Page 44 of Heartless Game

Was the vibrating underwear just meant as a warning not to disobey him? Was this it?

“Thank god,” I gasped.

“I wouldn’t thank god just yet,” Isaac murmured again, and the vibrations returned.

So did the coiled tight feeling. I was closer this time, because of how he’d teased me earlier. Tense and terrified and, worse, wanting it, I hovered on the precipice of the orgasm…

…only for Isaac to dial back the vibrations again, tugging me back from the brink.

And then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

By the fifth time he’d edged me, my pussyachedwith the need to come, and I was no longer capable of even minutely ignoring it or hiding my fortunately quiet moans. I no longer gave a shit if I came in front of the whole goddamned class and got expelled. I needed, truly needed,desperatelyneeded to finally come and release the painful tension in my body.

My skin hummed from the vibrations, so aroused I was sure there was a wet spot on my wooden auditorium chair. My chest was heaving and I was biting my lip so hard I could taste my own blood. I pulsed, my pussy trying to grip something that wasn’t there. Closing my eyes, I got lost in a fantasy of Isaac pulling me onto his lap, ripping off my jeans, panties, and shoving what had to be a huge cock inside me. It didn’t matter that I’d never had sex before, or that I hated him. I needed him to quell the ache he’d created.

“Ms. Kaufman? Ms. Kaufman,” the professor was calling my name, aggravation in his voice.

My eyes shot open.

Oh, shit.

“Ms. Kaufman, did you fall asleep?”

“N—no,” I said weakly. “I was just concentrating on what you were saying.”

“And what was I saying?”

I cleared my dry throat. I had no idea, and what’s more, I was terrified to speak, especially when Isaac ramped up the vibrations so high my clit was pulsing. Someone must be able to hear it.

“Um,” I started, when Isaac spoke.

“You were talking about the importance of protecting your sources,” he said. “That their anonymity and privacy matters more than the story itself.”

The professor smiled, impressed. “Thank you, Mr.—”

“Jones,” Isaac said easily, as he began to trace figure eights on my knee. The gentle, barely there touch over my jeans was more arousing than the vibrations, or maybe it was the combination and his casual display of ownership that shoved me so close to the precipice. I teetered there, my clit throbbing, my insides clenching, a whimper trapped in my throat, becauseohgodohgodohgodIcouldn’tstopitIwasaboutto?—

Isaac lifted his hand, and said, “It’s Tovah you should thank. She’s taught me a lot about journalism since she first started following me around—” the whole class laughed at this, and I would’ve been embarrassed and livid if I wasn’t about to have the biggest orgasmof my life—“and it’s been…enlightening.”

The vibrations stopped.

I didn’t hurt any less. I didn’t throb any less or stop clenching.

But at least I didn’t scream in tortured denial.

“Well,” said the professor. “That’s our class for the day. Please do the reading. Ms. Kaufman, if you could come to my office? Alone?”

Isaac stiffened beside me as students gathered their stuff and rose to leave. “She won’t be going anywhere alone,” he stated firmly.

The professor raised his eyebrow. “And Ms. Kaufman is the clingy one?”

I would’ve laughed, if I didn’t want to cry.

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