Page 43 of Heartless Game

He released me, only to drop an arm over my shoulder and guide me down the hall to my Ethics in Journalism classroom.

“How do you know where my class is?”

“I know?—”

“Everything about me. Yeah, yeah,” I muttered.

When we entered the classroom, everyone’s heads popped up. There was more murmuring. Isaac took it in stride, just like he’d taken the pink shirt. He scanned the room, choosing a row about five back from the lectern, and nodding to the seat next to the aisle.

Sighing, I slid in. He dropped into the seat next to me, his legs so long he had to stretch out in the aisle. The whispering grew louder.

“Ugh, do youhaveto be here?”

“Yes,” he said.

The professor, an older man in a wrinkled suit, passed by our row.

“Sir,” he addressed Isaac. “I don’t believe you belong here.”

Isaac grinned. “Couldn’t let my best girl go to class alone, could I?” he said, slipping an arm back over my shoulders, making me hunch. “She hates when I’m not with her,” he continued, making my chest tighten.

Oh god, he was about to humiliate me.

“He can leave,” I started. “I’ll?—”

But Isaac wasn’t done. “You know the clingy type. She even dyed my shirt pink and insisted I wear it today so we match. And I’d feel too guilty making her cry, so here I am. You don’t mind, do you?” he finished, dimples on full display.

There was silence, and then laughter rang out in the room. It echoed, haunting me. I tried to slump down in my seat, my cheeks flaming, but Isaac moved his hand to the back of my neck, gripping it to keep me in place.

And then he turned and dropped afalselysweet kiss on my lips.

The professor cleared his throat. “Well, as long as you don’t cause too much of a distraction, you can stay.”

“Thank you, sir,” Isaac said with his usual bullshit charm.

Once the professor had moved on, I turned my head to Isaac.

“I’m going to kill you,” I hissed.

He released my neck, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, you’rereallygoing to want to kill me soon,” he threatened with a deep laugh.

The professor began his lecture on the code of ethics most journalists sign when they start working at a media outlet. I tried to pay attention, but Isaac clearly had other ideas, because as I began taking notes, there was a quiet buzzing sound and my fucking panties began to vibrate. I jumped, then glared over, shaking my head at him. He winked, playing with his phone. The gentle vibrations grew stronger. I’d done my best to forget about the vibrating underwear on our way to class, and had succeeded, until now. How was I supposed to ignore them, when they massaged my pussy in all the right—no, wrong—places? The thickest part moved in rumbling vibrations against my clit, waking it up and making it ache for more.

But I couldn’t want more. I couldn’t get offhere. People would figure out what was happening, and I’d be even more of a laughingstock.

Or worse, get kicked out of class. Maybe out of school. Goodbye, journalism dreams.

It didn’t matter. The more I tried to ignore the pleasure in my core building, the more intense it got. I couldn’t ignore Isaac’s dark gaze as he watched me try with all my might not to come.

I was so, so close. My breathing had sped up, my nipples were hard, and I was biting my lip to hold in my gasps. Was I going to moan or cry out when I came? Was there any way I could hide it?

“Let it happen,” Isaac murmured.

And I had no choice. My whole body coiled tight, the wire to orgasm about to be tripped and?—

The buzzing stopped. So did the vibrations.

I slumped back in my seat, breathing heavily. I’d been so close, about to come and completely destroy my reputation, but Isaac had given me a reprieve.

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