Chapter 9
Penelope
I’m halfway out the door after biting my nails all day before I remember that I no longer have a car. Jacob snuck out sometime during the night while I was asleep, dreaming of what our future children will look like.
In one night, I’ve somehow squashed the obsession of the man who got the Statue of Liberty tattooed on his back, spanning from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine, in my honor. Ran him off without so much as leaving a note—the reality of being with me having not lived up to his fantasy, I assume.
God-fucking-damnit.
I don’t even have his phone number, so I can’t call and beg him to give me another chance, and the only person I can think of who would is Mr. Garnet. I’m almost desperate enough to call him and ask for it, but I can’t think of what plausible excuse I could give for why I need it right this very second instead of waiting to speak to Jacob at school tomorrow.
But I need to see him now. Apologize for the way I behaved. Tell him that I just…just kind of lost my mind in the fantasy of it all and how close I am to achieving my dream of becoming a mother. Explain to him that I couldn’t let a single second slip by after wasting so many years sacrificing too much. Maybe I can even tempt him into one more go-around before we have to return to our normal lives tomorrow.
I finally bite the bullet and tap on my Uber app for a ride to Jacob’s apartment, flinching at the cost. There’s some kind of big event in the city tonight, so the surge pricing is a blow to my monthly budget. It’s a reminder that I’ll have to adjust it to fit in everything I’ll need for my pregnancy and childbirth. Actually, that’s kind of exciting to think about.
I race inside to change out of my black leggings and oversized white T-shirt into a red cocktail dress that flares out from my waist with nothing underneath. There’s an even sexier pair of gold heels I’ve been saving for a special occasion that I slip my feet into—ones that I hope scream fuck me and breed me and will get Jacob to forgive me.
Jesus , I really have lost the plot, but there’s no stopping me once I’m dressed.
It’s only fitting, of course, when lo and behold my Uber driver turns out to be Mr. Andrews—Jim, though I refuse to call him that since it’s too casual. Seriously, God, why? Why, why, why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? Oh right. Tied a man to my bed and fucked him within an inch of his life without his express consent. Yup, I deserve this.
If Mr. Andrews is working a second job after several decades of teaching, I’ll have to work with an even tighter budget than I thought in the coming years.
Breathing through my mouth to fend off a migraine due to the cloying scent of a menthol pain cream overwhelming Mr. Andrews’s gray sedan, I avoid eye contact with him in his rearview mirror. It’s unnerving being in the back of his car like he’s some kidnapper who’s lured me inside—but instead of luring me with candy or a puppy, it’s Jacob’s dick.
Funnily enough, Mr. Andrews doesn’t say one word to me throughout the drive after muttering something under his breath before he pulled away from my house. I’m pretty sure he called me fast again, but whatever. From my peripheral, I see his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn bony and white, jerking the car around corners until he slams on the brakes in front of Jacob’s apartment complex.
I hurry to the glass lobby without saying goodbye, clenching my ass cheeks so they don’t bounce since Mr. Andrews idles at the curb instead of speeding off like I was hoping he would to pick up his next passenger, making the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle with unease. I slow my stride once inside, unclench my cheeks, and add a swing to my hips as I approach the fancy reception desk.
A twenties-something young man with curly ginger hair in a black suit a size too large visibly swallows when I toss my badly-in-need-of-a-wash loose hair over my shoulder and lean over the marble counter, pressing my arms against my breasts to show off more cleavage. With what I hope comes across as flirty instead of skeevy, I say, “Hi there. I was wondering if you could direct me to Jacob Prudencio’s apartment. I forgot which unit he’s in. Dumb blonde moment.” I give him a giggle and shimmy my breasts.
His skinny fingers are already flying over his keyboard without looking at it as he stares at my breasts, willing his squinted eyes to see through the material of my dress. “He’s in apartment 312,” he says with a crack in his voice.
I straighten. “Wow. Ok. That really worked.”
His eyes shoot up to meet mine for the first time with a horrified look. “I shouldn’t have done that. Policy states…fuck.”
Feeling kind of sorry for him and the very real possibility that he’ll lose his job if his boss finds out, I reach across the counter and pat his upper arm. “No, no, it’s ok. It’ll, uh, be our little secret.”
He nods fast. “Our little secret,” he whispers, his eyes once again dipping to my breasts.
Then I dart to the side and run to the bank of elevators, pushing past the older woman with a white bouffant who reaches it before me. She could give Mr. Andrews a run for his money in the disapproving scowl department when she huffs and tips her chin up, muttering about Gen Z having no respect for their elders.
“Oh my god, you think I look young enough to pass for a Gen Z-er? That’s so sweet.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she clips out.
“Thanks anyway,” I throw over my shoulder when the elevator dings. I step out on the plush cream carpet with a gold Fleur-de-Lis pattern and speed past each unit until I find Jacob’s. A thrill thrums in my veins as I knock and knock and knock on his enormous gleaming wood door, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to play it cool.
