I squint at her cheek, grazing my thumb across it. It looks even redder and more swollen in the light. “How hard did that girl hit you?”

She shrugs. “A normal hit.” Then she grabs the bottom of my shirt and yanks me toward her. “But it doesn’t matter. I got her back twice so everything’s good,” she says and then smashes her lips into mine so hard I think we’ll have bruises in the morning.

I slip my tongue inside her as my fingers wander through her hair, up her body, under her dress, into her panties. I feel her from the inside but only for a moment because it’s all that I can take. Then I pull my fingers out of her and peel her tight dress off, chucking it onto the floor, too. She helps me out of my shirt and then undoes the button of my jeans so I can I slip them off. I notice that she only uses her left hand and I wonder if she hurt her other hand when she hit the girl. I’m about to ask her when she unhooks her bra, and then all thoughts leave my mind.

I grab her roughly and seal my lips onto hers as I back her up. She gasps against my mouth as her back slams into the wall and my knee bumps against the nightstand, knocking my lap onto the floor. The room goes dark, a small amount of light flowing in from the Christmas lights outside as I stroke her thighs, feeling her skin as I explore every inch of her mouth with my tongue until our lips are swollen and I need air.

As I pull away, she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth hard, tracing her tongue across my lip ring and driving me mad. I groan as she frees my lip and I grind up against her, sucking kisses down her jawline to her neck. I gently bite at her skin, tasting her, rolling my tongue along her flesh as my fingers hook the edge of her panties and she makes these sexy whimpering noises. I move back only to slide them down her legs, and then I yank my boxers off. As I lean into kiss her again, I hear voices from just outside the hall. My mom laughing and Thomas saying something really loud.

Ella and I pause, panting heavily, her chest colliding with mine every time she lets out a breath.

“Maybe we should slow down,” she whispers, blinking. “At least until they go to sleep. They might hear us.”

“No fucking way,” I tell her, seeking for a solution where we can be noisy without anyone hearing us. I reach for my iPod and click it on, cranking up the volume of “Change (In the House of Files),” by Deftones, and the music rises over the voices.