Page 15 of Troublemaker

God, I was so fucked in the head.

I pulled my hand away from my cock. I needed to interrupt her, needed to get the fuck out of from under her bed, go directly to the police precinct and ask them to lock me up for life?—

“Cooooooach,” she whimpered.

No, fuck no.

And then, “Blaaaaaake, please, daddy, please?—”

As she cried out my name, cried outdaddy, in the sweetest sound I’d ever heard, high-pitched, breathless, andneedy, I came.

In my pants.

Like a motherfucking teenager.

There was a thud as she fell back on the bed.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she was muttering to herself, sounding pissed. “This is the last time I get off to thoughts of him. I’mdone.”

There was a sniffle.

Was she crying?

Even though I’d managed to stay under the bed for that whole magnificent ordeal, the thought of her crying—overme—made it almost impossible not to get out from underneath this bed, sweep her up in my arms, and comfort her in my lap.

Why was she so upset?

“I hate you, Blake Samson,” she groaned. “I hate how much I want you. And I hate myself for this, most. You’re an idiot, Lucy Braverman.”

And then she was hopping off the bed, wriggling her legs. Her panties, also hot pink and lacy, dropped to the carpeted floor,inches away from me, as her feet padded to her closet. I held my breath, watching her slip shower slides onto her feet, wrap a towel around her body, and walk to the door. It opened and shut, leaving me alone, heart pounding, pants wet with my own cum.

The tether had snapped.

I’d lost complete control.

And I needed to get the hell out of here and get my head on straight. I wasn’t sure what that would take, but god, I would do whatever it took to regain control over myself.

Sliding out from under the bed, I rose, lightheaded from all the blood that had gone to my cock and left my brain, surveying her room, the rumpled bed, the cameras focused on her. I’d be able to watch the video of her coming, relive the moments of my greatest shame and greatest joy.

“Blake, you fool,” I muttered to myself, only half aware I was echoing Lucy’s own frustration with herself. But that neediness in her voice, the possibility that what she needed was me, and I was the only one who could provide and fulfill them for her…

Before I could think better of it, I was lifting her wet panties to my nose like I could inhale that imaginary emotional bond, smelling her, sweet musk, sex, and sunshine, then pressing the wet gusset to my lips and tongue, trying to suck out whatever juices and taste of her again.

Like a goddamn teenager, my cock got hard again. I hadn’t had a refractory period like this in years.

Slipping her wet panties into my pocket, I shoved away the implications of my actions—all of them—and slipped out the door before she could catch me and I’d have to confront her and what I’d done.

This is a one-time thing. You’ll get your shit back together, I told myself.

It was a goddamn lie.

7

LUCY

Someone had stolen my panties.

I stood in my small, pink and black decorated dorm room, in my pink robe, hair up in a towel, staring down at the floor. I’d dropped them after my “personal playtime.” I knew it for a fact. So how were they not there? Was I losing my mind?