His One and Only

by Theodora Taylor

  But then he reached for her. “Come here,” he said, pulling her into his arms and curling a hand around her head, so she had no choice but to lie on his chest.

  A few minutes later, she got up the nerve to ask. “Do you want me to go back to my bed? I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Beau.”

  Still no answer.

  She carefully slid off his sunglasses and sure enough his eyes were closed. So she guessed she was staying.

  She reached across him to place the sunglasses on his nightstand, then curled up close and settled in, all the while trying to ignore how good it felt to have just done something that went against every moral fiber in her body.

  CHAPTER 11

  ONE MOMENT THE STADIUM WAS ROARING and the next, everything went completely silent. It had always been like this for Beau after the ball was snapped, from the very first time he played quarterback. It was as if a mute button had been pushed, one that turned off all the distracting sounds and sent the world into slow motion.

  One of his best wide receivers was open in the end zone, but there was also a two-hundred-and-fifty pound linebacker blitzing toward him with the ferocity of a rabid dog.

  Beau feinted to the side, and cocked his arm to throw the ball, but then something hit him from behind—a three-hundred pound defensive end he was told later.

  That guy was just trying to do his job, which was to take out the quarterback before he could throw the ball. If Beau hadn’t been totally focused on his receivers, maybe he would have heard him coming. Maybe he would have thrown the ball away, or dumped it off to his hot receiver.

  But Beau didn’t see the big lineman coming, so it was a complete surprise when he got hit from behind. He didn’t go down, but the force of the blow sent his helmet flying.

  For a moment he just stood there stared at his helmet in a daze, trying to figure out why it was no longer on his head. Helmets weren’t supposed to come off. The NFL had all sorts of rules about chin straps being securely tightened because the last thing you wanted was to get hit when your helmet was off.

  “Don’t look at the coach.”

  “What?” He looked up and all the other football players were gone off the field, except for one. A tall, muscular guy dressed in the Suns uniform. He looked exactly like him, except he had on a pair of Ray-Bans.

  “Don’t look at the coach,” the quarterback who looked exactly like him said again. “If you dive for your helmet, then you’ll get away with just a concussion. If you look at the coach, then it becomes a freak accident.”

  “I don’t understand,” Beau said to his other self. “What’s the difference?”

  “If you look at the coach, that means you won’t have a helmet on, and your occipital lobe will be unprotected when the other guy hits you.”

  Beau scrunched up his forehead and looked at the coach to see if he could see what other-Beau was seeing. “What other guy—?”

  That’s when the blitzing linebacker hit him from what should have been his left side, but ended up being square in the back of his head, sending a white hot flash through the part of his brain that housed his primary visual cortex.

  Then the world went black.

  Beau woke with a start. His eyes opened to nothing, an unnerving absence of visual sensation that he would have been hard put to describe even if he wanted to. And just like every morning since taking that unexpected second hit, his heart seized with panic until he remembered what had happened, that he was blind now.

  But unlike those other mornings, the disappointment of waking up without his sight gave way to another realization: He wasn’t alone in bed. Josie Witherspoon lie next to him. He could feel her thin arm flung across his stomach and the warmth of her steady breath across his chest where her head rested.

  He pulled her up so he could feel her face next to his, then pressed his lips to her forehead, her closed eyes, her nose, and one of her cheeks, before he found her mouth. She responded with a low moan. Warm and willing, but still half asleep.

  “Open your eyes, Josie,” he said. “I don’t want to miss this.”

  He could feel her smiling against his lips when she answered, “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.”

  But then she went still.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Your eyes,” she answered. “This is the first time I’ve seen them since you came home.”

  Now it was his turn to go still. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing his Ray-Bans. “Did you take my sunglasses off?”

  “I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable without them.”

  His heart once again seized with panic, but this time for different reasons. “Hand them to me.”

  “But your eyes look fine without them. Just like they used to, in fact.” Her voice sounded a little breathless.

  He knew that. That’s why he wore the sunglasses, so people wouldn’t see the man he used to be when they looked at him. “Hand them to me. Now.”

  The bed creaked and he felt Josie’s small breasts brush his chest. A moment later, the glasses were placed in his hand. He jammed them on his face, and immediately felt better, sheltered and protected from things he’d rather not think about. He pulled Josie back into his arms, continuing with the kiss he had initiated earlier as if they’d never had the sunglasses conversation at all.

  “What’s going on now?” he asked between kisses. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m, um… kissing you. Or you’re kissing me. I guess we’re kissing each other.” She cleared her throat. “Your… thing is pressed into my kit kat. You’re, um… really excited.”

  He stopped kissing her face and neck. “Just me?” He turned his whole body toward hers and pushed himself into her, pressing just hard enough to slip inside her warm folds, but not so hard that he got all the way in. “You’re not excited, too?”

  “I’m—” her breath caught when he rocked against her, which was enough to tell him his bulge had successfully made contact with her clit. “I’m excited.”

