Page 86 of Troublemaker
Tossing my hair, I said, “Let’s do this.”
Standing tall, I made my way over to the table in the back corner, doing my best not to let my professor’s cold stare affect me. I took comfort in Blake’s warm, solid presence behind me. When we reached the table, Blake pulled out a chair, which I sat in as gracefully as possible, a smile glued to my face. He pulled out the chair next to mine, sitting in it close to me so that his thigh pressed against mine. It was a reminder, we were a team, he had my back, and I didn’t have to worry because he’d take care of everything. It was hard to believe it, especially when Trey raised an eyebrow and said, “Interesting choice of date.”
“I wanted to bring someone important to me, and Lucy’s important to me,” he said simply.
“Well, she is your ward,” Trey said, trying to dispel the awkwardness.
“That’s not why I brought her,” Blake said.
The professor said nothing, but her pursed lips said everything.
I opened my mouth to say something, also wanting to break the ice, but Blake squeezed my thigh under the table, and I shut it.
The four of us were silent as waiters placed salads in front of us. Blake flagged one down before they walked away.
“She’s allergic to carrots,” he said. “Please go make her a salad with no carrots, and make sure it hasn’t touched carrots.”
He knew about my allergy? Although I guess he did have that dossier on me.
As if he sensed my surprise, he said, “I know everything about you, Lucy. Everything.” He said it loudly, his eyes trained on Trey and his sister, as if daring them to say anything. Neither did, although the professor’s face looked even more sour.
They still didn’t say anything when the waiter brought me a salad, and Blake began to eat. I ate too, calmed slightly by the feeling of his hand on my thigh, and the knowledge that I still had his cum inside me.
The people across the table from us, unaware of the tension, tried to draw us into conversation. Blake chatted and joked with them easily, and usually I would have too, but I was too deep in my emotion and wonder. I loved the way he took care of me, the way he knew me, from the big things to the little details, to his solidness and steadiness and control. I especially loved the way I could make his control snap. I loved him so much, and I wanted—no,needed—to tell him. Even if he didn’t say it back, I was going to be brave, because I was always brave. I wasn’t hiding from it anymore, and if he broke my heart…well, better now than later.
But first I needed to pee and then psych myself up.
I excused myself from the table, Coach’s eyes trailing me, a concerned question sharpening their deep green color. I waved him off and walked out of the ballroom, steeling myself against the whispers. Coach and I had made an entrance, after all, and while some people might wave it away as a kind thing he’d done for his legal ward, others may have sensed the sexual tensionbetween us, seen the way he’d placed his hand on my back, and made other, more accurate assumptions.
In the bathroom, a lavish affair with plush seating and ornate gold bordered mirrors, I peed, a little mystified by just how much of Coach’s cum had dried between my thighs. I really should have been grossed out, but instead it filled me with pride. I felt claimed, feltownedin a hot, safe, and perfect way, and I was going to cling to that feeling as I told him how I felt.
After finishing up, I flushed and went to go wash my hands, rehearsing the “Blake, I love you” in my head when someone joined me at the sinks. Glancing in the mirror, I froze, my professor’s harsh glare staring back at me.
“You look lovely,” I offered, because what the fuck else was I supposed to say?
“You look like jailbait,” she said.
My mouth fell open.
“Big, perky tits, long blonde hair, longer legs…no wonder he wants you. A lot of men would turn into animals when it comes to a hot eighteen-year-old willing to spread her thighs for the slightest hint of affection. Girls with daddy issues.” She tsked. “Men fall for it every time.”
My teeth were clenched so tight, my jaw hurt. “Do you have a point?”
She laughed, cruel and wicked. “They fall for it…at first. But see, while they may be attracted to youth, they get bored quickly. At the end of the day, they want a partner who can match them, hold a conversation with them. Make them laugh. Let me give you some advice from experience you’re too young to have had yourself. Being a slut only gets you so far in life, and the man or men you’re a slut for now will disappear later, leaving you with nothing.”
She grinned at herself, satisfied.
“Professor, thank you,” I said.
She turned to me, confused, expecting…I don’t know what, tears? “For?”
“For giving me an excuse to do this,” I said, and then, fisting my right hand like I’d seen Coach do, with my thumb on the outside to protect it, I slung it in her direction, punching her directly in the nose.
She screamed. It was really satisfying, although not as satisfying as the blood dripping down her nose, pooling at her chin, making her pretty face look macabre, and well…not quite so pretty. Honestly, it made up for how fucking much my right hand hurt, and it hurt a lot…worse than my left wrist, which was still in its brace. I’d never punched another woman in my life, but she’d fucking deserved it, and I felt not even a speck of remorse.
Shaking out my hand, I turned to leave, ignoring her pained, shocked cries as she covered her bleeding nose with her hand. Then, I stopped and turned back to face the mirror, catching her glance.
“Professor? You’re a real cunt. I honestly hope you learn how not to be, or you’re going to be alone for a very, very long time. You can take your intercollegiate veterinary program and shove it up your ass next to the stick there. I bet it’s the most action you’ll get.”
