Page 108 of The Coach

Me: Yeah. I do.

Jackson

I curse under my breath, gripping my phone tighter.

She’s driving me fucking crazy.

I slide a hand down, palming myself through my sweats, groaning at the pressure.

My thumb hovers over my camera.

Fuck it.

I tug my sweats down just enough to wrap my hand around my length.

Then, I snap the photo.

Not too much—just enough.

Enough to make her suffer.

And I send it.

Ivy

I gasp out loud.

My entire body floods with heat.

Because there he is—his big hand wrapped around his cock, thick and leaking at the tip.

All for me.

Me: God, Jackson.

Jackson: I want you so bad I can’t fucking stand it.

I whimper.

Me: Me too.

His reply is instant.

Jackson: Then touch yourself, baby. And tell me how fucking good it feels.

I bite my lip, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My entire body is on fire. Every nerve ending tingling. I shouldn’t want this so bad, but I do.

Because Jackson fucking knows how to get to me.

His texts alone have me squirming, aching, needy. And now, with the image of him burned into my brain—his big hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself for me—I’m completely wrecked.

My fingers tremble as I slide my hand down my stomach, slipping past the waistband of my panties.

Me: I wish it was your hand.

Jackson’s reply comes instantly.

Jackson: Show me, baby.

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