Page 203 of The Coach

I cling to him, feeling the rush build, white-hot pleasure curling low in my belly.

“Jackson,” I pant. “I’m about to…”

“Already?” he taunts, his teeth grazing my earlobe.

I whimper, my whole body trembling.

Jackson’s voice darkens. “That’s right, baby. Come for me. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

And just like that, pleasure crashes through me, blinding, overwhelming, my body convulsing around him.

Jackson grits his teeth, his grip tightening. “Fuck, baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He slams into me one last time, his body tensing, his head falling back as he groans my name.

I collapse against him, panting, my body completely spent.

Jackson strokes my hair, pressing soft kisses to my temple.

He chuckles, voice still rough. “Damn. Good thing I’m a quick finisher.”

I laugh breathlessly. “Not your usual brag, Coach.”

He grins, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “Trust me, baby. I’ll make it up to you after the game.”

I smirk, tracing a lazy circle on his chest. “You better win, then.”

Jackson presses a final kiss to my lips, then reluctantly steps back, adjusting his sweats.

He grabs his bag and heads for the door, shooting me one last, wicked smirk.

“Oh, and Ivy?”

I tilt my head.

His voice drops.

“Keep those panties off. I want you wet and ready for me when I get back.”

I roll onto my side, completely blissed out, stretching like a damn cat in Jackson’s ridiculously comfortable bed.

The sheets still smell like him—warm, masculine, clean.

God, I could get used to this.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, unlocking it, and the first thing I see is a notification from my sports app.

Miami vs. Chicago – Pre-Game Analysis

I click on it, yawning as I sit up.

The screen immediately fills with a live panel of analysts, breaking down today’s game.

But what makes me freeze?

The damn story scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

“Sources say Jackson Knox was spotted in Miami with a mystery woman ahead of today’s matchup. Who is she?”

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