Page 434 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

But Vengeance only groans in sinful delight, and I brush off the brute, not opposed to anything my Bonded is enjoying. And it’s extremely clear HC’s having the time of her life being jammed between the three of us like this. Honestly, something about it is really fucking hot, and I’m even more turned on myself. The symphony of grunts and moans and skin rapidly slapping together echoes throughout the room as me and Scotty fix our rhythm.

“Look at you taking their cocks, Havoc. Does that feel good? Are they stretching your sweet little holes as widely as they deserve to be?”

Clearly, Tate feels the same as me.

I’ve noticed that as long as we’re pleasing Ezla, he actually gets off on us sharing her.

Vengeance hums in response, her affirmative one, and her lids slide closed with an almost tranquil look on her face as she absorbs all the pleasure, takes everything we’re giving her and expecting more, confident in the knowledge we’ll shower her in anything she pleases.

“Yeah . . .” Tate breathes roughly, drawing back from her breasts, which are now littered with red teeth marks, and gazing down at where I’m buried inside his obsession with a near-fascinated look on his face that I can only hope doesn’t turn into a thunderous one of envy. Although at least if he snaps, I’ll be seated snugly inside Vengeance when my head is thrown across the room. “So pretty, your pussy swallowing him.”

“Shit—!” I whip my head down incredulously to see Tate shoving his motherfucking finger inside her alongside my dick. I can feel him intentionally curling that digit and rubbing her G-spot.

“Please my girl, fucker,” he says gruffly in response.

“I don’t take orders from you, dickhead,” I retort, even as I keep pumping my hips, thrusting up relentlessly into that drenched heat.

“Yes, yes, yes,” HC pants, and whatever scathing remark was about to come out of Tate’s mouth is vacuumed back down his throat in an instant. And I forget whatever I was even snappish about myself, because all I can see is her. All I ever see is her.

62

EZLA

Maybe later, I will feel ashamed, disgusted with myself for giving in like this. But right now, all I can feel is bliss and the hunger for more of that feeling which I have never experienced before.

I want to feel like this forever.

I had got to this point after multiple days of an incessant buzzing underneath my skin that would not cut out, and I decided it was time to quiet it. Yet it has only amplified to new, extraordinary heights now that I have given myself what I desired.

I do not hate it.

“More, more, more,” I chant, feeling that coiling sensation again as two cocks drill into me on either end while my beast of a stalker rubs inside of me with a thick finger. Their scents swirl around me: something clean and fresh, another spicy and smoky, and the last dark and leathery. I fill my lungs with them, absorbing all I can of my Bonds.

It is not something I have felt before, this pleasure, and certainly not from him. The monster who keeps me under his thumb by any means necessary. There have been forced orgasms, but they never felt good. I never craved more, never liked the heat that curled through me.

This feels fucking glorious, and I will do whatever I must to keep these men right here in my grasp, just to keep experiencing this.

They will not leave me.

Not even the two innocent ones, the pure two who are too good for this world of savagery. They have willingly given themselves to me, and they will know what it means to be mine soon enough.

“More, Love? Tell us what you need,” the one who is constantly trying to take care of me utters breathlessly. His hot breath fans against my ear, and his fingers between my legs flick my clit expertly, reminding me of the mental note I have made to hunt down and demolish those who touched what is mine. I should have been the one to teach him how to do that. He was born to serve me, not them.

But maybe I will thank them before I kill them, because it does feel very nice.

I realise I do not know what I need, just like I do not know why the organ in my chest is as warm as the rest of my burning body. I have been analysing my responses to each new thing my men give me, each new touch, figuring out what makes my limbs tingle with the most euphoric rush . . . But it is . . . difficult, at times, to understand what I want when I am only now learning the pleasure a man can give me. So I huff, frustrated that I do not have the words when they usually come so effortlessly, thinking more deeply before I say, “You. Give me yourselves. All you have. I want . . .” My eyes shift over to my two whores, and every cell within me sings. “Sluts, come here. Play with my tits.”

Exchanging a glance of excitement—and nerves with my Puppet—the two of them scramble forwards. Alby’s eyes take up half of his face, and that flush of his covers every inch of him I can see—which sadly is not much as he has done his trousers back up. My wild one, however, is still as naked as the day he was born, and my hungry eyes enjoy my fill of him: those impressive muscles, the golden hue to his light skin, his thick thighs and the heavy cock standing proudly between them . . . After Tate, Tiger is a close second in size to Scotty, and I cannot wait to have the three of them buried inside of me at the same time.

“Oh! I heard that!” Tiger beams as he reaches me—just as a breath is shoved out of me from an extra-enthusiastic ram of Scotty’s and Cooper’s hips.

Since this very night, it is not occurring to me to keep them blocked out of my mind much anymore. It is hardly as bad as I thought it would be to have them poking their heads in there from time to time, and it is not too taxing to ensure they do not receive any damning thoughts about my life in the penthouse of horrors. And outside of it, if the monster who lives there with me deems it so.

“Thank you, Ezzy! My cock says thank you too! I can’t wait!”

His mouth is on my breast in the next second.

One hand buried in Tate’s espresso-coloured hair, tugging at the strands to get his mouth back to my free breast—not that he needs any encouragement—the other sinks into the soft vanilla-streaked strands of Tiger’s, and my order disgracefully comes out as a low moan as my hooded eyes lock onto Alby’s: “Let me feel your lips, slut. Show me how badly you want me.”