Page 97 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“People will hear us,” I panted against his mouth.

“I don’t care,” he growled against my lips. “Let them hear.”

He fucked me harder, one hand gripping my ass to pull me into every thrust. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle the sounds I couldn’t hold back. The bathroom filled with our ragged breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin.

Pressure built fast, sharp and inevitable, until the orgasm crashed through me. I clenched around him, shaking, face buried in his neck. Jackson followed right after with a rough, broken groan, hips stuttering as he came deep inside me, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

For a long moment we stayed locked together, breathing hard.

Then reality crept back in. Jackson pulled out carefully and looked at me, his expression softening in a way that made my chest ache.

He cleaned me up with paper towels before helping me down from the counter and straightening my clothes. A stray piece of hair had fallen loose. He tucked it behind my ear, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

When we finally stepped out of the bathroom, the hallway had thinned out. Lectures had already started, leaving only scattered groups of students. A couple of guys near the water fountain smirked and elbowed each other. One girl blushed and quickly looked away.

Lia was walking toward us when she spotted us. Her steps faltered, nostrils flaring as our combined scent reached her. Her gaze flicked from me to Jackson and back, realization settling across her face.

I turned to him, caught his shirt, pulled him back for one more kiss, then let him go.

Let her see. Maybe then she'd finally get the message.

For a split second, something ugly crossed Lia's face. Then it was gone.

“Jackson,” she said evenly. “We’re late.”

“You didn’t have to wait,” he replied, still looking at me. His thumb brushed lightly across my cheek before he stepped back. “See you at lunch.”

He headed down the hall. Lia followed without another word.

I watched them disappear around the corner and let out a long breath.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

By lunch, half the school seemed to know about the sparring video. And the bathroom.

I noticed the whispers and sideways glances. Cassidy noticed too.

“Okay, what did you do?” she demanded as we crossed the cafeteria. “You’re getting a lot of looks.”

Before I could answer, Jackson intercepted us. One hand gently caught my elbow while the other redirected Cassidy by her backpack strap.

“Sit with us,” he said, already steering us toward the large table his group usually claimed near the windows.

Cassidy blinked. “Uh… sure? I guess we’re doing this now.”

“There’s more room here,” Jackson said when I shot him a look.

“There’s also significantly more testosterone,” I pointed out.

“You’ll survive.”

Debatable.

I slid onto the bench beside him. The second I settled, Jackson’s arm curled around my waist, his hand spreading possessively over my hip as he pulled me closer.

“God,” Cassidy muttered, glancing around the table. “This is like accidentally walking into a men’s cologne commercial.”

The rest of the guys arrived a moment later, loud and chaotic as always. They caught Jackson’s scent on me and smirked like idiots. Rick fist-bumped him under the table, about as subtle as a brick.