Page 85 of Troublemaker
Things seemed to calm down a bit after that. Between classes, studying, practice, and sneaking around with Blake, the next couple days were too busy for me to worry about Professor Putrovski. In class, she was especially cold with me, but didn’t go out of her way to embarrass me or make me look bad, so I decided she had listened to Coach’s threat and let it go.
Coach and I fucked all the time, in his home office, his office in the arena, in the locker room, even in a utilities closet at the arena one late night, only to be almost caught by a janitor. Every night, he’d pick me up and take me to his house, where we’d fuck some more, and then he’d hold me all night, murmuring to me about how much he cared. He never said he loved me, though, so I never said it, either.
The day before the gala, he handed me his credit card and told me to go out and buy a stunning dress.
“For what?” I asked.
“For the alumni dinner, obviously,” he said. “You’re going as my date.”
I gaped at him. “I’m going as yourwhat?”
“My date.”
“I’m sorry, did I miss something? Did they change university policy about professors and staff fraternizing with undergraduates?” I asked in shock, and if I was honest, excitement.
“We can play it off as me bringing you as my ward, but I want you there. In a gorgeous dress. So take my credit card and go get one.”
I decided not to point out to him that I had plenty of money to go buy my own dress. I had no idea how he was planning on pulling this off, but if he thought he could, I’d believe him.
I took Leslie to Pixie, a size-inclusive boutique in town, one of the few stores that sold dresses that would actually fit my large breasts, trying on and discarding dress after dress until I found the perfect one. It was all black and seemed demure from the front, with a high neckline and a long, straight skirt. But when I turned around, my back was entirely bare, all the way to right above my ass. Blake would lose his mind over it—I couldn’t wait. The dress was thousands of dollars, and I considered paying for it myself, but Blake called me while I was in the dressing room and reminded me to use his card.
“If you don’t, I won’t let you come for a goddamn month,” he warned.
I didn’t like the sound of that, so I used his card.
The next night, I stood in Blake’s bedroom, eyeing myself critically.
“Red lipstick or pink?” I called where he was shaving in the bathroom.
The sound of the electric razor stopped, and he peeked his head out.
“Pink—ah fuck, look at all that bare skin,” he growled, coming to stand behind me and wrapping his arm around my waist under my breasts, tugging me tight against him. “You’refucking stunning, and we’ll be lucky if I don’t end up beating someone up for looking at you.”
“You can’t,” I told him, a little breathless from how gorgeous he looked in his tux, freshly shaved. I was captivated by how good we looked together, his short, dark hair and green eyes contrasting sharply but harmoniously with my blonde waves and brown eyes.
He nodded, his eyes on fire. “You’re right. But we’re going to be late, so I’m soothed by knowing my cum will be inside you the whole time.”
“We’re going to be late,” I told him.
“I don’t care. Bend over, sweetheart.”
I did, pressing my right hand against the mirror, balancing as well as I could with a brace still on my left wrist. Blake unzipped his pants, lifted my dress, shoved my panties to the side, and fucked me hard and fast, watching me through the mirror through the entire time, eyes intense on mine until we both came.
When we walkedinto the alumni dinner, conspicuously late, we drew everyone’s attention. Alumni, board members, and hockey players were dressed in black tie, sitting and laughing at tables covered in white linen with large candelabras. The laughter died as they saw us. Blake’s hand had been resting on my back, but I moved away from him, aware of people’s eyes, their shocked whispers. In the corner, Professor Putrovski sat next to Trey, her disapproving glare trained on me.
Based on the fact that Trey was sitting next to her, that was our table.
“I changed my mind,” I murmured. “Let’s go back home. This is too much.”
Dimly, I was aware I’d called his house “home,” and tried not to recoil at how that must have sounded to him, like I’d just assumed it was ours when he’d never?—
Blake moved next to me, whispering in my ear. “The only word I heard you say washome.Because you’re right, it is home.Ourhome.”
Oh.
Well.
I straightened my shoulders. If Blake considered his house ours, then who was I to argue?
