’s actually giving us a day off training.

Will you join us? The question is out before I can stop it, and I hold all the air in my lungs until her reply comes.

I will not.

Then I feel her leave the room, her overwhelming presence gone, taking any joy I’d just felt with her as my heart is punched from my chest, tumbling down to my feet.

36

EZLA

I wake in my father’s bed the day after Game 3.

I am used to it, as I am used to the arm wrapped possessively around my waist as I stare at the glossy black wall across from me blankly. I just do not . . .

feel . . .

anything . . .

I have not for a while, other than the thrill I get when killing. Or sometimes, when the anger and agony that is my life when it all gets too much seeps through me, corrupting my numbness and making my skin itch like thousands of insects are upon it.

At least, that is how it was before.

Before I met them.

Now I can feel.