Chapter 147: Game

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, wishing more than anything in that moment that she wasn’t blind, just so she could hide her face from him. The sheer embarrassment was overwhelming, but the slick, throbbing heat between her legs was far worse.

"Please," she whispered, the word slipping out before she could filter it. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—whether for him to stop or for him to hurry up.

"Please what?" he taunted softly, his hand pressing flat over her core, rubbing the wet silk directly against her sensitive center.

Isabella gasped, her hips instinctively rolling up into his hand, seeking the pressure. "Aaron, don’t—"

"You don’t want me to stop," he said, his voice dropping into a thick, commanding murmur.

He hooked two fingers into the edge of her soaked panties, sliding them easily to the side. The cool air hit her exposed, slick center for a split second before his warm, bare hand covered her completely.

Isabella let out a sharp, breathless cry, her fingers clutching his shoulders as his index finger slid up her slick folds, finding the small, aching bundle of nerves at the top and circling it with slow, maddening pressure.

"You taste like the sea," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "And you’re so wet you’re practically sliding off my hand."

He didn’t give her time to process the words. In one smooth, heavy motion, he pushed two large fingers deep inside her tight, hot channel.

Isabella arched her back with a loud, ringing moan, her thighs clamping tightly around his forearm. He was so big... even his fingers felt thick and stretchingly massive inside her, filling her up in a way that made her head go completely blank.

He began to move. Slow at first, thrusting his fingers deep inside her, then curling them upward, hitting that deep, sensitive spot that sent sharp shockwaves of pleasure straight up her spine.

"Ah! Aaron—wait, wait—" she sobbed out, her head tossing back against the leather of the couch.

"Are you sure about that?" he murmured, speeding up the pace. His fingers drove into her slick body over and over, his thumb pressing hard against her clitoris, setting a fast, ruthless rhythm that gave her no room to breathe, no room to think.

Isabella was drowning. The whole world collapsed down to the feeling of his fingers inside her, the heavy weight of his body pinning her down, and the overwhelming, intense coil of pressure building rapidly in her lower belly.

It was too much, too fast, an unbearable intensity she had never felt in her entire life. She was right on the edge, her muscles coiling tight, her breath coming in ragged, pathetic hitches as the climax rushed toward her like a freight train.

"Aaron—I’m—I’m going to—" she cried out, her hips bucking frantically against his hand, chasing the final, explosive release.

Just as the first wave of the orgasm threatened to snap her tension and shatter her completely—

Aaron pulled his fingers out.

The sudden, empty hollow inside her was brutal. The sharp coil of pleasure snapped back, leaving her suspended high up in the air with nowhere to fall.

Isabella let out a devastated, helpless gasp, her eyes snapping open, staring blindly at the ceiling as her body shuddered with unfulfilled tension. She lay there on his lap, her chest heaving violently, her thighs trembling, completely wrecked and entirely unsatisfied.

Aaron sat beneath her, his chest rising and falling heavily, but his face was completely calm. He brought his hand up between their faces.

In the quiet room, Isabella heard the distinct, wet sound of him licking his fingers clean.

"Time’s up," he whispered smoothly, his tone infuriatingly light. "Three minutes."

Isabella stared toward the sound of his voice, her mind stuttering in complete disbelief. "What?"

"Our agreement," he said, reaching down to smooth her dress back over her thighs with maddening care. "Three minutes are over."

"You... you bastard!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with pure, raw frustration. She lifted her hand and slammed her fist against his chest. "You did that on purpose! You absolute, sadistic bastard!"

Aaron didn’t even flinch. He caught her wrist gently, holding her angry fist against his heart. A slow, dark smirk spread across his lips as he looked at her beautiful, flushed, utterly furious face.

"I follow the rules, Isabella," he murmured softly. "You set the boundaries. I just abide by them."

He stood up, effortlessly carrying her off the couch and down the hallway to her bedroom.

He placed her gently onto her bed, pulled the soft duvet up to her waist, and leaned down to kiss her forehead, a light, innocent, completely gentlemanly gesture that felt like a slap in the face.

"Get some sleep," he said softly. "We have a long day at the clinic tomorrow."

