Page 32 of Heartless Game

“See something you like?” he said wryly.

I jerked my head up, hiding my embarrassment by glaring at him.

“Says the guy who had his head locked between my thighs only half an hour ago,” I taunted.

He shrugged. “Not denying that I like looking at you. I can hate you and still know you’re the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamned fucking life.”

Oh. My. God.

I gaped at him.

He smiled, dimples appearing for the first time since the bar, and for a moment he became Isaac Jones, charmer.

“Time for bed,” he said, taking a step toward me.

“I’ll just go sleep in another room.”

“You will not,” he told me. “Like I said, I don’t trust you alone. You’re spending the night in bed—with me. You’re spending every night in bed with me for the foreseeable future, so get used to it.”

“I’m not fucking you,” I said immediately.

He raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about fucking? You have to earn my cock, little snoop. So far, you haven’t come close to it.”

I snorted. “I’m never going to want your cock, so you’re fine.”

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, pulling down the bedding. “Get in.”

“I really?—”

“Fuck this,” he muttered, and then he was picking me up again and depositing me on the bed. I bounced, and began to scramble off, but he was on me two seconds later, the pair of handcuffs dangling from his hand. He closed one around my left wrist, shocking me when he closed the other around his right wrist, before clipping them together.

“Did you just handcuff me to you?”

“Yup. This way you’re really not going anywhere. Now, go the fuck to sleep.”

And then we were both lying flat next to each other, nothing touching but our pinkies. He did something on his phone and then the lights were out and the room was dark.

“Do you snore?” I asked the dark room. Because what the fuck else was there to say? My childhood crush turned nemesis had become my sexual tormentor-slash-captor-slash-fake-boyfriend (maybe) so fast I had whiplash. And now I was literally handcuffed to the asshole.

I heard him laugh. “No, I don’t snore. Do you?”

I paused. I had no way of knowing. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“What, none of your ex-boyfriends told you?” he asked dryly.

The truth was, I’d never spent the night with someone else other than my mom, and that had been years ago, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“What about you? Do the girls tell you if you snore?”

It was quiet for a moment before he admitted, “I’ve never spent the night with one of them, so I have no idea.”

A sweet feeling took hold of my chest. I shouldn’t care that Isaac hadn’t spent the night with a girl before. Icouldn’t.

But I did.

“Well,” I finally said. “Don’t. Or I’ll kidney punch you.”

He laughed again, but didn’t say anything else.

---