  He let his tongue lazily explore her neck before asking, “Excited enough, to let me all the way in?”

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “I think so.”

  “You think so?” he repeated. “That’s not good enough, darlin. I’m going to need you to check.”

  “Ch- check?”

  He loved how nervous she sounded. “That’s right. I’ll be needing a confirmation of readiness before we go any further.”

  “I’m ready,” she said. And this time she pushed herself against his rigid member. “I’m definitely ready.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What reason do you think I’d possibly have to lie about that?”

  She probably thought frank question would be enough to get her off the hook, but Beau wasn’t having it. “What happened to ‘Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott’?”

  There was a pause… then… “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.”

  “I want confirmation,” he repeated.

  “What kind of confirmation?”

  “Why don’t you stick your hand down there and make sure you’re ready?”

  Silence was his only answer.

  He reluctantly let go of her and pushed back, putting some space between them. “I’m waiting,” he said.

  More silence, but then the bed creaked, which he assumed meant she was actually doing what he said. Just the thought of her touching herself was enough to turn his morning wood into top-of-the-day steel. “Don’t forget to narrate, darlin’,” he said.

  “I’ve got my fingers on my kit kat,” she said.

  “Just on?” He let his hand descend to his own nether regions and found his dick nearly standing up straight it was so hard. “That’s not good enough. I want you to do a thorough exploration. From the inside. Put your index finger in.”

  The bed creaked again, and he imagined her opening herself up and putting one finger into her wet snatch.

 
“It’s in,” she said, her voice tremulous.

  “All the way in.”

  More movement, and her voice rose in pitch when she answered, “Yes, all the way in.”

  “And what are you findings?” he asked, stroking himself.

  “I’m wet,” she answered.

  “How wet?”

  “Very wet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m very sure,” she answered.

  “Just in case, put your middle finger in there, too.”

  This time she made a small smothered sound. “It’s in there too, now.”

  “And it fits?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’m still not convinced,” he said. “Go ahead and put those other two fingers in there, too.”

  Her knee fell against his side, and he nearly came in his hand knowing it was because she was opening her legs wider to do what he said.

  “I’m wet,” she said. “I’m so wet.”

  It was no longer safe to keep stroking himself, so he said, “I’m not so sure your fingers aren’t too small for the job. I’m going to need to perform the check myself.”

  Josie’s hips jerked when he removed her hand and replaced it with his own.

  “Oh, God,” she said.

  “I don’t hear you narrating.”

  “I… you have your first two fingers inside of me.”

  “Be more specific, Josie. The details are the best part.”

  “You’ve got them kind of hooked in there and you’re… you’re rubbing your hand over the rest of my kit kat.”

  “And what are you doing, Josie?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I guess I’m trying to rub back.”

  “And why are you rubbing back?”

  “Because,” she had to stop for a moment, even as her hips ground up against his hand. “I’m trying to get more.”

  “More what?”

  “More of your hand. More of… I don’t know! I don’t know.” Her breath was coming out in short spurts now.

  “I think you do know,” he whispered in her ear. “I think you know exactly what you want. I can feel your clit getting bigger, darlin’. It knows what it wants, even if you don’t.”

  “I—oh, God…!”

  He felt her pussy clench and then there was a rush of liquid over his fingers.

  “Now you’re ready.” He waited until she was done before pulling his fingers out. He put them into his mouth and tasted her cum. “I’ll need you to hand me a condom, then I want you to get on top, darlin’.”

  She let out a few ragged breaths before answering, “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.”

  He heard his nightstand drawer open and close, then he felt her climb on top of him, settling her butt right above his pelvis. He could feel her soaking wet pussy on his abdomen and his dick spasmed, threatening to go off right then and there if he didn’t get inside of her.

  He barely managed to get the condom on his pulsing dick, yet he couldn’t resist continuing to toy with her. “Final test. Put me inside of you.”

  “You want me to…? Um…”

  She sounded a little stymied, and that surprised him. Had her husband never let her get on top? If Beau could see, he’d take every opportunity to watch Josie Witherspoon coming on top of his dick. If he’d been married to Josie—

  He stopped himself right there. Josie hadn’t liked him enough to agree to so much as a date in high school. And now that he was blind, the only reason she was in his bed was because he’d agreed to pay her an exorbitant amount to be there. He doubted there was any amount of money that could convince her to marry him.

  But he could imagine it, he told himself. “That’s exactly what I want, darlin’,” he said out loud, picturing her with a big diamond ring on her finger that announced to the world that Josie Witherspoon belonged to him.

  There was a pause, then he felt her tentatively take hold of his dick.

  “I don’t hear you talking.”

  “I’ve got your thing in my hand… again.”

  His cock spasmed when her fingers slid over it. “Fuck, Josie, I wanna hear you call it a dick. Or a cock. Or anything but those candy-ass words you keep subbing in for it.”