There’s a heavy thump on the other side, and I smile wide, staring at the peephole, pushing my chest out in case he’s watching. My smile falters when Jacob doesn’t open the door, and I knock twice more. “Jacob. It’s me…Penelope.”
“Go away,” he groans.
“Please let me in.” Looking left and right to make sure I’m alone, I face the peephole and slowly play with the V of my dress covering my bra-less chest. I tug on one side of the fabric until I’ve exposed my left breast, then pinch my hard nipple. I’ve never done anything so daring in public before, and my pussy grows wetter, slicking my upper thighs. “Please, baby. Mama needs to apologize.”
There’s another heavy thump, and I imagine him banging his forehead against the door on his side. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. “Go back home, Penelope.”
“You’re really not going to let me in?” Tears blur my vision, and I drop my gaze to my special occasion heels that have done zilch to help me as I tuck my breast back into my dress, humiliated at being rejected. “I’m sorry,” I say through a lump in my throat, my stomach bottoming out with the realization that I truly have gone mad. Absolutely insane in my baby-making quest to think Jacob wants anything to do with me after what I’ve done to him.
I step back with each of his thumps against the door and finally turn away, letting the tears fall. Stupid and insane and desperate—that’s me—the worst combination.
“Are you ok, ma’am?” The young man from earlier at the front desk asks, his expression vacillating between being elated to see me again and sympathy at my obvious distress. Ma’am . He’s one person who knows I’m nowhere close to looking like I belong in his generation. Ugh .
“Yeah. Thanks.” I give him a little wave and push through the glass door outside, relieved to see Mr. Andrews has left, then wait on a nearby bench for an Uber driver to take me home. This time, my driver is a woman around my age, and I take the front passenger seat since there are two car seats buckled in the back of her massive SUV.
She talks a mile a minute about all things baby-related and being a stay-at-home-mom, taking on a side hustle due to the ever-increasing cost of formula. I don’t have to say a word as she carries the conversation the whole drive, continually sipping what I suspect is a dangerous amount of caffeine from her huge, bright pink tumbler on her lap until we turn onto my street.
Taking what seems to be her first breath, she asks me a question and actually gives me space to answer. “So, do you have any kids of your own?”
“No,” I answer miserably, hanging my head in my hands as I start crying my heart out. She can’t reverse out of my driveway fast enough once I climb out of her SUV. My heart sinks further when I step into my dark, silent house. No Jacob. No baby. And only crumbs left of my sanity.
Jacob
My first day as an official teacher shaping the young minds of our future can only be described as a goddamn train wreck. I struggle to get through the syllabus, the students casting me dubious and worried glances. One even asks me if he needs to go get the nurse because I keep sucking in air and grimacing every time I shift in my chair, another bag of fresh ice pilfered from the cafeteria pressed to my crotch under the desk where the students can’t see.
Penelope avoids me at all costs, the same as I do her. I know I hurt her when I snuck out of her house and then refused to open my door when she showed up at my apartment looking like a fertile goddess ready for me to bend her over and breed her. But I couldn’t let her in, even though my heart begged me to. I can’t even bring myself to explain to her why because the barest glimpse of her in the hallway makes my cock harden in the baggiest pair of slacks I own, which is one—disgusting since I’m surrounded by students, and it would likely land me in prison, painted as a pervert. And two—extraordinarily painful. Each brush of my zipper threatens to take me out and send me to my knees.
So I haul ass out of my classroom when the last bell rings, ignoring students and teachers alike as I shove my way through the crowded hallways. I want to die when I catch Penelope’s downhearted expression in the reflection of the school’s glass front doors before they slide open.
I’m sorry, Mama .
* * *
The next day, Penelope changes tactics. I look up from my morning cup of coffee as I stir in powdered creamer in the teacher’s lounge to find myself alone with her. She’s in a tight, red button-up blouse and the hip-hugging black skirt she wore last week. She’s ditched the heels for a pair of shiny red sandals that are just as sexy. I want to kneel before her and slip them off her feet, kiss her from her cute toes with their white-toe nail polish up to her pussy that’s begging to be filled with my cum.
I hold back a hiss as my dick springs to life, but I let it lose when she unfastens the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a sliver of her white bra plumping up her tits that I want to bury my face in. She rushes forward and presses her chest against my belly since she’s even shorter in her flat sandals.
“Hi, baby. Mama’s missed you.” She flicks my nipple through my forest green top and walks her first two fingers down my side toward my cock.
Right before she reaches it, I spring back and sidestep around her, hurrying to my classroom to sit behind my desk before any students arrive. I curse myself for leaving my coffee since I haven’t been able to sleep without Penelope by my side, then curse again for forgetting to grab a bag of ice from the cafeteria.
I work hard at pushing Penelope’s intensely seductive words from my mind by reciting the list of U.S. presidents, first in chronological order, then alphabetically, until my hard dick deflates just before the first bell rings. After that, I find other lists of prominent figures to recite whenever I think of her until I can finally function enough to get through my classes without tripping over my words.