Page 187 of The Coach

A tiny whimper slips past my lips, and he groans, already losing control.

“I knew you’d like that,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down the side of my neck, pressing slow, teasing kisses.

He spins me around, lifting me onto the counter like I weigh nothing.

The red safelight bathes us in a warm, hazy glow, the shadows stretching, bending around us.

And the way he looks at me?

Like he’s starving.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.

“Still thinking too much, Ivy?” he teases, running his hands up my thighs.

I let out a shaky breath. “Maybe.”

He grins. Slow. Cocky. Confident.

“Well, then.”

Before I can process, he reaches for something on the shelf behind me.

A Polaroid camera.

“Where did you get that?”

Jackson just smirks, lifting it up, aiming it right at me.

“You trust me?” he murmurs, thumb hovering over the shutter button.

A rush of heat floods my body.

The dirty thrill of what he’s suggesting coils deep inside me.

I bite my lip, my thighs squeezing around his hips. “Yes.”

“I want to remember you just like this,” he murmurs, snapping the first photo.

The soft click, the film sliding out.

I gasp as the flash pops, illuminating the room for a split second.

The photo develops as he keeps going.

Tugging my dress up. Running his fingers up my bare thigh.

Snapping another.

I should stop him. Should tell him this is crazy.

But I don’t.

I just stare up at him, breathless, as he slowly slides his fingers under the lace of my panties.

His smirk deepens.

“Oh, baby.” His voice is pure sin. “You’re already so fucking wet.”

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