Page 156 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Jackson snarled, as he spilled deep inside me, pulse after pulse. The knot kept every drop trapped, forcing my body to keep it all. He held me there, pinned against the door, both of us shaking.

“Mine,” he growled against my throat, teeth grazing the mating mark. “All fucking mine.”

I could barely speak. Only a broken moan escaped as another smaller orgasm rolled through me, milked by the thick knot stretching me open.

Jackson didn’t pull out. He couldn’t. Instead he adjusted his grip and carried me across the room. I whimpered at the movement, the knot shifting inside me with every step, sending sharp sparks through my body. He sat on the new couch, keeping me in his lap, still impaled on him.

I collapsed against his chest, panting, trembling, the sharpest edge of the heat momentarily dulled but far from gone. His arms banded around me, holding me like he had no intention of ever letting go. One hand stroked slowly down my back while the other stayed firm on my hip, possessive and anchoring me on his knot.

His forehead pressed to mine. “God, you feel perfect,” he rasped.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My body was still catching up, every nerve lit and oversensitive.

Soon the heat started rising again. It came slow at first, then more insistent, a low burn spreading through my veins. A needy sound slipped out of me before I could stop it. Without thinking I began to rock against him, as much as the knot allowed. Every small movement sent fresh sparks through me.

The night was only beginning, and the next few days would be sweet torture. Time bled forward and then fractured. Light turned into dark and back into light again until I stopped keeping track. Everything narrowed down to heat and hands and the relentless pull of him, over and over, until nothing else existed.

By Tuesday evening, the worst of the heat had finally broken.

I was still sore all over, every muscle aching in that deep, satisfied way, but I could think again. My cat was curled up inside me, passed out and thoroughly smug.

Jackson lay beside me, one arm draped possessively over my waist. He felt me stir and pressed a kiss to my temple.

“You back with me?” he asked, voice rough from days of little sleep.

“Barely.” My own voice came out hoarse. “How long was that?”

“Three days. You did good.”

I shifted and immediately winced. Everything was still tender. I remembered very little of the last three days, only flashes of endless need, Jackson’s hands, his knot locking us together again and again, and the world narrowing down to nothing but him.

I looked around. We were in the new apartment’s bedroom. Or what passed for one. Just a queen mattress on the floor, sheets tangled everywhere, and an open sports bag in the corner with Jackson’s clothes spilling out. The rest of the place was still mostly empty.

Jackson’s hand stroked down my spine.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore. Like I got fucked within an inch of my life for three straight days.” I tilted my head to look at him. “You knotted me. A lot.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction. “I’m going to miss it.”

I blinked. “The knot?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’ll miss that.”

“You’re insane.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

He wasn’t wrong. The knot only happened with a mate and only during heat.

Reality crept in slowly.

“I missed my pills,” I said.

Jackson went still.

“I took them every day before this. Pregnancy is unlikely, but… not impossible.”