Page 57 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“Fuck.” He lifted me onto his thighs, grabbed a condom from his wallet, and rolled it on with quick, practiced movements.

“Come here.” His voice was rough as he pulled me back onto his lap and kissed me hard.

I lifted up again, lined him up, and sank down in one long, burning push. He filled me inch by inch until I was fully seated and we both went still, shaking. He was thick enough that the stretch bordered on pain, and the full, buried weight of him inside me knocked the air from my lungs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so good.”

I started moving. Slow rolls of my hips at first, then longer rises and drops that took him deeper every time. He let me set the pace, hands locked hard on my thighs, eyes fixed on my face like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

But it wasn’t enough.

I leaned in and nipped his earlobe. "Is this really all you've got?"

Jackson went perfectly still. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

I smiled. "Show me."

Whatever leash he’d been keeping snapped. His hands locked hard around my hips, he dragged in one sharp breath through his teeth, and then he planted his feet and slammed up into me. Hard. Deep. Wet skin met skin in a relentless filthy rhythm. I braced one hand on the roof, the other clawing into his shoulder, and met him stroke for stroke.

“Like that,” I gasped.

He growled, slowing just enough to search my face. "Still okay?"

“Yes,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

That was all he needed. One hand stayed clamped on my hip, the other forced between us to work my clit in tight, ruthless circles. The angle hit that place inside me with every stroke until I was making sounds I barely recognized, raw and broken every time he bottomed out.

The windows were completely fogged. Outside, the world no longer existed. The car rocked with every thrust. His mouth found my neck again, sucking hard enough to make me gasp, before trailing down to my breast. His teeth grazed my nipple, and my whole body tightened around him.

I was close. So fucking close.

“Jackson—”

“Come,” he growled against my skin, thrusting harder. “Let me feel you.”

The orgasm slammed into me without warning. Three weeks of resistance collapsed in a single brutal wave. I clenched hard around him, thighs shaking, a raw sound ripping from my throat as it tore through me. He kept thrusting, relentless, forcing the climax to keep going until I was reduced to broken whimpers.

Only then did he let himself follow.

With a deep, guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came, arms wrapped tight around me, face pressed into my neck as his body shuddered with release.

We stayed locked together for a long time, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other.

I didn’t know what to call this. Ten years of fear and planning, and somehow I had let myself trust him completely. My cat trusted him. That alone should have terrified me, but it didn’t.

He stayed buried inside me, breathing against my throat, one hand cradling the back of my neck while his thumb traced slow, absent circles over my skin.

Eventually, he lifted his head and studied my face. His gaze drifted briefly to my neck before his thumb brushed gently over the spot where his mouth had been.

That small, tender touch snapped me out of it.

Reality crashed back in, cold and brutal. I was still joined to him. Still sitting in the lap of the man whose father I planned to kill. Two names left on the list, and I had just fucked the one person who could destroy the entire plan if he ever learned the truth.

I climbed off him without a word, settled onto the seat beside him, and pulled my dress down. My hands shook while I tried to smooth my hair. I forced them still and looked away.

Jackson stayed quiet. He dealt with the condom and straightened his ruined shirt, eyes never leaving me.

“Harper…”