Page 24 of The Coach

“Inside, baby,” I moan. “I want to feel you.”

Jackson groans—loud, raw, guttural.

He thrusts deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he spills inside me, filling me completely.

He stays there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to my mine, his breath ragged.

Then, with a satisfied grunt, he eases down onto the couch, pulling me against his chest, still inside me. His arms wrap around me, strong and warm, holding me like he never wants to let go.

I wake up to the warmth of Jackson’s body wrapped around mine, his arm draped over my waist, his chest pressed against my back. The soft glow of early morning filters through the curtains, and for a moment, I just let myself bask in the comfort of it all—the steady rise and fall of his breath, the strength of his hand resting on my hip, the way his presence feels so...right.

“Mmm, you’re awake,” he grits out, his voice low and groggy, his lips brushing against the back of my neck. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I whisper, a small smile tugging at my lips. His hand tightens slightly on my hip, and I shift to turn toward him, my body melting into his warmth. His blue eyes meet mine, still heavy with sleep but sparkling with something softer. “How’d you sleep?”

“Best I’ve slept in years,” he says, his voice rough but filled with sincerity. “Your bed is quite comfortable, I have to say. You?”

“Pretty amazing,” I admit, my cheeks flushing as I take in the way his messy hair frames his face, the shadow of his beard making him look even more ruggedly perfect. “Though I think I’m still a little drunk from all those shots.”

Jackson chuckles, his hand sliding lazily up my back. “Tequila’ll do that to you. You were a lightweight last night.”

I gasp in mock offense, swatting his chest. “Excuse me! I handled myself just fine.”

“Oh yeah? I seem to remember you spilling your drink all over your dress.”

I laugh, hiding my face against his chest. “Okay, that was one time. And I was distracted... by you.”

He grins, tilting my chin up so I have to look at him. “Well, for the record, I was distracted by you all night. And I still am.”

The way he says it, low and earnest, sends a rush of warmth through me. My body shifts instinctively closer, and I can feel him pressing against me, hard and unmistakable. My breath catches, and I glance up at him, biting my lip.

“Want to go... again?” I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His grin spreads slowly, his hand sliding down to rest on the curve of my waist. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Before I can respond, he flips me onto my back, his body covering mine as his lips crash onto mine. The kiss is slow and deep, filled with a delicious urgency that builds as his hands explore my body, reacquainting themselves with every curve, every inch of skin he’d worshipped the night before.

“You’re incredible,” he purrs against my lips, his voice rough and filled with heat. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Good,” I whisper, arching into him as his mouth trails down my neck, leaving a path of kisses that make my skin tingle. “Because I don’t want you to.”

He takes his time this time, savoring every gasp, every moan, every shiver of my body beneath his touch. When he finally presses into me, the feeling is just as overwhelming, just as perfect as it was last night, if not more so. We move together in a rhythm that feels natural, like we’ve been doing this forever, like our bodies were made for each other.

When I finally cry out, my body tightening around him, he follows soon after, groaning my name as he buries himself deep inside me. We collapse into each other, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high, our bodies tangled and sticky but completely at ease.

I trace lazy circles on his chest as we lie there, the room filled with the soft hum of morning. His arm is draped around me, holding me close, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

“You know,” he says after a while, his voice soft and playful. “I think I’m officially a fan of tequila now.”

I laugh, resting my chin on his chest to look up at him. “You’re welcome. And I’m officially a fan of you.”

We drift off like that, curled into each other, his hand lazily stroking my back as sleep pulls us under. For the first time in what feels like forever, my dreams are filled with warmth, laughter, and the feeling of something new and undeniable.

Maybe I’m crazy for thinking this after one night, and a morning.

But I’ve had one night stands before. And this? This feels like somethingreal.

When I wake up for the second time, the smell of eggs and bacon wafts into my bedroom, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee. For a moment, I think I’m dreaming, but then I hear the low hum of a man’s voice—Jackson’s voice—humming some tune I don’t recognize. My eyes flutter open, and I glance toward the kitchen.

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