Before she could hurl another insult at him, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft, quiet click.

Isabella lay in the middle of her large, empty bed, staring up into the dark. Her body was practically screaming with frustration. Her core was throbbing, wet, and desperately unfulfilled, her skin burning with a residual heat that made sleep completely impossible.

She rolled onto her side, digging her fingers into the sheets, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.

’He wants me to ask,’ she realized, her jaw clenching with fierce determination. ’He wants me to break down and beg him for it. Well, he can go straight to hell. I’d rather die than give him that satisfaction.’

...

The next morning was pure torture.

When Isabella came down to the dining room, her hands gripped tightly on her cane, she was prepared for him to tease her. She was ready with a dozen sharp insults to hurl at his face the moment he mentioned last night.

Instead, Aaron acted like nothing had ever happened.

"Good morning," he said casually, the rustle of a newspaper sounding from the head of the table. "Did you sleep well?"

Isabella froze, her grip tightening on her cane until her knuckles turned white. "Did I... sleep well?"

"Yes. The tea is fresh. Drink some before we leave."

She sat down slowly, her jaw tight. Throughout the entire breakfast, he was the absolute picture of a calm, respectful host.

He passed her the toast, discussed the weather, and warned her about a cool breeze outside, never once dropping his voice, never once making a single double entendre, never once acknowledging that he had spent the previous night driving her out of her mind on his couch.

It drove her completely Insane.

By the time the car pulled up to the private medical center on the coast, Isabella was practically radiating a aura of sharp, hostile silence. Aaron merely walked beside her, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back to guide her through the sliding glass doors, completely unbothered.

They were escorted into a quiet, high-end consultation room overlooking the ocean.

Doctor Ivanov, a soft-spoken specialist with a gentle tone, sat across from them, reviewing her file.

"The preparatory tests are all complete, Miss Kingston," the doctor explained calmly. "Your eye structure is in stable condition, but because the damage to your cornea is deep, we will be performing a full-thickness transplant. We’ll be replacing the damaged corneal tissue completely with healthy donor tissue."

Isabella focused on the sound of the doctor’s voice, trying to push the image of Aaron’s face out of her head. "And the recovery?"

"The surgery itself takes about two hours under local or general anesthesia," Dr. Ivanov said smoothly. "However, because of the delicate nature of the delicate inner layers, you will need to remain here in the clinic’s private wing for a few days before and after the procedure so we can monitor tissue pressure and prevent rejection. Vision recovery is slow. It won’t return instantly—it will take weeks, sometimes months, for your sight to clear fully."

"I understand," Isabella said softly.

"We have scheduled the procedure for the end of the week," the doctor continued. "Until then, we will keep you admitted here to ensure your baseline vitals remain steady."

"Thank you, Doctor."

After the doctor stepped out to finalize the admission paperwork, silence settled over the room.

Isabella sat on the edge of the examination bed, her hands resting in her lap. She could hear the faint rustle of Aaron’s coat as he stood near the window.

"Satisfied?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with a cold, defensive edge.

Aaron turned around, stepping toward her. "You’re in good hands here. My men have secured the entire floor. No one comes in or out without my permission."

"Including you?" she asked, tilting her head up toward him.

Aaron stopped right in front of her. He reached out, his thumb gently catching her chin, lifting her face toward his. His blue eyes scanned her stubborn, proud features, taking in the small, lingering tension around her mouth.

"I’ll be busy for the next few days," he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone that made her skin prickle. "Business in the city requires my attention."

Isabella felt a sudden, strange tightness in her chest, but she forced a cold smile onto her face. "How wonderful. I might actually get some peace and quiet."

Aaron smiled, his thumb pressing lightly against her lower lip, feeling the tremble she tried so hard to hide.

"Don’t worry, little bird," he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek. "I’ll be back before they put you to sleep. And when you wake up..."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, whispering the final words like a promise.

"...you can tell me what you want."

He pulled back, let go of her chin, and walked out of the room without looking back, leaving Isabella alone in the quiet medical room, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, stranded in a high-stakes game where neither of them was willing to surrender.