Page 120 of The Coach

“So you really hate me?” He’s grinning, now.

“Maybe,” I let out.

“Yeah? Well I’m fucking insatiable around you,” he mutters against my lips, his hands sliding higher, pushing my dress up, exposing bare skin to the cool night air. “Hate or not.”

I bite his bottom lip. Hard.

He groans, gripping my hips, grinding me against him, his head falling back for a split second before he slams me back into him.

God help me, I moan.

His lips move down my throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses over my skin, his teeth scraping my collarbone.

His hands? They’re under my dress now, gripping my thighs, pushing them apart.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“We should go inside,” I whisper, breathless.

Jackson nips at my neck, his voice rough, dark. “Yeah?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“Well that involves me driving all the way back. So you’ll have to temporarily get off of my lap if that’s what you want.” His voice is rough, breathless. His fingers tease higher, barely grazing the edge of my panties.

I whimper.

"Jesus, Ivy. You’re already so fucking wet. We haven’t even made it home yet.”

I could care less about making it home.

And honestly?

I don’t even care. Begrudgingly, I get myself back into the passenger’s seat while Jackson puts the car into gear, his grip tightening on my thigh as he speeds toward his building.

The moment he accelerates, I reach over, my fingers trailing down the ridges of his abs over his shirt before slipping lower, over his pants. I feel him—thick, hard, straining against the fabric. A slow smirk curves my lips.

““Careful there,” he mutters, his grip tightening.

I press my palm against him, rubbing him through the material of his suit, feeling him grow, my heart slamming in my chest. The way his breath shudders, the way his jaw clenches—it sends a pulse of pure arousal straight between my thighs.

The city lights blur past the window, but all I can focus on is the ache between my legs, the heat rolling off of him, the way his fingers keep teasing, exploring—driving me insane.

His free hand jerks away from my thigh just long enough to grab my wrist, stopping my movements with a low, warning growl.

“Ivy,” he grits out. “You keep doing that, and I swear to God...”

I grin, biting my lip. “What? You’ll pull over and fuck me right here?”

His eyes flash dangerously.

Tempting. Very, very tempting.

His grip tightens on my wrist. I can feel his cock twitching beneath my palm. Thick. Hard. Pulsing with heat.

“You keep testing me, baby,” he growls, voice like gravel and sin. “See what happens.”

And just like that—I’m dying to see exactly what that means.

---