Page 199 of The Coach

“Fuck, Ivy,” I groan, gripping her hips, dragging her up to meet my thrusts. “You feel so fucking good. So goddamn tight.”

She gasps, nails scraping against my forearms.

I grab her tied wrists, pressing them into the pillow, pinning her completely beneath me.

Helpless. Mine.

Her head tips back, moaning, completely lost in it.

And that?

That drives me fucking feral.

I pound into her, each thrust rough, deep, possessive.

Her lips part, her breath coming in ragged little gasps, her body writhing beneath me.

“Jesus, baby,” she moans.

“I know,” I press my forehead to hers, my voice dark and rough. “You were made for me. You take me so fucking perfectly.”

Her hips lift to meet mine, her bound wrists straining above her head, desperate for something to hold onto.

I press a kiss to her jaw, her cheek, her mouth—hot and dirty and full of need.

“Come for me again, Ivy,” I rasp, my pace brutal, relentless. “I want to feel you soak my cock. I want you to scream my fucking name.”

Her eyes flutter shut, body tensing beneath me.

Her whole body tenses, clenching tight around me, her cries bouncing off the walls as pleasure wracks through her.

I groan, slamming into her one last time, spilling deep inside her.

My arms tremble as I drop my forehead to hers, both of us gasping for air.

I press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, my hands finally untying the silk from her wrists, massaging the skin.

She sighs contentedly, eyes still heavy with pleasure.

I smirk, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “You okay, baby?”

She smiles, breathless. “More than okay.”

I chuckle, rolling onto my side, pulling her against my chest.

Her fingers trace lazy circles over my skin, her body warm and soft against mine.

And for the first time in a long time?

I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

IVY

The aftershocks still ripple through me, my whole body buzzing from everything Jackson just did to me.

I let out a slow, deep breath, sinking against his warm, solid chest. His fingers trace absentminded circles over my bare shoulder, his other hand resting low on my stomach.

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