Page 111 of The Coach

Me: Yes.

Jackson: Then be a good girl and let me hear you come again.

And just like that?—

I shatter.

Again.

Jackson

I grip my phone so fucking tight my knuckles turn white.

Jesus.

I’m already hard as steel, my cock throbbing in my hand, but Ivy? She’s wrecking me.

I’m picturing her exactly how I want her—flushed, breathless, needy as hell with my baby inside her, moaning my name like she can’t fucking help it.

Me: You close again, baby?

A pause. Then?—

Ivy: Yes.

Fuck.

My jaw clenches. My stomach tightens. I stroke myself harder, my breath coming out ragged as I wait for her next message.

Me: Then be a good girl and let me hear you come again.

For a second, all I get is silence.

And then my phone vibrates with a voice note.

Holy fuck.

A soft whimper.

Then a breathy moan.

I swipe immediately, pressing play, and the second I hear her voice—her broken gasps, the soft, choked-off cry as she comes apart for me—I lose it.

My entire body locks up, tenses, clenches, and then?—

“Fuck, Ivy,” I groan as I shatter, shooting rope after rope straight up into the empty air above my cock.

My hips stutter. My chest heaves. I’m so fucking gone, my entire body wrecked as the aftershocks roll through me.

I let out a ragged breath, my muscles tight as I reach for the nearest towel, swiping it over my stomach and hand before leaning back against the pillows.

My phone buzzes again.

Ivy: …Holy shit.

I huff out a breathless laugh, still recovering.

Me: Yeah.

---