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Chapter Twenty-Five

IVY

I’m supposed to be grading papers.

Really, I’m just distracting myself with my phone on a Saturday night, scrolling mindlessly, when I hear the water shut off in the bathroom.

A few seconds later, the door creaks open. Steam spills out, curling into the room.

And then, Jackson steps into the bedroom.

Dripping wet. A towel slung low around his hips. Droplets sliding down the hard ridges of his abs, tracing every sculpted line.

I swallow hard.

He runs a hand through his damp hair, shaking out the last bit of moisture, and catches me staring.

His lips curve into that lazy, cocky smirk. “Something on your mind?”

I lift my chin, feigning innocence. “Nothing at all.”

Jackson narrows his eyes, slow and predatory as he stalks toward me. “Liar.”

I sit up against the headboard, gripping the blanket as he moves closer—tall, sculpted, still way too smug for someone who just spent twenty minutes in the shower while I was lying here overthinking everything.

He braces a knee onto the bed, leaning over me, dripping water onto my bare thigh, exposed on the side of the blanket.

I shiver.

“You’ve been looking at your phone all night, haven’t you?”

I shrug, biting my lip. “Maybe. So?”

His jaw tightens. “So I told you not to do that.”

“And?”

His smirk disappears. His fingers slide under the blanket, gripping my ankle, tugging me down slightly. “And now I have to punish you.”

A thrill runs down my spine as he puts my phone in a drawer of his beside table, and shuts it.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to act unaffected. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Jackson tugs the blanket off me completely.

My breath catches as the cool air meets my bare skin. I’m only wearing one of his t-shirts—no bra, just a pair of tiny sleep shorts. His eyes drop, darkening as he takes me in.

“First,” he says, sliding his hands up my thighs, fingers teasing the hem of my shorts, “I’m going to make sure you don’t check your phone for the rest of the night.”

I shudder. “How?”

Jackson flips me onto my side in one smooth, gentle motion, mindful of my baby bump, his palm smoothing over my ass.

“Oh, baby,” he teases, his voice rough. “That was a mistake .”

I inhale sharply.

He hooks his fingers into my shorts, dragging them down, baring me completely.

My pulse pounds as I feel the heat of his breath against the curve of my ass, then his mouth—hot, open-mouthed kisses down my spine, teasing, taking his time.

I squirm.

"Stay still," he orders, his hand pressing me down.

I whimper.

"Yeah," he grits out, lips brushing the back of my thigh. "That's what I thought."

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

And he’s just getting started.

I shudder as Jackson’s mouth trails lower, teasing, slow—just enough to drive me crazy. His hand grips my hip, keeping me pinned, his other palm smoothing down the back of my thigh.

I try to lift myself up and flip over, but his deep, rough voice stops me.

“Did I say you could move?”

I freeze.

His palm swipes up my bare ass, slow and possessive. Then—crack.

I gasp, my back arching instinctively into his touch.

“Oh, you like that,” he muses, his voice pure sin. “Figures.”

He kneads the sting, his fingers spreading me, teasing the most sensitive part of me with the lightest, filthiest touch.

My breathing is erratic, my body trembling, needing more—needing him.

“Jackson.”

“No.” He drags his thumb through my slick folds, barely giving me any pressure, just enough to make me lose my mind. “You don’t get to say my name unless you’re begging.”

I whimper, pressing my cheek against the pillow, my hands fisting the sheets.

His mouth follows the path of his fingers—hot, wet kisses along my inner thigh, teasing my aching center but never giving me what I need.

“Fucking soaked,” he mutters.

“Jackson, please?—”

Another sharp smack on my ass.

“Not yet.”

I whimper. I have never wanted anything more in my entire life.

His teeth graze the soft skin at my hip, his tongue tracing maddening circles closer and closer to where I need him most.

And then—finally—he flips me onto my back and drags his mouth up the slick heat of me, his tongue flattening against my most sensitive spot, sucking, licking, devouring.

I scream.

“Oh, fuck—Jackson!”

His growl vibrates against me as he tightens his grip on my hips, holding me down as his tongue works me over, feasting like he’s been starving for this.

I squirm, thrashing against him, but his grip is iron-clad.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice dripping with dominance. “Take what I give you.”

My knees buckle.

I don’t just take it.

I crumble for him.

He slides two fingers inside me, curling just right, his mouth sucking at my clit in perfect, dirty rhythm.

