At first, he, too, had said things like he wanted her there when he got home. He couldn’t stand to be apart from her for as long as it would take for her to have a girls’ night with a kind neighbor who had invited her over for a book club and drinks. At first it had been romantic.
But then it had turned into something else. Commands to stay in when he was at work. Threats about what he would do if he found out she was visiting her mother without him. “You want her to go back to being some white family’s maid?” he asked her. “Because I can make that happen. But I hope she’s got some retirement savings, because I don’t know anybody looking to hire a middle-aged live-in maid.”
Her mother didn’t have any retirement savings, and by the time Wayne stopped bothering to even pretend he was a remotely decent person, Josie didn’t feel like she had any choice but to do what he said for fear of what would happen to her mother if she left him.
Later, when she started volunteering at Ruth’s House, she found out this story was so common, it would have been a cliché if it hadn’t been happening to women across the country every day. Intake after intake told her the same tale: a guy who seemed like a fairytale come true at first only to morph into a cruel task master. These men would insist on getting them pregnant as soon as possible or setting up a beloved relative in a nice place, only to eventually use their loved ones against them. Many men had threatened to take their abused wives’ children away, and Wayne wasn’t the first asshole to threaten to put a parent out on the street.
After Josie finished shopping, she’d used the store’s ATM to withdraw some “walking around” money, only to discover her bank account had gone from three to five digits. She stared at her new balance, which was more than she could have made in a year doing domestic work. It was enough to keep the shelter open for the next six months at least with money leftover for her to start at UAB in the spring.
The money represented a fresh start, but it also represented what was really going on between her and Beau. As sweet as that scene had been this morning, she wasn’t his girlfriend, she was his kept woman. And that was all she’d ever be to him—something he’d bought and paid for.
Josie had come straight back from the grocery store, like Beau had told her to, but she had assured herself she wasn’t under his thumb the way she’d been under Wayne’s. She’d prove it by going to the shelter that night.
And if Beau tried to stop her, she’d remind him about the terms they’d agreed to. But when she’d crawled into bed naked with him after his appointment, it had been more than she’d expected.
She hadn’t been surprised he hadn’t wanted to talk about his appointment with the UAB neurosurgeon. But then he hadn’t let her finish the blow-job that had been meant to take his mind off of it.
Why had he insisted on coming inside of her, like he really did care about her and wasn’t just interested in having a play-thing until he could get back to his groupies in L.A.? Why had he held on to her like that when they came together, like he was trying to crawl inside of her, so they could be bound in the moment forever?
And what had possessed her to tell him about finding her father’s grave? She cringed at the memory. Obviously, she was letting herself get too close to a man who wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a client.
“Josie? Josie? Please report to the front desk!” Nancy’s young voice sounded frantic over the intercom and it was enough to snap her out of her Beau meditation.
She threw down the sheets she’d been folding and ran to the reception area.
“What’s up?” she said to the girl, who was ducked below the window, obviously hiding from whoever was out there. She’d dropped the metal curtain down, but that wasn’t enough to keep the sound of someone shouting, “Hey! Hey!” and banging so hard on the window the curtain rattled.
“There’s a guy out there who says his wife is here. I think he’s drunk.”
They both jumped when a fresh round of bangs sounded on the window. “Hey! I know you’re in there! Open up!”
“And there’s a new intake out there with him. He must have followed her in.”
“Did you call Curtis?”
“He’s still dealing with the guy from earlier.”
Josie cursed. This was what Sam referred to as a pile up and it was also the reason they’d wanted more than one security guard for the shelter for some time now. The problem with abusive husbands was they weren’t dumb. On big intake nights, Ruth’s House could usually count on at least one husband or boyfriend figuring out his wife or girlfriend was at Ruth’s House and creating a ruckus until Curtis threatened them with jail time. Then if they didn’t go away, Curtis would cuff them and take them to the security trailer, which sat behind Ruth’s House until the police showed up.
However, if another husband showed up while Curtis was in the security trailer, and managed to get past the first set of doors, usually by sneaking in behind a possible intake, that was what Sam called a “pile-up.”
Josie didn’t know what was scarier, that the situation happened enough for Sam to have a nickname for it or that it was happening right now.
“Did you call Sam? She’ll know what to do.”
“She’s in deep process with that blonde and her kids.” Nancy said. “But I can call her on the intercom if you think I should.”
Deep process meant the woman wasn’t sure if she could leave her abusive husband yet, so Sam had commanded they not be bothered while she tried to convince the woman to make a decision that could save both her and her children’s lives.
Josie shook her head. “No, let me see if I can handle it.”
Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the window and yanked open the curtain. “Sir! Our security guard will be back any moment now, so I suggest you stop banging on this glass and get out of here…”
She trailed off when she saw the person on the other side of the glass. It was Beau’s high school football buddy, Mike Lancer! About fifty pounds heavier, and from the look of his red drunk face, about twelve years meaner, but it was unmistakably him, nonetheless.
