Page 809 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“Uhhh . . . yeah. Sorry, I feel like I’m getting more nervous by the day here. Ezla is just . . . she’s so . . . her. And I’m so . . . me.” He scratches awkwardly at his head, and a needle jabs me in the chest.

“Alby . . .” I begin quieter, tightening my hand on him and pushing my face into his line of sight so he’s forced to look at me and see the sincerity in my eyes. “You are enough. You’re perfect for her. You fit into the group seamlessly—you belong here. You—”

“Alby.”

I’m gone from his mind so fast you’d think I never existed at all.

And that’s completely fine as we all snap our gazes to Ezla as she looks over her shoulder at my quietist brother. He stumbles forwards like someone shoved him, scrambling for the bed. “Y-yes? You . . . said my name again?”

Yes, she did. And I very violently bat any jealousy to the other end of the planet to place my happiness for Alby up front where it belongs.

Even if it kills that my name hasn’t formed on those rosy lips yet. Not once.

“I did,” she confirms, intense stare boring into him. “Now be a good boy and get to work on my thigh.”

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?”