Pleasure slams into me so fast, so hard, I can’t hold it back.

“Jackson, I—oh, God?—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growls against me.

I shatter.

My vision goes white, my whole body trembling, my moans muffled by the pillow as I come hard, again and again, wave after wave.

Jackson doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t slow.

He lets me ride it out, drawing every ounce of pleasure from my shaking, overstimulated body.

And when I finally collapse, panting, wrecked, destroyed?

Jackson flips me onto my back, climbs over me, and presses his thick cock against my entrance, teasing.

His gaze is molten fire, pure possession.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby.”

Then—he thrusts in deep.

And I am gone.

Jackson slams into me so deep, so hard, I feel him in my fucking soul.

I cry out, arching under him, my body still wrecked from my orgasm, but it doesn’t matter—he doesn’t let up.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, deeper, rougher—his cock stretching me, filling me, owning me.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is raw, feral. He watches where our bodies join, his expression twisted in pure hunger. “Look at you. Absolute perfection.”

He gently presses a big hand to my belly, his gaze dark and possessive.

He’s fucking me like I belong to him.

Like I’m his.

Like he’s been aching for this, for me, for months—and now that he has me again, he’s going to make sure I never forget who I fucking belong to.

And I love it.

His pace quickens, his thrusts deep and brutal, slamming into me with enough force to push me up the mattress.

“Stop worrying about things that aren’t us ,” he growls. “Social media isn’t real life.”

I clutch his shoulders, nails sinking into his hard, perfect muscles.

“Oh my god.”

He grips my throat.

Not too tight. Just enough.

Enough to make my body melt.

Enough to make me his.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say who’s fucking you.”

I whimper, shaking beneath him.

“You.”

“Louder.” His hand tightens just slightly, just enough to make my breath catch, his other hand holding my leg so he can hit me at the perfect angle.

“Jackson,” I gasp. “Oh, fuck—you. You are.”

He growls as he thrusts.

“Damn right, I am.”

And then—he flips me, spinning me onto my hands and knees.

I gasp, my cheek pressing into the sheets as he spreads me wide.

My body shakes, oversensitive, aching, desperate.

I feel his hand smooth over my ass, his thumb spreading me open as the head of his cock teases my entrance.

“You want me here, baby?”

He pushes in, just barely, just enough to make my body tense.

I whimper as he thrusts deep.

And I want every fucking inch of him.

“Mmmhmm.”

Another sharp smack lands on my ass.

My whole body shudders.

“I said,” he rasps, teasing me with shallow thrusts, making me feel every goddamn inch, every thick pulse of him, “do you want me here?”

“Yes!” I choke out, clawing at the sheets. “Please!”

His fingers twist into my hair, his grip firm, dominant, owning me.

“You like when I take my time?” His voice is thick with satisfaction. “Stretch you nice and slow?”

I nod frantically, already on the verge of another orgasm from nothing but his words, his teasing, his absolute fucking control over me.

He presses in deeper, deeper, deeper until he’s fully inside me.

Until I’m completely, utterly wrecked.

“Oh my god,” I sob.

His laugh is dark, smug, filthy.

“You can take it, baby.”

He grips my hips and fucks me with deep, dragging strokes, making sure I feel every goddamn inch of him.

Making me lose my fucking mind.

“That’s it, Ivy. Take it all.”

His pace picks up, grows rougher, dirtier, filthier.

He’s relentless.

His dirty words, the feel of his rough hands, the way he owns my body—it’s too much.

And then—his fingers find my clit.

“Oh, fuck. Mmm.”

“That’s it,” he groans, thrusting harder. “Come all over my cock, baby. I want to feel it.”

I explode.

Screaming. Trembling. Wrecked.

And Jackson?

He doesn’t fucking stop.

He groans, gripping my hips, his cock pounding into me as my orgasm spasms around him.

And then—I feel him tremble.

His hips stutter.

A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat.

And then—he lets go.

Filling me with his heat.

Claiming me. Owning me.

When we collapse, panting, sweaty, and spent, he pulls me close, holds me tight, and whispers into into my ear.

“You’re mine now, Ivy. Mine.”

I lay my head on the pillow, staring into his light blue eyes.

My body says I know .

My mind, however, says it’s never so simple.

Maybe it’s the one night stand and ghost. Maybe it’s the drama I’ve been reading online. Maybe it’s some deep part of my daddy issues.

But I nod, and fall asleep softly in his arms. I can feel him watching me.