Page 742 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Too late, I start to move to the side.

Ezla’s on top of me in the next second.

All the air exits my lungs in an “oomph”, and it’s lucky I’m wearing my helmet because my head bounces off the hard taalk floor in a way that might’ve given me a concussion otherwise.

She’s floored me a humiliating number of times in this session, but she’s not actually straddled me like this until now. I can feel every inch of her in that skintight red-Avri-glowing suit she wears: those strong, toned thighs, her smaller hands pinning my wrists beside my head in an unshakable grip, the heat of her body seeping into mine . . .

My throat shifts with a swallow, my natural blush expanding to my hairline, staining my ears, and I—

Oh.

Oh, wow. That’s . . . never happened before.

I’ve been in this position countless time before in EvTS when training . . . or very commonly used for humiliating examples before the entire class . . . and all I’ve previously felt is a mixture of embarrassment and fear, not—not the situation going on beneath the crotch of my suit.

Eyes wide and mixed with a cocktail of something needy and simultaneously the alarm that Ezla may recognise that something, I can only gaze up at her dumbly while my erection attempts to poke a hole through the sinthe and sinthine enclosing it.

I really hope the latter material is hiding it well enough.

Your hopes would be fruitless, that silky voice like satin swirls through my mind in a cloud of alluring midnight smoke.

I let out a high squeak, every muscle tensing.

Oh god! She knows!

More pressure bears down on my cock as she leans closer, chest drawing nearer and nearer to mine, and I whimper.

Her taalk-shrouded head tilts eerily as it pauses close to my face, and I see myself reflected back at me in her inky visor: my enlarged hazel eyes and their blown-out pupils, the blush on my face enhanced with her blackish-crimson Avri illuminating it.

I always know.

My heart stops.

And it restarts only to drop down when Ezla forcefully pushes to her feet, leaving me lying on the floor, stunned, as she leaves the room without a glance back.

24

TATE

“Why’s Havoc so interested in you?” I demand of Alby as we eat at the dining table in our Bonded chambers a few days before Game 2. I can’t understand why my girl pays so much attention to the quiet little dude—I’m far more interesting, and we have so much more in common than she and him do.

Green darker than the Avri on my suit snakes through me.

Everyone pauses, Tiger’s eyes already large and round as his drama-radar perks up, his mouth stuffed full of pasta and the fork in his hand hovering mid-air.

“U-uh . . .” Alby stutters, and my eyes narrow to slits, forehead creasing.

I take an angry bite of my seasoned chicken as I scrutinise him, trying to figure out what he’s hiding . . . what secrets I can pluck from his baby head.

“Leave my bestie alone, Tater Tot.”

My scorching glare slides over to Tiger. “Did you just call me a potato?”

“What? It’s cute.”

I’m going to lob him to the other end of the world.

But then I remember my question went unanswered, and my attention lasers into Alby again, whose chin’s now dipped so low it practically rests on his chest as he twirls the spaghetti on his plate around his fork.