Page 15 of The Coach

I can’t contain my laughter. “Was it safe to go outside? Or were you...brutally murdered?”

“Very brutally murdered,” she says, deadpan. “Ax murderer. It was classic.”

I reach out, my fingers brushing lightly along her collarbone. “Did he go for the neck? It’d be a shame to ruin something this perfect.”

She laughs, gently swatting my hand away. “Wait...you’re not an ax murderer, are you?”

I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “I am, actually. Damn, I thought I was keeping that secret so well.”

Her eyes widen, playing along. “You’ve been plotting this all night, haven’t you?”

“From the moment I walked into the bar,” I say, leaning even closer until our noses almost touch. “And now...you’re not leaving this house alive.”

She gasps dramatically, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “Well, at least I got one good kiss before my untimely demise.”

“One?” I tilt her chin up with my fingers. My gaze locks onto hers, and for a moment, time seems to stop. “I think you deserve more than that.”

Before she can reply, my lips crash onto hers. This kiss is deep, demanding, and completely consuming, like I’ve been holding back all night and can’t any longer. I guide her back onto the couch, flipping her onto the cushions as her arms wrap tightly around my neck, pulling me closer while I carefully let my weight press into her.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding down her back to grip her ass beneath her dress. The soft curve fits perfectly in my palms, and I can’t stop myself from squeezing, drawing a breathless moan from her.

“Yes, Jackson,” she whispers, her voice shaky and filled with need. “You like that?”

“You know I do.”

I kiss along her jaw, then down her neck, the taste of her skin driving me insane. My body presses against hers, and she shifts beneath me, her hips arching up, the friction leaving no doubt in my mind about how much she wants this.

Her hand drifts down between us, brushing against the hardness straining against my pants. My breath catches, and I bury my face in her neck, growling softly as her touch sends heat rushing through me.

“Mmm Ivy,” I grit out, my voice rough and barely controlled. My hand slides up her thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of her dress. When I find the heat between her legs, I feel the dampness through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re so wet,” I whisper against her ear.

She moans, her back arching, her hand reaching around and digging into my ass.

“Please,” she begs, her voice almost breaking. “I need more.”

Her low, breathy voice. The way she looks at me through hooded eyes. The heat in her words.

It all combines to undo me.

My fingers press against her, teasing through the fabric, reveling in the way she trembles beneath me.

Her breaths are quick, shallow, uneven. Every sound she makes fuels the fire raging inside me.

“Yeah? What do you need?”

Finally, I can’t hold back anymore.

I slide my arms under her, lifting her effortlessly.

She gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist.

“Which one is the bedroom?” My voice is rough, edged with pure hunger.

“This one,” she breathes, pointing.

I carry her toward it, our mouths never breaking apart.

Her hands roam over every inch of me they can reach, fingers exploring, digging, pulling.

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