Page 190 of The Coach

And Jackson?

Jackson follows me over the edge, with a deep, guttural groan, filling me completely.

For a second, we just stay like that.

His hands gripping my hips, his breath ragged against my skin.

Then, slowly, he leans in, kissing my shoulder, soft and reverent.

I smile lazily, completely wrecked.

Chapter Thirty-Six

IVY

We go upstairs and I sink deeper into the couch. Jackson picked up a vintage sofa from a resale shop already and had it delivered. I can’t believe this man. I’m completely blissed out, my limbs feeling like warm honey after what we just did.

Jackson disappears into the kitchen for a minute, and when he returns, he’s got my favorite snack in hand.

I smirk. “Reese’s Pieces?”

He plops down beside me, handing me the bag. “Do you like these or something?”

I kick back, laughing as he feeds it to me.

Then, sitting on the couch with me, he grabs my feet, pulling them into his lap, massaging slow, firm circles into my arches.

I let out a breathy moan, sinking deeper into the cushions. “You’re spoiling me.”

Jackson smirks, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “Get used to it.”

We settle into a comfortable silence, scrolling through Pinterest together, his arm draped lazily around my shoulders. I savor the warmth of his touch, the quiet intimacy of this moment, when he suddenly asks,

“So…what kind of nursery do you want?”

My head snaps up. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

His expression is unreadable for a beat—serious, determined. “Yeah. What? You thought I’d just slap some furniture together?”

I snort. “You don’t strike me as a ‘Pinterest dad.’”

He smirks. “Baby, I’ll build you a fucking medieval castle if you want me to.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but there’s a strange tightness in my chest. Like I’m standing on the edge of something big, something terrifyingly real.

We start scrolling through nursery themes together, and Jackson—unsurprisingly—is comically opinionated.

“That crib looks like a death trap.”

On some wallpaper I suggest:“Why does that look like something from a haunted house?”

On baby mobiles:“I’m sorry, but baby mobiles have always creeped me out.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you are such a dad already.”

His laughter fades into something quieter, something deeper. He brushes his fingers along my belly, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing the feeling of this moment.

“Guess I am,” he murmurs. His gaze flicks up to mine, searching, holding. “Does that mean you want to live here?”

---