Page 122 of The Coach

The need in his eyes? Feral. Desperate.

I’m not sure either of us can make it to the bedroom.

“Jackson,” I gasp, my breath catching as his fingers dig into my thigh, his grip possessive, demanding. “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

His eyes burn into mine, dark with pure, unfiltered need. “Yeah? Tell me how bad you want this, Ivy.”

“So bad.” My voice comes out desperate, already wrecked, already aching.

“Well as much as you’ve wanted it, I’ve wanted itmore.”

That’s all it takes.

A growl rumbles through him, and in a blur, he lifts me off my feet, carrying me through the dimly lit penthouse, his strides purposeful, his body taut with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

I barely register where we are until my back presses against the cool glass, the city sprawling a thousand feet below us.

Lights twinkle. Headlights blur. The world is right there, oblivious.

And Jackson looks like he’s about to ruin me.

His hands slide down my waist, palming my ass, molding my body to his. “Strip for me, baby.”

I shiver as I reach for the straps of my dress, my fingers unsteady, peeling it off inch by inch, letting it pool at my feet.

Now, I stand before him in a delicate lace bra, matching panties…

And heels.

Jackson’s gaze devours me, roaming over every exposed inch of my skin. Then, just as I start to unbuckle the straps of my stilettos, his hand shoots out, catching my wrist.

“No.” His voice is gravel, command, heat.

I blink, pulse hammering. “No?”

He steps closer, his big hands trailing down my calves, his voice rough, low. “Leave them on.” His fingers press into my thighs, dragging up to my hips. “Fuck, baby. I want to fuck you in these.”

A shaky exhale leaves my lips, every nerve in my body lighting up.

Jackson’s lips curl into a smirk—because he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

He steps back, just slightly. Taking me in. Making me wait.

His head tilts. “You know what I see?”

I swallow, my skin buzzing under his gaze. “What?”

He reaches down, palming himself through his pants, watching the way my eyes track every movement, my breath coming faster, heavier.

He sees everything.

Every little twitch of my fingers. The way my thighs press together, desperate for friction. The way I’m already so wrecked and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

His lips brush my ear, hot, commanding. “I see a girl who is about to be claimed. So, let them see, baby. Let the whole city know you’re mine. Someone is probably out there with binoculars, watching us. I say, let ‘em watch. Hewisheshe had a woman like you.”

A full-body shiver wracks through me.

Jackson reaches behind me, fingertips trailing along my spine, teasing at the clasp of my bra. He doesn’t unhook it. Not yet. He lets it sit there, loose, waiting, while his other hand grips my hip—anchoring me, possessing me.

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