He slammed his hand against the window. “Josie Witherspoon. What the hell are you doing here? Do you have my wife and kids back there?”
The willowy blonde with two kids. Mike Lancer was the abusive husband they’d come here to escape.
“I- I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said, falling back on shelter protocol.
“I know she’s back there. Who the hell do you think you are?!”
“Sir, I’m asking you to leave now,” she said, using her best stern voice.
“You don’t think I know why you’re back in town? Probably servicing Beau like you did back in high school when you let him ‘tap that ass’ as you people like to say.”
He banged on the glass so hard, the whole wall seemed to rattle.
“You’re nothing but a whore!” he yelled. “And you’re lucky you’re behind that glass, because if you were out here, I’d teach you exactly what happens to little whores who go sticking their noses where they don’t belong!”
His words hit her like bullets, not just because part of what Mike was accusing her of was true, but also because Mike Lancer really did look angry enough to come through the glass.
But she swallowed her fear and picked up the phone. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll call the police. And then you’ll have to explain to them why you’re so far away from Forest Brook, shouting at us.”
Mike paled. Unlike Beau, he’d always been way more concerned with keeping up his family’s name.
He slammed his fist against the glass one last time, but in the end, he walked out of the shelter, glaring over his shoulder at Josie all the way.
And Josie let out a huge sigh of relief.
“Oh, my God! That was so scary!” Nancy said beside her. Her voice cracked on the last word and she covered her mouth with both hands, obviously fighting back tears. This was why receptionists tended not last long at Ruth’s House.
“It’s okay,” Josie said, drawing the younger girl into her arms. “I was scared, too.”
“I feel sick,” Nancy said into her shoulder.
“And I felt sick to my stomach, too,” Josie said, thinking about how Beau used to actually hang out with Mike before he’d left his Alabama life behind to join the NFL.
“No, I mean really sick!”
Then Nancy emptied the contents of her stomach down the back of Josie’s shirt.
“I’m so sorry!” the younger woman said sheepishly a few hours later when Josie left the center, dressed in some donation box clothes Sam had picked out for her while she’d been scrubbing Nancy’s regurgitated dinner off her body in one of the center’s showers.
“It’s okay,” she answered with a weary wave.
Josie was bone tired when she finally arrived home to a completely dark house a little after two a.m. But she found herself having to fight off the temptation to crawl into Beau’s bed and curl up in his strong arms.
He’s not paying to comfort you after a long day, she reminded herself as she crept past his door, and walked up the stairs to her own attic room. Besides he was probably furious with her for leaving without giving him the chance to throw a temper tantrum that would have kept her there longer than necessary.
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she reached her room and turned on the light.
But then she turned around and screamed in surprise. Beau Prescott was standing in the middle of her room, so rigid and straight, he would have looked like a statue if not for the fists opening and closing at his sides. And for once, despite his sunglasses and beard, she could tell exactly how he was feeling.
Furious. More furious than she’d ever seen him.
15
“Who helped you get up here…?” Josie trailed off, noticing the state of her small attic room. It looked like an elephant had come trundling through with papers scattered all over the floor and a chair knocked onto its side. No need to finish the question, because she already had her answer.
Beau had gotten his own self up here, that was how determined he’d been to confront her about leaving.
“You can’t be mad,” she said. “You said it was my old job with sex, and my old job had time off.”
“Take off your clothes,” he growled.
“I’m allowed to take time off.”
“You’re allowed to take Friday nights off. It’s Saturday morning now, so you belong to me. Now take off your clothes.”
She was about to protest, but before she could even get a word out, he said, “Take off your clothes or I’m going to do it for you.”
She eyed him warily, thinking there was no way he would or could actually follow through on that threat. But then as if reading her thoughts, he closed the space between them, and the next thing she knew, her long-sleeved donation box t-shirt was being ripped down the center and cool air hit her torso.
“What are you doing?”
He shoved the ruined top off her body, then his hands fumbled down her sides and the next thing she knew, the yoga pants were coming off. He shoved them down over her hips before tearing her thin cotton panties off her body and throwing them across the room.
“There,” he said. “Now get down on your hands and knees.”
“Wait,” she said, holding her hands out.
“Shut up,” he said. “Don’t say another fucking word to me. Just get down on your hands and knees.”
“I don’t think—”
“If I have to tell you again, I’ll find someone else to meet my needs, and you can go back to wherever you were living before my mother dredged you up. It’s your choice. Get down on your hands and knees or get out.”
It’s your choice. Josie clung to those words and tried not to think too hard about what she was doing as she got down on her hands and knees. “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.”
