Chapter 6
BLAKE
I’d lost my fucking mind.
I needed to call a psychiatrist. Or head straight to the police station and turn myself in.
Because I was currently in Lucy’s dorm room. It was prime class time, and no one was in the building, giving me enough cover for what I’d come here to do.
And what I’d come to do was install cameras and mics everywhere.
I was keeping an eye on her. I was worried about what she’d do next. I was trying to protect her, since she refused to protect herself.
That’s what I was telling myself, anyway. Too bad it was all goddamn lies.
The truth was watching her flirt with my players, flipping her hair, pressing her breasts into their chests and joking with them was driving me up the fucking wall.
What was worse was seeing the way their eyes followed her everywhere.
Someone might as well have been ripping my nails off my fingers, one by one, and no amount of making them do bag skates felt like proper punishment.
Watching her flirt with Emory and suggest private lessons when everyone in the vicinity knew she didn’t mean skating …dread had filled my stomach. I didn’t know if Lucy was a virgin, but I did know that if she ever let that punk’s dick near her, I’d kill him.
Thus, I found myself in her dorm room, hiding cameras and mics where she wouldn’t see them. I’d gotten them from a man named Micah Feldman, who was the older brother of Jack, the captain of our rival hockey team. Micah had smirked when I’d refused to tell him why I needed the cameras.
“There’s always that one woman that makes us lose all sense of control, isn’t there?” He’d laughed and then shown me how to install a GPS tracker on her phone, which I’d done when she’d left her purse alone at practice one day.
I had a problem. I’d always kept a tight tether on my worst impulses.
There was a darkness in me, a violence that I’d been hiding since I was an orphaned foster kid lost in the system and fighting to protect my foster siblings, only for no one to protect me.
And then the fighting stopped being about protecting others and became a way to express my anger at a world that refused to protect me.
That was until Lucy’s father showed up in my life as my Big Brother in that after-school program and introduced me to hockey and a better future.
Since then, keeping myself leashed hadn’t been an issue…until months ago, when a curvy little dynamo sashayed her way back into my life and sent my control haywire. That leash was fraying, and I was pretty sure it was going to snap soon if I didn’t do anything about it.
Maybe I should’ve just let Lucy get expelled. Then she’d be far, far away. Except everything in me rejected the idea of letting her out of my sight.
Just as I placed the last camera in the tiny sliver of an opening between her mirror and the frame that faced her bed, I heard a sultry laugh. It echoed in my ears, a siren’s song…and a warning.
Fuck.
As the knob turned, I scanned the room. The closet was much too small for my big frame, there was no bathroom, I wasn’t about to shimmy out the tiny window and plunge four stories to the ground. My only option was either for my ward to catch me in her room, or to—
—hide under the bed like the creep I was.
It took some maneuvering, but I managed to slide underneath, holding my breath as the door opened.
She was still laughing as she entered the tiny room, and the sound wrapped around my body, rubbing over the hair on my chest, the nerve endings on the back of my neck. A laugh shouldn’t have made me hard, but the sound shot right to my balls.
Fuck me.
Her laughter died down as she slipped out of her flip flops.
Goddamn it, we’d talked about those flip flops.
It was a stupid thing, but Lucy had flat feet, and flip flops were terrible for arch support and posture.
Not to mention, she drove with them on, and I always worried she was going to get the thong of the flip flop caught on the brake and get in a horrible accident.
But whenever I told her to wear some real shoes, she laughed at me, called me an uptight ass, and bought more flip flops.
What was she doing back from class so early? I had her schedule memorized; she should be in a study session right now.
There was the snick of the belt, the whisper of a zipper, and then tiny jean shorts joined her flip flops on the floor, followed by a green tank top…and a black lace bralette.
Fuck me ten ways to hell and back.
Well, maybe she’d come back to change and then she’d head out and I could get out of here. I could smell her, something fruity and floral I couldn’t place. She smelled like sunshine, she smelled like sex, she smelled like everything I’d ever wanted and could never have.
Because she’s eighteen, Blake. And you’re her legal guardian.
What would her parents have said?
Except that it had become clear early on that Lucy’s parents hadn’t cared much about what happened to her.
Her father might have looked out for me, but that hadn’t translated to his daughter.
I wasn’t sure who really had looked out for her, and when I thought about it, really thought about it, I was plagued with guilt for sending her away for so long.
Guess I’m on my own again, she’d said in the note she written me before she’d left for boarding school. I still had that note in my desk drawer at home. I didn’t know why I’d kept it. Maybe it was meant to be a reminder of all the ways I’d failed her…failed, period.
My dark thoughts were interrupted by Lucy’s bare feet, tiny and cute with Barbie Pink polish. There was a creak and the bed sagged underneath her body.
Ah, shit. Don’t tell me she was taking a nap. How the hell was I getting out of here?
Although it quickly became apparent it was worse. With a small sigh, she murmured to herself, “God, I’m so horny,” and despite knowing what I was doing was wrong, I strained my ears to hear what came next.
Shallow breaths and sighs, some shifting as she got into position.
I didn’t have to see her to imagine what she was doing.
Stroking a hand over her neck, making her way down to her bare breasts, a small gasp as she tweaked her nipples.
Did she like it gentle, or rough? Did she want it to hurt?
What color were her nipples? Her breasts were large and perky, I knew that from the tight little tank tops and crop tops she wore that left little to the imagination.
Then a moan. Was her hand sneaking its way down between those round, thick thighs? Was she stroking herself? Fast or slow?
“God, I’m so wet,” she whimpered.
She was.
I could hear it.
I could fucking smell it.
If I’d thought she’d smelled like sex before…
a sweet musk scented the air, and my nostrils flared in response.
I licked my lips like I could taste it, taste her.
And even though it was so very wrong, I shoved my hand under my pants, not daring to unzip in case she could hear it, and grabbed my hard cock.
I was going to hell, but I couldn’t help myself. That tether was about to snap.
Each slick sound of her stroking herself, every gasp and moan and sigh was just one more thread losing its grip and giving up the cause.
I squeezed my cock in tempo with Lucy, staring up at the bed frame like I had x-ray vision and could see her.
There was the brush of wet fabric. Did she leave her panties on when she touched herself?
Why? Was there a little bit of shyness there, resistance, embarrassment that kept her from touching herself directly?
That wouldn’t do. If I were with her, I’d make her take those panties off, make her look me in the eye as she touched her clit and explored her little hole in front of me, make those gasps turn into cries before I shoved my head between her legs and…
Fuck.
My hand squeezed my cock tighter.
I was the worst man in existence. But I couldn’t stop myself, especially as the wet sound of silk rubbing against soaked skin sped up. So did her moans and gasps, and the bed shifted as she…god, was she humping the air?
What was she thinking about? Who was she thinking about? If it was Emory, there’d be nothing left when I was done with him.
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 out daddy, in the sweetest sound I’d ever heard, high-pitched, breathless, and needy, 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’m done.”
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—over me—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.