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Chapter Twenty-Two

IVY

The drive back is tense.

Not the kind of tension that comes from a comfortable silence. Not the kind that simmers with anticipation.

This? This is something else.

I can feel it pressing in from all sides—the words we’re not saying, the weight of everything between us. Jackson’s fingers tap against the wheel, his jaw tight.

I shift, exhaling slowly. I should just let it go. Let the night settle. But the words are already rising up in my throat, and before I can stop myself?—

“Is this what it’s always going to be like?”

Jackson’s fingers still.

His eyes flick to mine, just for a second. “What do you mean?”

I motion vaguely toward the windshield. Toward the city we just left. The fan. The way people stared at him at the diner. The fact that he’s Jackson-freaking-Knox, and I’m just Ivy.

“This,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “People stopping you. Looking at you. Asking for pictures. Like you’re not even a real person.”

His brows furrow. “I mean, it’s part of it.”

I let out a breath, crossing my arms. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

Jackson makes a noise low in his throat. A frustrated little laugh. “So, what? That’s a dealbreaker?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “I just—” I swallow, shaking my head. “I don’t belong in that world.”

He pulls the car over so fast my heart jumps into my throat.

We’re on some quiet street just outside his building, under the cover of the night.

Jackson turns to me, jaw tightening.

“That’s bullshit,” he says. “You belong wherever you want to belong.”

I let out a dry laugh, but it catches in my throat. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one everyone?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about everyone ,” he bites out. “I care about you. You. What’s this really about, Ivy?”

We sit there, breathing hard, staring at each other, hearts pounding.

I hate him because he makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. Because, all of a sudden, I don’t even understand my own feelings.

I shove him, palms flat against his chest.

Jackson barely moves. Just watches me with those sharp, dark eyes.

“You drive me insane,” I grit out. “Am I really supposed to believe you just…lost my number, but other than that you really, actually did like me. That you didn’t just ghost me out of nowhere.” Tears prick at my eyes but I try to hide them away.

“Yeah.” He leans closer. “That’s right. You don’t really believe me?”

“And what about me? What if I… hate you? What if that was just supposed to be a one time thing for me?”

I don’t know why I even say it. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. But I throw my hands up, and he catches my wrists.

And just like that, the air shifts.

His grip isn’t rough. Not at all. But it’s firm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

He tugs me closer—so close I can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rises and falls.

“Say that again,” he says, voice low and wicked. “Say it, Ivy.”

“I hate…what you did to me. I hated never hearing from you all summer. It wasn’t fair.”

Hate is definitely on my mind right now. I hate how he’s looking at me. I hate how my pulse jumps when his thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist.

I really hate that my whole body is screaming for him.

"Get it all out. Consider this therapy. But we both know that’s not true. Because even if you hate me? That means you’re far from indifferent. And I’ll take it."

"Yeah? Well?—"

"Ivy."

Jackson growls, cutting me off. The sound is low. Deep. Possessive. Different than any noise I’ve heard from him before.

"I’m not going to sit here and let you insult me like this—call me a liar—when I thought about you every fucking day this summer. How’s that? Feel better?"

I wipe a tear away. "How do I know?"

He exhales sharply, his jaw tight. "Sometimes, Ivy, you have to look someone in the eye and just know if you can trust them. Do you believe me? Do you believe that I lost your number, then even went back to Riverbend to look for you in town, but couldn’t find you. Or don’t you? Because if you think I’m lying about that? If you think I don’t really want you, then what the fuck are we doing here, Ivy? Playing pretend? Because I’m not.”

His words hit me.

Like a punch to the gut, like a crack in my carefully constructed walls.

I force myself to open my mouth.

“You drove down to Riverbend to look for me? You looked in my old apartment?”

“Yeah. I did. I even asked some bartender about you. No one knew you though. And you weren’t listed at any school.”

“You stalked the schools in Riverbend?”

“Yes, of course. All I knew was that there you were a teacher named Ivy. But there was no ‘Ivy.’”

“That’s because Ivy is a nickname. My fully name is Yvette. Yvette Bennett.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly. Then, after a beat, he huffs out a quiet, almost breathless laugh. “Yvette Bennett,” he repeats, like he’s testing it, letting it settle in his mouth. Then his gaze flickers back to mine, something dark and unreadable in his expression. “Now that’s got a hell of a ring to it.”

The truth—the real, terrifying truth—is that I want to believe him. Need to.

But if I say it out loud, if I admit that I do trust him...then what? Then this isn’t just a mess of tension and bad timing. Then it’s real. And real means risk.

Jackson’s breathing is heavy, his jaw tight, his blue eyes locked onto mine.

Waiting.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

Too much thinking. Too much feeling.

So I do the only thing that makes sense—I grab him.

Fisting the lapels of his navy-blue suit jacket, I yank him toward me, crashing my mouth against his. It’s desperate, messy, borderline reckless. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Maybe we both have.

