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“Of course I do, but it’s a solo activity.”
He didn’t answer but smiled and leaned back as if he were settling in for a show. The evil rat bastard!
She plopped back and groaned. Well, it was to supposed to be punishment, and at least she was going to get off.
Paula placed her hand between her legs and stroked her clit.
The chair creaked again. Was he leaning forward? The notion of being watched was more hot than embarrassing. She upped her efforts, and soon her legs started to tense, and her belly quivered.
“Stop.”
The order made her freeze, and her arousal cooled like she’d dived into a cold lake.
Her eyes had drifted closed, but now she opened them so she could look at Jackson.
“You’re not allowed to come, Melda. Continue!”
“What! What’s the p—” A stern look stopped her question, and she started the process of arousing herself again.
Three times Jackson made her start and stop like that before he rose from the chair and grabbed her hand.
“Both your problems and your pleasure belong to me, Melda. Don’t forget it again.” He brought her hand to his mouth and licked her fingers clean—rubbing his tongue over the sensitive skin between her fingers while maintaining eye contact with her, as if she wasn’t horny enough already!
“Get dressed, Melda.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the day of Josh’s court hearing, Paula kept herself busy. She couldn’t help but worry for the young boy who had gone through so much at an early age.
Although the DA and defense had worked out a plea deal, in juvenile court the judge could ask for testimony on the case before they accepted or modified the agreement. The assigned judge was notorious for wanting the whole story.
After taking the statement of the latest victim in a string of convenience store robberies, Paula checked the time. She still had an hour to kill before she had to go to court.
She paused to think about all Josh had been through—the abuse from his mother and her boyfriends, the hit-and-run accident and drug dealing for which he was now facing the consequences, and his suicide attempt almost a year ago.
He was lucky he had James and Laura to take care of him now. He’d won the lottery when the two of them decided they wanted to be his foster parents. Paula hadn’t seen much of him herself, but the day of the confession she could see that his regret was genuine and not only because he had been caught. She hoped the judge would see things the same way.
She allowed her mind to drift back to previous weekend. She still couldn’t quite make sense of Jackson’s reaction to her home. He hadn’t punished her for the mess, hadn’t been upset or disgusted as she had feared. If anything, he’d taken it in his stride, offering quiet support instead of criticism.
That was what threw her the most.
She had braced for judgment, for that disappointed sigh she’d heard a thousand times before—from her mother, from her father, from teachers and relatives who expected her to fall in line.Sit still, stop fidgeting, don’t make noise, why can’t you just?—
She swallowed hard, pressing her fingertips against her temples, as if that could keep the memories at bay.
Jackson hadseenher, looked past the chaos, the clutter, the total lack of control in her space, and he hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t even hesitated.
A slow burn crawled up her neck, making her feel both too hot and too exposed. A flutter stirred deep in her stomach. She lowered her hands and placed them over her belly.
She had spent her whole life being too much and not enough at the same time. Too loud, too restless, too smart for her own good. Smarter than the rest of her family, though that never seemed to count for much. She was a constant disappointment to her parents, an only child who never fit the mold her mother had tried to force her into.
Her mother had wanted a living doll, a perfect little girl in pastel dresses and frilly socks, someone with whom to braid hair and sip tea. But Paula had wanted sneakers, scraped knees, and fast pitches across a softball field. When she had been old enough to refuse the skirts and ruffles, her mother had discarded her like an unwanted toy, shifting her attention to her cousins, whodidfit the mold.
Her father had never had much time for her either. When he wasn’t ignoring her, he was scolding. Yelling. Every mistake, every misstep, every breath that didn’t align with his expectations had been met with a sharp reprimand.
She’d learned not to expect approval from anyone.
Yet Jackson had looked at her disaster of a home and still—still—made it clear he wanted to be in her life.
