Page 63 of The Woman on the Jury

But no Halle.

There was no way she could have gotten past the guards.

Circling back, I checked out on the balcony before making my way upstairs.

And then, like a kick to the fucking crotch, there she was.

In front of the fire with the TV on.

Dead asleep.

Sprawled out in one of the chairs in my bedroom, her bare legs draped over the arm. The tee I’d given her the night before had ridden up almost to her panty line, and it took every fucking ounce of my self-control not to walk over there, spread them, and bury myself between. Face, cock, I didn’t care. I just wanted more of her.

Especially after getting my fingers insider her tight pussy, feeling her wetness all over my hand as I finger-fucked her, listening to her whimpers and moans as I drove her up and through an orgasm.

Even just the memory of it had my cock hardened against my pants, aching for fulfillment. To feel her hand, mouth, pussy clenched around it.

“Fuck,” I groaned to myself.

And that, to someone who was staying in a strange place, and also accustomed to living alone, was enough to make Halle jerk awake, eyes wide but unseeing for a second.

I watched as she adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings before her gaze finally fell on me.

“This was the only TV I could find,” she said, voice thick and sleepy. And, fuck, if that wasn’t a good sound.

My gaze slipped down her body again, and it was only then that she seemed to remember her state of relative undress, dropping her legs down from the arm, and stretching the tee as far down as it would go.

“There’s a TV in every room,” I said, gaze back on her face. Which was how I saw the change come over her before she was bursting out of the chair, and taking several angry steps toward me.

“How was I supposed to know that? You left before I even got up. I was left alone in an apartment with nothing to doall day. I didn’t even get to see my grandfather!” she added, voice getting higher.

“I don’t want to risk you leaving today,” I said. “You can call him.”

“And how was I supposed to call him when I don’t have my phone?” she snapped.

Right.

Her phone.

I’d been tuned in enough to make sure she had something to wear, and food to eat, but the whole entertainment and access to the outside world thing had escaped me, I’ll admit.

“Use mine,” I said, reaching for it.

“I want my own phone,” she hissed.

“And I’ll get it for you. But that’s not going to happen right this moment. So use my phone to call your grandfather. Or don’t. I don’t particularly care either way.”

“He is in danger too,” she said, snatching the phone out of my hand, but carefully enough that our fingers didn’t brush.

“He’s not,” I said. At her incredulous look, I held up a hand. “I doubled his guard. And that’s on top of the hospital staff and security. He’s safe. You’re the one you need to be worrying about.”

“I’m literally locked in a fortress with security guards,” she grumbled, swiping on my phone to find the hospital’s number, then calling.

She walked past me, and down the stairs, wanting some privacy. I let her, needing a second to pull my damn self together.

I hadn’t been prepared for how much seeing her in my shirt, and only my shirt, would impact me.

The lack of control I had over my own desire around her was, frankly, fucking embarrassing. Like I was a goddamn teenager again or some shit.

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