  “I’ve got your dick in my hands,” she said. I’m…”

  He felt her lift up, and the next thing he knew the head of his cock was enfolded within her sweet pussy. “I’m pushing it in.” Her voice strained, and it was easy to picture her sitting on his cock, sucking in her breath as she pushed him into her slick tunnel until he was all the way in.

  She wiggled on top of him, and there was wonderment in her voice when she said, “I didn’t think it would fit all the way in from this position.”

  He was surprised, too. She fit so tight around him; it was like she’d been custom made to sit on his dick. Custom made for him.

  He groaned. It had been fun letting Josie take the lead for a little while, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her delicious ass with both hands, and pulled her hips forward.

  She moaned above him, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily.

  “You had better not have your eyes closed,” he said.

  “Your hands are on my butt and your dick is going in and out of my kit kat.”

  “Tell me how it feels,” he said.

  “Good.” Her hands splayed on his chest and she leaned forward. But she must not have realized that action would not only make him go in deeper but also bring his cock in direct contact with her clit, because she cried out in surprise. “Oh, my God! So good…”

  The tips of her breasts grazed his chest as he moved her up and down on his cock. He was glad when her breaths quickened above him, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

  She came with a broken cry only a few seconds before he exploded inside the condom. “Fuck, Josie, fuck…” he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down, holding on to her with fierce tightness until he was empty.

  “I can’t believe…” Josie said. Then, “…I can’t even form a sentence.”

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door, causing Josie to let out a squeak of surprise.

  “Mr. Prescott, it’s me, Mac.”

  Josie began to squirm above him. “Oh, no!” she whispered.

  Why were older black people always trying to interrupt whenever he was in the sack with Josie?

  “Go away, Mac,” he snarled.

  “I can hear you’re… busy, Mr. Prescott, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need my services today. I could run out and get us some breakfast, since from what I heard, Miss Josie is, er…also busy.”

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God. I can’t believe this is happening.” On top of him Josie tried to wiggle free but Beau kept her right where she was, on top of his cock, even though he was now fully spent.

  “Go away, Mac,” he said again, even surlier this time. “And don’t come back.”

  “Don’t come back?” Mac said. “Are you firing me, sir?”

  “You can’t fire him!” Josie whispered. “This job is how he puts food on the table for him and his wife. It’s not his fault he caught you banging the help.”

  Irritation prickled inside of him. Apparently, Josie was still in the habit of defending other people against him. And she obviously thought he was in the habit of firing people. Beau harrumphed. Fire someone once before you make her your mistress, and you’re labeled a mean boss for life.

  “No, Mac, I’m not firing you,” he called back. “I’m giving you most of the week off with pay. Now get and don’t come back until the big appointment on Friday.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he answered. “Now get out of here.”

  “All right, see you Friday morning.” Apparently Mac knew better than to look free vacation days in the mouth, because the next thing they heard was the sound of his receding footsteps.

  “Happy now?” Beau asked Josie.

  “Well, you did
n’t have to be so rude about it. I mean, cussing? That man’s old enough to be your father.”

  He grinned. “Who do you think taught me how to cuss? If you’ve got a problem with how I handle business, you need to take that up with Dad’s ghost.”

  She went still above him. “I was sorry to hear about your daddy’s passing.”

  Beau finally released her from his hold, the mood effectively killed. “Don’t be. He was a bastard. You knew that, everybody did. And at least we were finally able to take the company public, and fill dad’s vacant CEO position with someone who, unlike me, actually gives two shits about the company.”

  “Maybe so, but I should have made it back for his funeral. I mean, you came back to Birmingham for my mother’s funeral. I should have done the same.”

  Her voice sounded far away now, like she was talking to him but giving her full attention to something else.

  “Why don’t you run down and whip us up some breakfast?” he said, trying to get her back. “Something good like pancakes.”

  That did it. He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Mac wouldn’t approve.”

  “Well, Mac isn’t here, is he?”

  She chuckled and said, “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “WHATEVER YOU SAY, MR. PRESCOTT” was a phrase Josie became very familiar with over the course of the week, during which they fell into a comfortable but intense routine of amazing sex, followed by meals that definitely weren’t on Beau’s diet plan.

  She whipped up as many of his old favorites as she could, given the challenge of having to use whatever ingredients were in the house. But eventually she told Beau that she had to go to the grocery store.

  “Does that involve you leaving the house?” he asked when she introduced the subject over a breakfast of grits smothered in butter, cream, and cheese on Wednesday morning.

  “You know it does,” she answered, fingering the lace trim on the black satin nightie she was wearing. She’d overnighted it to herself a couple of days ago, thinking he’d like the feel of it, even if he couldn’t see it. She’d been right. It was eleven in the morning, but they were just now eating breakfast because he’d kept her up well into the night “breaking in the nightie,” as he called it.