Page 19 of Payback, Penelope

Feeling on top of the world with the plane tickets and Penelope’s ring tucked safely in my laptop bag, I make my wayto her classroom an hour after the last bell rings on Friday, both of us excited to see the results of the pregnancy test she’s going to take this weekend. The lights are still on in her classroom, but it’s empty, her cell phone ringing from her tote bag on her desk when I try calling her.

Leaving my bag next to hers, I knock on Ms. Barry’s door and pop in to ask her if she knows where Penelope is, but her room is empty, too. So is Mr. Andrews’s classroom and the restrooms I pass on my way to the teacher’s lounge—my last stop before I really start to worry.

Chapter 12

Penelope

Head down as I feed the formula cheat sheets into the laminator for the students to take home next week to study for their upcoming test, I daydream about what it will be like to get my first positive pregnancy test. I know it’s soon and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I can’t help it.

At first, I think it’s Jacob who has found me in the copy room and is sliding his hands along my hips, but then my eyes start watering at the noxious, overbearing scent of menthol. I turn my head when the alcohol on Mr. Andrews’s fetid breath wafts in my face and nearly chokes me.

He slurs, “Finally caught you alone, Ms. Barlow.”

Coughing, I turn and shove Mr. Andrews away. He’s not as big as Jacob, but he’s solid enough that I might not have been able to force him back if he weren’t three sheets to the wind and wobbling on his feet. As it is, he teeters back a few steps and cants to the side momentarily before, somehow, finding his balance.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again!” Fast as a whip, I lunge forward and slap him across his face, which is slick with sweat in the sweltering copy room since it doesn’t get enough A/C. He’swholly disgusting, and I hate the thought that I’ve touched his bare skin.

His expression darkens as he looms between me and the open doorway, sealing off the only exit. He pulls a checkbook and a pen from the back pocket of his worn khakis, then closes one eye and squints the other as he flips through it to find a blank page.

“How much does Mr. Prudencio pay you? I’ll pay it, too, if that’s what it takes.”

My breath turns ragged with fear and outrage. “What the hell are you talking about?” I don’t care to listen to his answer, though, only that I find a way out of here. For every inch I take to the side, he copies me, swaying but staying upright.

Mr. Andrews scribbles across the check and rants with deep-seated contempt, “All these years, you’ve been blowing me off, and now I know why. You females are all the same. You don’t care about the nice guys. You just want our money. So how much? Fifteen bucks for a blow job? Twenty for you to spread those legs for me?”

He rips the check out unevenly, crumples it in his fist, and tries to throw it at me. It’s almost comical how far left it goes when we’re only standing feet apart. If I weren’t so scared and sickened by his vile beliefs about women, I’d find the idea of him trying to pay me with a check to sleep with his musty ass kind of hilarious. I slap him again, watching with some small satisfaction as his flushed face turns a deeper shade of red.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to touch your rancid dick,” I spit at him. Then Iliterallyspit at him. My aim is much better than his, and it lands at the base of his pudgy chin.

Mr. Andrews drops the checkbook and uses his gut to press me back against the laminator table. The machine is still running and drowns out my raised voice when I try to shove him away again and shout, “Back the fuck up! Fucking now,goddamnit!” My fear ratchets up when he barely flinches at my third slap.

His clammy hands tremble with a mixture of rage and a poisonous level of alcohol when he tries to grab my wrists and shouts in my face, “Stop fighting me and let—” He bellows when I yank my arms free, grip the sides of his face, and jam my thumbs into the inner corner of his eyes with all my strength, trying to gouge them out. He staggers back and cries out, “Fucking bitch! Mr. Garnet will—”

That’s the last thing he says before he goes flying backward, snatched right out of his loafers. It’s a sight to behold—Jacob on his knees over Mr. Andrews on his back, slamming his fist in the middle of Mr. Andrews’s fleshy nose. Jacob’s broad back flexes every time he snaps his arm back, his muscles threatening to split his black top down the middle as he goes feral. I can’t hear anything over the roar of blood pounding in my head. Only see Jacob’s face twisted with beastly rage until Mr. Andrews finally succumbs to his injuries and loses consciousness.

Jacob’s right. I’m certifiably insane. Because as hot as being tied up and forced to orgasm over and over again is, seeing Jacob get to his huge feet with blood on his fist, sweat dripping down his strong brow, breathing like a wild animal who has just saved his mate from an unworthy male is even sexier. My panties are fucking drenched.

I launch myself at him when he turns to face me, forcing him to support my weight when I pull my legs up around his waist, grip his hair, and ram my tongue down his throat. Jacob lurches forward, slamming my back against the table.

“Mama needs you,” I keen as I wriggle and work my red skirt over my hips, then yank the gusset of my matching wet panties to the side.

Jacob’s eyes flash with undiluted lust, his hand working between us to pull down his zipper. He banks his desire briefly to ask, “Now? After what he did?”

“Right fucking now, baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck—” I scream shrilly when he slams inside me, cutting off my begging, my back sure to be bruised black and blue as he fucks me on top of the laminator.

We maul each other, all teeth and claws that rip at each other’s shirts to get to the hot, bare skin beneath. I cry out my orgasm when Jacob bites the crook of my neck after I throw my head back.

“Fuck, you take my dick so good, Mama. I’m gonna cum.” Jacob howls like an animal as he slams inside me twice more, buries himself to the hilt, and then swells with his release, flooding my pussy.

I circle his neck, stroking the top of his tattoo as we kiss and kiss and kiss while his cock softens. I can’t get enough of him. Of his masculinity and virility. His protectiveness and the way he rescued me, though I would have, eventually, been able to get away from Mr. Andrews without help after gaining the upper hand. It’s the simple fact that I didn’thaveto do it on my own that’s so damn appealing.

Once my legs start to go numb, and we figure we should probably pull ourselves apart to deal with the Mr. Andrews issue, Jacob sets me on my feet and helps me drag my skirt back down before tucking his cock in his trousers. We’re smiling at each other like fools in love when a laugh that sounds an awful lot like one of Sandra’s cackles breaches our bubble.

We turn as one to find Mr. Garnet and Mrs. Goldstein appearing scandalized as they stand over Mr. Andrews, bloody and still knocked out. Mr. Makris, the skinny second-year algebra teacher, is slack-jawed, staring at Jacob with wide, golden brown eyes, and he has his laptop bag pressed to thefront of his navy trousers. It’s both amusing and makes my own possessive streak flare, though I know I have nothing to worry about. Jacob is all mine.

Sandra claps and calls out, “Encore! Damn, you kids make me miss my Larry. He would have gotten a kick out of that performance.” Mrs. Goldstein covers her mouth like she’s going to be sick, and Sandra rolls her eyes.

My knees knock together when Mr. Garnet’s gaze hardens, and he motions us silently to fix our shirts and follow him out of the copy room toward his office. Jacob and I hold hands the whole way down the hall, passing the few teachers who hadn’t left yet while they stare at us, whispering to each other.

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