Page 25 of Payback, Penelope

“But George and Lincoln are awake too.” On cue, our twin eleven-month-old boys cry from their nursery across the hall.

“Shoot. Ok, how about you help Mommy and Daddy and wait in their room for us?”

She scurries off, and when the coast is clear, Jacob holds the door open for me, then follows behind as I rush down the hall to our bedroom. We hop in and out of the shower to clean the scent of sex and sweat from our bodies in record time, pull on our pajamas, and head to the nursery.

Just before we enter, while Kennedy is entertaining the twins, Jacob stops me with his hand on my wrist and brings me in for a hug. “I saw your birth control pills in the trash this morning. That wasn’t all play, was it?”

I bite my lip, caught red-handed. But then it occurs to me that if he knew I’d thrown out my pills already, then he deliberately chose to go along with the scene and cum inside me unprotected.

He sighs, though there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “Are you sure that’s what you want? You’re not even a year postpartum.”

“Tick, tick, tick,” I say, mimicking what I said during the car ride home from the bar the day we were reunited. “Our last hurrah before my ovaries turn to dust.”

He snorts. “You’re still a young buck,” he says in imitation of Mr. Andrews. “You know another baby means we’ll have to move again if you want to keep your craft room.”

“No way. I love this house, and I’m never giving up my craft room.” I immediately fell in love with our old five-bedroom farmhouse with its authentic country charm and wraparound porch built on the outskirts of Fort Worth—a thirty-minute commute from the school where we both still teach, sans Mr. Andrews—when we toured it a year after I gave birth to Kennedy. “I vote for building an addition instead.”

“Deal.” He leans in and kisses me after pushing me up against the wall.

Before we can get lost in the moment, a little body crashes into us and hugs our legs. It seems the whole house is awake now that our almost-four-year-old son, Franklin, has joined us.

Jacob swings him up into his arms. “Come on, Mama. Let’s get these kiddos back to bed so I can getyouback in bed. Tick, tick, tick, and all that.”

He waggles his brows, and I laugh, following him into the nursery on a mission to get the kids settled and back to sleep assoon as possible. Mama’s not done with her stepson yet. Not by a long shot.

—THE END—

*Author’s Note: I went back and forth with the second epilogue and wrote two different versions that ultimately end with the same happily ever after. Unable to decide which one I should use, I have included both. Read on for a slightly more wicked and kinky alternative conclusion to Penelope and Jacob’s love story…

Alternative Epilogue Two

Penelope

The first smattering of rain against the window is my cue, desire making my pussy pulse. It’s been long enough. Sliding out of bed, careful not to jostle the imaginary Daniel and wake him, I tip-toe out of the bedroom and down the dark hallway, stopping to listen for anyone else who may be awake. Since all is quiet, I unlock and ease my stepson’s door open. Peering out into the hallway once more, I silently close and lock the door.

A dim flash of lightning guides me to the opposite end of the room where my stepson is tied to his bed with his knees spread up and out like the first time he used these ropes on me. A red scarf bound across his lower face and knotted behind his head keeps him from spitting out the panties I wore today and stuffed in his mouth earlier. He whimpers and cries behind his gag when he sees me, though I know no one can hear him above the rain now beating down on the roof.

I climb onto the bed between my stepson’s knees and stroke his sensitive, trembling inner thighs, his eyes wide and manic as he thrashes. I’ve learned quite a bit about ropes and knots over the years, and he’s not getting loose until I untie him. Lightening flashes, revealing his terror at what I’m about to do to him.

Good. He should be scared.

Sweat soaks his hairline, and I stroke his stubbly cheek with the back of my hand, careful not to let any part of me or my black negligee brush against his massive, hard cock. Two hours with an erection and no relief will drive anyone crazy—or, in Jacob’s case, almost psychotic with need.

“Do you remember what you asked me the first time you tied me to the bed, baby? ‘How does it feel being on the other side’?” He clenches his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. I yank the scarf down but slap my hand over his mouth. “If I take my panties out of your mouth, can I trust you to be quiet? You don’t want to wake your dad and sister up and let them see you like this, do you?”

He shakes his head, and I slowly remove my hand and tug my panties out. He clamps his lips shut to muffle his cries. With a featherlight touch, I drag my fingers down his chest, making his stomach cave in, then down his inner thighs again, teasing him ruthlessly as I ignore his angry dick.

“Poor baby. Now you really know how it feels, don’t you?”

He gasps. “Touch it. For the love of god, just touch it, Mama, please. One stroke is all I need.”

I pout. “But where’s the fun in that?”

I let my fingers drift lower, a whisper of touch across his sizable ball sack, full to the brim with cum. I drag a finger down his taint and finally to the long and thin silver plug vibrating in his ass. I push against the flanged base, moving it just a fraction deeper, and he sucks in a breath, further caving in his stomach. His dick swells and throbs, but he doesn’t cum. He can’t yet with the vibrator turned to the lowest setting, edging him relentlessly. I don’t know which is worse—denying him his orgasm or forcing him to orgasm over and over again until he passes out like he’s done to me too many times to count.

Grabbing the bottle I left at the foot of the bed, I grip the base of the plug, pull it out slowly, and smother it and the rimof his asshole with lube. Then, I work the vibrator back in and out several times until it’s fully coated and slips inside him with ease. He moans gutturally for so long that it must hurt his chest and throat to keep going.

“Mama, please, please, please! I need to cum. I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.” He starts crying in earnest when I switch the setting one level higher. It’s still not enough to make him orgasm, which is perfect since I don’t want his cum wasted on his skin. “Please.” It’s one long, drawn-out word, his voice cracking at the end.

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