Page 125 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

But he tenses again, his gulp audible as she stops Scotty from grabbing one of the many ropes inside. “No,” she says calmly. “Alby will use his teeth, will you not, Puppet?”

“I-I will,” he chokes out before dipping his head into the open drawer not a second later.

“Good boy.”

His mewl is muffled as his head rises to reveal the rope clenched tightly in his teeth; it’s maybe ten metres long and about half a centimetre thick. Wide-eyed, he turns his body to face the bed and gazes up at our Bonded for his next instructions.

Vengeance leans further over Tate, and he grunts as she wraps a hand around his cock to use as her support—then starts madly thrusting up into her fist in an attempt to get friction.

He pauses when Ezla places a hand on his chest and commands without inflection, “Be still,” but the effort has him trembling uncontrollably. To Alby, she then extends her arm, palm-up, and says, “Drop.”

Flushing darker, he obeys without question, dropping the rope into her hand.

“Very good,” she coos, letting go of Tate, much to his disappointment, and stroking her hand over Alby’s ebony head of hair.

Making a small sound in the back of his throat, he leans into her touch, lashes fluttering. “Y-yes. I-I’m a—I’m a good slut.” That colour enshrouding him deepens another handful of shades, and I’m slightly concerned he’s about to combust at this point.

Wickedly delighted, Ezla hums. “Yes, you are. And you are such a little masochist.”

Stammering out an incoherent response, he settles on a messy nod.

Lips inching upwards, she pulls back, and his shoulders sag as he watches her longingly. But he doesn’t demand she free him from his bindings like I would’ve, just stays on his knees, patiently and happily waiting for whatever scraps she deigns to give him. Honestly though, a scrap of her attention is all that’s needed to make anyone melt . . . possibly in more life-threatening ways depending on the context.

Turning back to me, Ezla regains her previous position in the middle of the bed and holds out the rope in her hand. “We will do the harness first—then you may bind my wrists.”

Heart kicking into overdrive, I accept her offering. Everyone’s eyes drill into the two of us, mostly Ezla, as she instructs, “Find the halfway point by folding the rope in half.” Once I’ve done that, she lifts her arms for me, extended either side of her. “Now wrap that around me, just under my breasts.”

Mouth going dry, I move closer on my knees, arms coming around her as I bring the rope around to her back with my right hand and pass it to my left. When I have either end in my hand at her front, she orders, “Feed the end in your right hand through the loop in your left.” Again, I obey. “Under here.” Again, and then another order, and another.

It’s a slow process with me wanting to get everything perfect for her, but I do a pretty good job, and Scotty leans over to help me fix up the back when I tie it all off at waist level. “Beautiful, Love,” he murmurs, voice deepened by arousal and reverence as he takes her in.

I pull back as well, soaking up the sight of the black rope against Ezla’s milky-olive skin, the way it circles her waist, emphasising her curves . . . her flawless fucking tits framed with the rope both above and below the perky little mounds, with an intricate knot tied in the middle that she had to help me with.

“Fucking hotter than hell, Havoc, baby,” Tate rumbles, ravenous gaze devouring every millimetre of her.

“Sinful, Vengeance. You’re bloody stunning.” Picking up one of the shorter ropes I’d had tied on me while her eyes dig into me with the usual chilling yet thrilling intensity, I ask, “How do I do this one?”

“So eager.” Smirking in that cruel way of hers, Ezla turns around for me. I have to bring a hand to my cock to stroke myself a few times, just to alleviate some of the tight pressure, because fucking hell, the sight of her like this is making my dick kill. “This one is much easier.”

As she proceeds to tell me the right way to tie it, I wrap and weave, brows furrowed in concentration. “That good?” I ask when I’m done.

“Show me.”

Focusing, I project the sight before me into her mind.

“Perfect.”

A sigh of relief leaves me. “They don’t hurt? Not too tight?”

“No. You did incredibly well. Now fuck me.”

Chuckling under my breath at her expectant demand, I lean closer. Palms finding her upper arms and rubbing up and down, I murmur in her ear, “It would be my pleasure.”

I’m ridiculously pleased when goosebumps raise beneath my palms. Fuck do I affect her, and it’s the best feeling in the world to know that.

Tightening my hold on her arms, I lower her, and her neck turns so she can comfortably press her cheek to the pillow her head finds. “You good? Comf—”

“Fuck me,” she repeats impatiently.