I barely have time to breathe before he responds by hauling me into his lap, his strong hands guiding me exactly where he wants me.

His hands are everywhere—gripping my thighs, sliding under my dress, his fingers digging into my skin like he’s starving for me.

The windows fog with our breath. His vehicle is huge but it feels too small, too hot, too charged with everything I want from him.

His mouth crashes onto mine—deep, messy, all-consuming.

“So you really hate me?” He’s grinning, now.

“Maybe,” I let out.

“Yeah? Well I’m fucking insatiable around you,” he mutters against my lips, his hands sliding higher, pushing my dress up, exposing bare skin to the cool night air. “Hate or not.”

I bite his bottom lip. Hard.

He groans, gripping my hips, grinding me against him, his head falling back for a split second before he slams me back into him.

God help me, I moan.

His lips move down my throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses over my skin, his teeth scraping my collarbone.

His hands? They’re under my dress now, gripping my thighs, pushing them apart.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“We should go inside,” I whisper, breathless.

Jackson nips at my neck, his voice rough, dark. “Yeah?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“Well that involves me driving all the way back. So you’ll have to temporarily get off of my lap if that’s what you want.” His voice is rough, breathless. His fingers tease higher, barely grazing the edge of my panties.

I whimper.

"Jesus, Ivy. You’re already so fucking wet. We haven’t even made it home yet.”

I could care less about making it home.

And honestly?

I don’t even care. Begrudgingly, I get myself back into the passenger’s seat while Jackson puts the car into gear, his grip tightening on my thigh as he speeds toward his building.

The moment he accelerates, I reach over, my fingers trailing down the ridges of his abs over his shirt before slipping lower, over his pants. I feel him—thick, hard, straining against the fabric. A slow smirk curves my lips.

““Careful there,” he mutters, his grip tightening.

I press my palm against him, rubbing him through the material of his suit, feeling him grow, my heart slamming in my chest. The way his breath shudders, the way his jaw clenches—it sends a pulse of pure arousal straight between my thighs.

The city lights blur past the window, but all I can focus on is the ache between my legs, the heat rolling off of him, the way his fingers keep teasing, exploring—driving me insane.

His free hand jerks away from my thigh just long enough to grab my wrist, stopping my movements with a low, warning growl.

“Ivy,” he grits out. “You keep doing that, and I swear to God...”

I grin, biting my lip. “What? You’ll pull over and fuck me right here?”

His eyes flash dangerously.

Tempting. Very, very tempting.

His grip tightens on my wrist. I can feel his cock twitching beneath my palm. Thick. Hard. Pulsing with heat.

“You keep testing me, baby,” he growls, voice like gravel and sin. “See what happens.”

And just like that—I’m dying to see exactly what that means.

“Oh. Are you going to write me a ticket?” I say, biting my lower lip.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I shift lower in the seat, my fingers working at his belt. His breath catches, his jaw tightening while he grips the wheel with one hand, but he doesn’t stop me.

I unzip him and pull him free, thick and heavy in my palm, his flushed tip against my fingers. My mouth waters. I lean down and slide my tongue along the swollen head, teasing, tasting, my lips wrapping around him as I sink lower.

A ragged groan tears from his throat.

"Jesus, Ivy," he grits out, his free hand threading into my hair, his hips jerking slightly as I take him deeper.

The tension between us is electric, ready to snap.

By the time he pulls into his parking spot—tucked away in a private lot adjacent to his building, overlooking the river—my lips are swollen, my thighs pressed together, my body humming with anticipation.

Jackson throws the car into park, his cock still nestled deep in my mouth.

His chest rises and falls sharply as I shift lower, fully on my knees in the passenger seat now that we’re stopped, taking him deeper, savoring the way his breath stutters from my movements.

And then—his fingers slip between my legs, pressing against the damp heat of my panties. A shiver racks through me as his breath comes hot against my ear.

"Upstairs." His voice is rough, thick with promise. "I want you naked. On your knees. Eyes on me. Using that pretty little mouth to thank me for making you come so hard last time."

A helpless whimper escapes me, and he guides me up and off of his still hard dick.

With difficulty, Jackson tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up with a smirk that tells me he’s far from done with me.

He tilts my chin toward him, eyes blazing. "Then I’m gonna bend you over, spread you open, and fuck you so deep you’ll still be dripping me out in the morning."

I suck in a shaky breath, fingers curling into his jacket.

"And when I’m done?" His grip tightens on my jaw, his lips brushing against mine. "You’re gonna be so full and fucked-out, you won’t even remember your own damn name—just mine."

A low moan spills from my lips, my body strung tight, barely holding it together.

He grins, looking smug as hell. "Come on, Emerald Girl. Let’s get upstairs."

I don’t even remember getting out of the car.

All I know is one second we’re in the parking lot, and the next, we’re stepping into the elevator—Jackson slamming the button for the penthouse, his body already pressed against mine, and that dangerous, cocky smirk on his face telling me he fully intends to make good on every filthy promise.