Page 121 of The Coach

“Oh. Are you going to write me a ticket?” I say, biting my lower lip.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I shift lower in the seat, my fingers working at his belt. His breath catches, his jaw tightening while he grips the wheel with one hand, but he doesn’t stop me.

I unzip him and pull him free, thick and heavy in my palm, his flushed tip against my fingers. My mouth waters. I lean down and slide my tongue along the swollen head, teasing, tasting, my lips wrapping around him as I sink lower.

A ragged groan tears from his throat.

"Jesus, Ivy," he grits out, his free hand threading into my hair, his hips jerking slightly as I take him deeper.

The tension between us is electric, ready to snap.

By the time he pulls into his parking spot—tucked away in a private lot adjacent to his building, overlooking the river—my lips are swollen, my thighs pressed together, my body humming with anticipation.

Jackson throws the car into park, his cock still nestled deep in my mouth.

His chest rises and falls sharply as I shift lower, fully on my knees in the passenger seat now that we’re stopped, taking him deeper, savoring the way his breath stutters from my movements.

And then—his fingers slip between my legs, pressing against the damp heat of my panties. A shiver racks through me as his breath comes hot against my ear.

"Upstairs." His voice is rough, thick with promise. "I want you naked. On your knees. Eyes on me. Using that pretty little mouth to thank me for making you come so hard last time."

A helpless whimper escapes me, and he guides me up and off of his still hard dick.

With difficulty, Jackson tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up with a smirk that tells me he’s far from done with me.

He tilts my chin toward him, eyes blazing. "Then I’m gonna bend you over, spread you open, and fuck you so deep you’ll still be dripping me out in the morning."

I suck in a shaky breath, fingers curling into his jacket.

"And when I’m done?" His grip tightens on my jaw, his lips brushing against mine. "You’re gonna be so full and fucked-out, you won’t even remember your own damn name—just mine."

A low moan spills from my lips, my body strung tight, barely holding it together.

He grins, looking smug as hell. "Come on, Emerald Girl. Let’s get upstairs."

I don’t even remember getting out of the car.

All I know is one second we’re in the parking lot, and the next, we’re stepping into the elevator—Jackson slamming the button for the penthouse, his body already pressed against mine, and that dangerous, cocky smirk on his face telling me he fully intends to make good on every filthy promise.

Chapter Twenty-Three

IVY

The second the penthouse door clicks shut, Jackson is on me.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

One second, catching my breath from the elevator ride up, and the next?

I’m pressed against the door, his hands gripping my thighs, lifting me off the floor.

“This is mine,” he growls, his big palm sliding down over my belly, under my dress, possessive and protective all at once. “You. This.” He squeezes my thigh, his lips trailing fire along my jaw.

His words send a shudder straight through me.

I whimper, legs wrapping around his waist.

One of his hands snaps up, gripping my throat as he grinds against me, hard and thick, the fabric of his pants pressing into the fabric of my panties.

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