Page 39 of Heartless Game

There had to be something useful in here. Maybe even his laptop. Unfortunately, I had no idea what the code could be. I started testing a few options: his birthday, the day his mother had died. Neither worked. I was wracking my brain for other ideas when the alarm beeped off.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered.

“Honey, I’m home,” Isaac called. I heard footsteps.

Oh, fuck.

Abandoning the locked drawer, I made sure all the others were closed before hurrying out of his office, locking the door behind me just in time.

He appeared at the top of the steps as I stepped out into the hallway.

“Miss me?” he asked.

“Like a toothache,” I said.

He snorted. “Nice to still see you in my clothes, but I brought home some of yours. Here,” he said, handing me a small duffle bag.

Unzipping it, I found jeans, hoodies, tank tops, a dress, two bras…and no underwear whatsoever.

“What the hell, Isaac?” I said, appalled.

A sly smile slid across his face. He knew exactly what I meant. “You don’t need them.”

“Fortunately, I washed mine,” I told him, so annoyed I decided to spoil my surprise. “And I was nice enough to wash some of your clothes, too.”

His smile dropped away, his gaze suspicious.

“What did you do, Tovah?”

I shrugged, unable to conceal my grin. “See for yourself.”

Isaac headed back down the stairs, and I followed him, needing to see his face. He walked into the laundry room, opening the washing machine. And like I’d planned, every single item either had pink spots on it, or had turned completely pink.

“You. Goddamned. Brat,” he said slowly.

“What, is it not your color? I think it brings out the evil in your eyes,” I said innocently.

He turned toward me, holding one of his hockey jerseys. Although the majority of the jersey itself was still red, the white lettering had turned pink.

“Tovah…” he began.

“Oopsies,” I said, then collapsed into giggles at the sight of the shocked anger on his face. And, if I wasn’t wrong, there was even a little bit of respect there, like he was impressed by my ballsiness.

I was, too.

“…run,” he finished.

Still gasping with laughter, I turned on my bare feet and raced out of the laundry room, down the hallway, and up the stairs. His feet thudded after me as he followed.

I ran into his bedroom, slamming the door shut—or trying to, but his hand shot out, catching the door and forcing it open.

As he advanced on me, I retreated, my next plan to lock myself in the bathroom. But before I could reach it, I was being lifted in the air and thrown on the bed.

Oh no, not this bullshit again.

I tried to crawl away, only for Isaac to grab me around my right calf and drag me backward. Shoving a hand between my shoulders, he delivered hard swat after hard swat to my bare ass—because my underwear was still in the dryer.

His slapsburned, like yesterday’s spanking had been nothing more than a prelude to the real thing. He went at my ass brutally, like it had personally offended him and the only possible response was to leave painful handprints.

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