In less than a second, he was behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his dick lodged in the back crevice of her vagina. She held her breath again, expecting a rough entry, but then she felt two of his fingers press down on her clit, rubbing, rubbing. It was too hard to be called a caress, but not so hard that it to hurt. It was a punishment, she realized with a moan, one designed to show her who had the most power over her body.
And it was working. She could feel her formerly dry kit kat, begin to weep with need. As if to confirm it, he said. “I can feel you wet on my fingers. Your pussy’s begging me to get inside of you.”
He plunged his fingers into her, almost like he had that Wednesday after breakfast, but this time he didn’t also massage her clit.
She tried to resist, but the heat he was creating became too much. Soon she was riding his fingers, pressing back against his dick. Having it lodged against the bottom of her kit kat like this was nothing short of torture, and the two fingers inside of her just weren’t enough.
She found herself reaching up behind her and trying to guide him inside, but he grabbed that hand and pinned it to the floor. At the same time, he used his thigh to spread her legs further apart, so his fingers were even less satisfying than they had been before.
It only took a few minutes of this callous teasing before she was completely out of her mind.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she said. “I can’t—”
He suddenly took his hand out of her pussy and shoved the two fingers that had been plumbing her depths into her mouth, effectively stemming her flow of words.
“Taste how hot you are right now, how fucking much you want this. You’re such a bad girl, Josie.”
Josie clamped her lips around his fingers, and tasting herself like this, so hot and indecent, sent quivers through her.
“Does he know how hot you get for me?” Beau asked above her, his voice tight with anger. “When you were with him, did you let him know that every other day this week, you’ve given yourself to me?”
He lifted his cock away from her damp folds and asked, “Who paid for this? Whose dick do you want inside you right now?”
“Yours,” she moaned thoughtlessly.
“I want Mr. Prescott’s dick inside my pussy—repeat that back. I want to hear the words straight from your pretty mouth.”
“I want Mr. Prescott’s dick inside my pussy.” It was humiliating but true, and the sexual frustration was making her dumb with need. She tried to free her hand so she could masturbate herself, but he was too strong for her.
“Say you’re mine,” he said.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, not knowing what else to do to get the satisfaction her body was demanding.
And he finally shoved himself inside of her, so deep Josie’s back arched and she cried out when he filled her up completely with one thrust.
“You’re mine,” he said. “Mine. Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” she cried out.
He pushed into her, again and again, relentless and without mercy, and the heat, the pressure…
“Beau!” she screamed before exploding.
She felt his dick surge inside of her soon after. But unlike her, he didn’t make a sound, just kept angrily pumping into her until he was fully released. He then pulled out of her and stood up so he was looming above her.
“The next time you’re with Sam, I want you to picture yourself like this.” His voice was as cold as a block of ice. “Begging me to fuck you until I finally give you what he can’t.”
Without him to hold her up, Josie fell onto her side, ashamed of herself and her traitorous body, which had made her resort to begging Beau Prescott to fuck her as hard and as cold as he wanted.
She shut her eyes and she kept them closed until she heard Beau leave the room, kicking a fallen chair out of his way as he did so and then slamming the door behind him.
16
He’d gone too far. Beau only got to enjoy truly showing Josie who was boss for a few minutes, before cold, hard reality hit him.
He found his bed and sank
into it, feeling even worse than earlier in the day when his best hope for getting his sight back informed him they weren’t even at the human trials phase yet. The truth was, he’d let himself forget Josie hadn’t spent the week in bed with him because she’d wanted to, but because he’d been paying her to. And all the eating, reading, and laughing they’d done? It had seemed magical to him, but for her it was just a job.
He’d let himself get caught up in the fantasy, had actually allowed himself to believe Josie was enjoying being with him as much as he enjoyed being with her. But that had been dream, one he’d woken up from with Mac knocking on his door.
Knowing she was out with Sam, that another man was touching her, had nearly driven him crazy. At first he’d gone up to her room to fire her all over again, but then the first hour had passed, and then four more. Each time he pressed the time button on his phone to find another hour had passed, his anger doubled, and by the time she entered the room, he was in a full on rage.
Maybe if she hadn’t come in with the scent of soap and some fruity shampoo clinging to her body and hair, like a shower was enough to scrub off what she’d been doing with her other lover. He’d wanted to punish her, presumably for sneaking out, but really for choosing to be with another man after the week they’d shared.
And now here he was, lying in his bed alone, desperately aware that whatever magical thing he’d thought he’d been building with Josie had burned up in the fire of his rage.
He fell into a heavy, dark sleep, and when he finally awoke, the talking clock on his nightstand told him it was now late in the afternoon.
His empty stomach confirmed that fact with a grim tug of hunger.
“Mac?” he called out. No answer. Then he remembered he’d been so pissed the night before, he’d fired Mac on the spot. Just like the jerk Josie had been insinuating he was since they’d struck their deal.
He cursed. “Josie?” he called out now.
His Pretend Baby Page 25
