Thinking about how he had thanked her for the nightie by dipping his head between her legs and licking and kissing her down there until she begged him to stop because the back-to-back orgasms were becoming too much, she crossed her legs and tried to focus on the grocery store issue.
“Imagine these grits with shrimp and some green onions. Maybe bacon, too.”
“God, you fight dirty, Josie Witherspoon.” He threw down his cloth napkin. “Go on then. I got to take a shower anyways and now I got a hankering for shrimp and grits I know won’t be going away until you break out Miss Loretta’s old recipe.”
Josie took advantage of his blindness to pump her fist in triumph. At least she thought it was a triumph.
But when she went to clear the dishes, Beau caught her by the arm. And one arm was all he needed to pull her into his lap. Soon his other hand was under her nightie and inside her womanhood, exploring her wet folds with rough curiosity. And her pussy, despite being a little sore still from last nights’ sexual Olympics, nonetheless rallied, the bud between her legs standing at attention.
“Well, look at this,” he drawled in her ear. “Josie Witherspoon, were you sitting over there with no panties on, getting wet, thinking about what all we did last night?”
Since that had been exactly what she’d been doing, her only answer to that was to blush.
He was massaging her clit now. “You know, I was going to leave you alone this morning, but it seems to me you might have one more orgasm in you.”
He still had on the sweatpants he wore as pajama bottoms, but she could feel his rod, so hard and heavy against the back of her pussy, he might as well have had it pulled out.
Now his fingers were relentlessly plunging into her tunnel while the ball of his palm made circles over her clit with a steady rhythm.
She bit her lip and cried out, the satin material of her nightie gliding over her body while his hand brought her to rough climax.
Bubbles of pleasure rose through her kit kat and then exploded inside of her, turning Josie into a sack of liquid bones as she slumped forward on the table.
“Now you can go to the grocery store,” he said from behind her. “And pick up some condoms so I can welcome you home good and proper.”
Despite his promise to welcome her home, when she came in with the groceries, she found him in the kitchen fuming in front of the open refrigerator.
Josie took in the overturned bowl of fruit on the counter and the several jars on the floor at Beau’s feet, and immediately figured out what was going on.
“You looking for something?” She kept her voice casual and relaxed.
“A Coke,” he answered, his jaw tight. “I haven’t had one in like a year, because I’m always in training.”
By Coke, Josie knew he meant any soda. Like many southerners, Beau called all sodas Coke.
Josie glanced at the two cans of Pepsi, which unlike the poor mayonnaise and pickle jars, sat unmolested in the very back of the fridge. “Here, I can get one for you.”
“No, I don’t want you to get it for me. What did I say about you offering me help?”
“Yeah, but seriously, it’s just a Coke. And it’s right there, if you just let me—”
“Get out.”
Josie blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. It’s my house, my kitchen, and I’m paying you to do whatever I say. So get the fuck out.”
Josie opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. From the rigid way Beau was holding the refrigerator door open, she could tell he wasn’t going to stop until he’d found his Coke. Without her help.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.” But this time it didn’t feel like the soft joke it had become between them over the past few days.
She set the two bags of groceries down in the corner as far away from the refrigerator as she could and left through the large, hinged patio doors at the back of the house.
“WHERE WERE YOU?” Beau asked when Josie came back into his bedroom a couple of hours later. “I tried using the intercom but you didn’t answer.”
She glanced at the intercom, which he hadn’t used since he got here.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
“No, but…” He touched his Ray-Bans, looking a little uncomfortable. “Where were you?”
“Well, first I was reading in the shed. Then I had to spend some time cleaning up the mess in the kitchen and putting away the groceries that didn’t spoil when you ordered me to get out.”
She waited then, but true to form, Beau just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fist.
Prescotts don’t apologize, she reminded herself.
“What were you reading?” he asked.
She folded her arms. “Nothing you’d know.”
“Try me.”
“It was this novel, the latest in a series by Clara Quinn—she’s a black sci-fi writer. It just came out and they had it at the library.”
“The new Clara Quinn is out?”
“You know Clara Quinn?”
“What, you think you’re the only one around here who appreciates a well-written book? Half of being a quarterback is traveling to the next game on a plane or a bus, so yeah, I read a lot, just like you.”
He turned away from her. “Or at least I used to.”
She knew better than to offer to order the book for him on Audible, since that went against his order not to offer to help him. But… “Maybe I could read it out loud, and we could enjoy it together?” she asked. “It’s really good, and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about a Clara Quinn book in years.”
His lips thinned into a mean smile. “So Nerd Book Club isn’t happening anymore?”
And she almost smiled herself, remembering how Beau used to call out, “Hey Josie, Nerd Book Club’s at the back door!” whenever Colin showed up at the service entrance with a stack of comic books under his arm.
“No.” She told him like she told Mindy. “Colin and I fell out of touch.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And your ex-husband didn’t read?”
“Only for work,” she answered, thinking about how often Wayne had derided her for having her nose in a book when she should have been concerning herself with being a better wife and homemaker.
“How about some fried chicken for lunch?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
Lunch was a much less sexy affair than breakfast had been. Her back in her jeans and plaid shirt. Beau eating his food like it was part of a grim prison sentence.