Page 108 of Heartless Game

“I never thought anyone would have this kind of power over me,” I confessed, not moving and just letting her clenching ass massage my dick as she adjusted to me inside her. I kissed her head, then lowered my chin onto it so I could continue watching the reluctant ecstasy on her face. “I never wanted anyone to. But you do. You own me. I don’t care if you’re lying to me. You could probably try to kill me, and I’d hand you the knife. That’s how torn up I am over you. That’s how much I belong to you, bashert. All I want is for you to belong to me right back.I love you.”

“Isaac, what? I don’t? What are you?” she gasped, her moans confused and lost by my words. I didn’t give her time to consider them, because now I did need to move, as I rose to stand and bent her back over the desk so I could thrust. Slowly at first, and then more steadily, I pulled my hips backward and pushed them back in again, tunneling into that hot, tight, virgin hole, letting it squeeze me again and again. My balls were boiling and I needed to come, but she was going to come with me. With my clean hand, I started playing with her again, strumming and then pinching her clit, determined to make her orgasm as violent as mine was going to be.

“Isaac,” she cried, “It’s so much, it’s too?—”

“What did I tell you? It’ll?—”

Thrust.

“Never—”

Thrust.

“Be—”

Thrust.

“Enough.”

I caught her eyes with mine in the mirror and growled, “I’m in love with you. And no matter what you do, that won’t fucking change. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Gripping her clit, I pinched it tight, not releasing it until she screamed my name so loud the windows could’ve shattered, gripping my cock tight as her ass and pussy clenched, milking my cock so hard I came with her, my vision going white, my own roar echoing off the walls as I shot cum deep into her ass, filling her up with everything I had.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

43

Tovah

Iwas a mess by the time Isaac brought me back to his house. As always, he carried me out of his car, into the house, up the stairs to the ensuite bathroom, seating me on the counter and handing me a glass of water. Thirsty, throat still dry, I chugged it while he tested the shower temperature. Once the temperature was to his liking, he swooped me back up in his arms and carried me into the shower, gently placing me on the bench. Grabbing body wash, he lathered his hands and cleaned me, slowly, carefully. I was so overwrought that his touches made my pussy throb, but there was nothing sexual in the way he washed me, only a single, focused, almost devout care.

Once my body was clean, he stood me up, his chest to my back so I could lean against him, as he lathered up my hair with shampoo and then worked through the tangles with conditioner, holding his hand over my eyes so the spray didn’t sting them, like I was a child. I relaxed into his arms, forgetting to be pissed at him, and soaking up the tenderness in his touch.

Sitting me back down, he quickly washed and rinsed off his own body, before carrying me out of the shower. As he dried me with a towel, I could barely look him in the eyes.

What had happened between us had been somuch, sointense, and I didn’t even know how to look at him or talk to him. Why had he accused me of being a liar again? Of writing the article? The article I’d abandoned, even knowing it was possibly the only thing that was going to save my mother? We had so much to talk about, but I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was sleep.

I wanted to sleep with him, to have his arms around me. But if Eliana were right, if they were engaged, then all I was doing was sleeping with another woman’s man. All I was doing was prolonging the inevitable, and if Isaac was going to break my heart, I’d rather it happen now than later, when the break was irreparable.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, kissing me, carrying me to the bed and tucking in before climbing in after me. He didn’t bother to cuff us together, and I was grateful for that as I waited for him to fall asleep.

Once his breathing had deepened and slowed, I gently, carefully lifted his arm and crawled out of the bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and heading to the guestroom. I closed the door and locked it, and then, only then, did I let the tears flow again.

Flopping onto the guest bed, I sobbed into the pillow.

How had we gotten here? How had we gone from a month ago, when he’d been nothing but my enemy, and a means to an end, to here, where he meant more to me than my own life, as much—if not more—than my own mother? How had we gotten to this place where he had the ability to break my heart, if he wanted, if he cared?

God, and he claimed he wanted to marry me! I bit the pillow to withhold the frustrated scream that bubbled up in my throat. Didn’t he understand we weren’t meant for each other? That we were destined to destroy each other, not love each other? It didn’t matter that he’d said he loved me, or that my stomach had dropped out of my body when he had. It didn’t matter that I loved him back, because I did. Anything between us was destined to end in tragedy.

I had to figure out how to end this, and if he wouldn’t let me, then to get away.

The door opened, and he was there, lifting me off the guest bed and carrying me back to his bedroom.

“You don’t leave me, not in the middle of the night, not ever,” he said gruffly. “I sleep like shit when you aren’t in my arms. Away games are torture. I refuse to let you out of my damn sight.”

He grabbed a new pair of cuffs, closing one around my wrist and the other around his.

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