Page 4

Chapter Four

JACKSON

I pull back from our kiss on the counter, thinking that I never thought I’d meet a girl like Ivy in a small town. But here I am, heart pounding as I’m trying to enjoy the moment and not think too hard about whether this is real or not as I stare into her eyes.

I’ve never felt a magnetic pull toward anyone like I do right now. It’s not just the way she looks—though, damn, she’s easy on the eyes with that long brown hair in that emerald dress. It’s the way she laughs, the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking, the way she’s got this perfect mix of boldness and vulnerability that makes me want to know every single thing about her.

And yet, I’ve barely scratched the surface.

I’ve never, never had a feeling like this in my gut before.

The soft glow of a lamp in the corner spills across the room, and the place smells faintly of coffee and vanilla, like her. My eyes land on a sleek gray cat perched on the back of her couch, its green eyes staring me down like I’m an intruder, and breaking up our little makeout.

“That’s Luna,” she says, tossing her keys onto the counter and kicking off her heels. “She’s a little judgmental, but I promise she’ll warm up to you…well, probably.”

I chuckle, shrugging out of my jacket and draping it over a nearby chair. “I’ll take my chances. I’ve won over tougher crowds.”

Ivy laughs softly, pulling a record from the shelf and setting it on the turntable. A moment later, the first notes of Remember When by Alan Jackson fill the air. I raise an eyebrow, impressed.

“Damn! Solid choice,” I say, leaning back against the counter, watching her as she moves around the room with an easy confidence that’s captivating.

“It’s a classic,” she says, her lips curving into a smile. “And, well, Alan Jackson is a vibe. My Grandpa listens to him. He was a damn romantic in his younger years.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “You know who else is a vibe?”

“Who?” She says, eyeing her record collection.

“You,” I grin.

She laughs, walking over to the couch and sitting down, her eyes meeting mine. “You have no idea, Jackson. You don’t even want to know what goes on up here.” She points to her temple.

“And what if I do?”

“Then you’re in trouble. Usually Luna is the only one who has to listen to my inner dialogues.”

My chest tightens at the sight of her—barefoot, relaxed, completely at ease—and I cross the room without thinking, sitting down beside her on the sofa. Luna gives me a wary look before hopping off the couch, but I barely notice because Ivy’s turned toward me, her gaze holding mine.

I reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You make it really hard to think straight.”

“Maybe you should stop thinking so much. Seems like you do that a lot. Ever tried living in your heart for once?” Her finger slides between my chest and her breath catches, and in the next moment, I’m leaning in, my lips finding hers. The kiss is slow at first, testing, but it doesn’t take long for it to deepen. She sighs softly against my mouth, her hands sliding up to rest on my shoulders as I pull her closer, losing myself in the taste of her.

“You’re so corny,” I sigh. “But somehow it works, with you. I mean, you’re not wrong. Man, I haven’t had a night where I’ve just let myself enjoy it—like we are now—since forever.”

“Wait,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to grab the bottle of wine sitting on the table. “Let’s make this official.”

“To marriage?” I laugh, watching as she pours two glasses and hands me one. We clink them together, the sound light and intimate in the quiet room.

“Maybe in like three years. But no, to surprises ,” she says, her voice soft. “And living in the moment. And a damn fun night.”

“To surprises,” I echo, taking a sip.

“Speaking of surprises…Which grade do you teach? I never asked.”

“Fourth grade.”

“That is absolutely adorable.”

“Some days. Other days, it’s like herding a classroom full of cats hopped up on candy and chaos.”

I lean in slightly, watching the way her lips curve around her glass. “Did you always know you wanted to do that?”

She exhales, shaking her head. “Actually, I went to college in Los Angeles for my freshman year. Studied cinematography and art.”

That throws me. “No shit? So what happened?”

Her smile fades just a little, but she doesn’t look away. “Eh, I had kind of a mental health crisis that year. Plus, my dad died.”

I still. “Oh. I’m sorry. That was…unrelated to the mental health crisis?”

“Yes. Me and L.A. just never quite meshed.” She nods, pressing her lips together for a beat. “After that, I came back to the Midwest and stuck around. I’ve thought about leaving again, but I could never justify it, you know? I love my family. My friends. It might not have the glamour of L.A., but Riverbend truly has its charms.”

We sit like that for a while, talking between kisses. She tells me about her fourth-grade class, her passion for local history, how she loves photography and has a side project where she takes photos for her friends’ creative projects.

“Wait—you were an extra in a horror short film?” I ask, grinning as she laughs and hides her face behind her hands. “And you took spicy behind-the-scenes photos? Now you have to show me.”

“Fine,” she says, pulling out her phone. “But you’re not allowed to laugh.”

“No promises.”

She scrolls for a moment, then holds the phone out to me. On the screen, she’s standing in the middle of a dark forest, her hair wild, her makeup ridiculous—smudged mascara, fake blood, the whole deal. She’s wearing a torn white dress and whispering dramatically, ‘I think it’s safe to go outside now…I can feel it.’

I can’t contain my laughter. “Was it safe to go outside? Or were you...brutally murdered?”

“Very brutally murdered,” she says, deadpan. “Ax murderer. It was classic.”

I reach out, my fingers brushing lightly along her collarbone. “Did he go for the neck? It’d be a shame to ruin something this perfect.”

She laughs, gently swatting my hand away. “Wait...you’re not an ax murderer, are you?”

I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “I am, actually. Damn, I thought I was keeping that secret so well.”

Her eyes widen, playing along. “You’ve been plotting this all night, haven’t you?”

“From the moment I walked into the bar,” I say, leaning even closer until our noses almost touch. “And now...you’re not leaving this house alive.”

She gasps dramatically, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “Well, at least I got one good kiss before my untimely demise.”

“One?” I tilt her chin up with my fingers. My gaze locks onto hers, and for a moment, time seems to stop. “I think you deserve more than that.”

Before she can reply, my lips crash onto hers. This kiss is deep, demanding, and completely consuming, like I’ve been holding back all night and can’t any longer. I guide her back onto the couch, flipping her onto the cushions as her arms wrap tightly around my neck, pulling me closer while I carefully let my weight press into her.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding down her back to grip her ass beneath her dress. The soft curve fits perfectly in my palms, and I can’t stop myself from squeezing, drawing a breathless moan from her.

“Yes, Jackson,” she whispers, her voice shaky and filled with need. “You like that?”

“You know I do.”

I kiss along her jaw, then down her neck, the taste of her skin driving me insane. My body presses against hers, and she shifts beneath me, her hips arching up, the friction leaving no doubt in my mind about how much she wants this.

Her hand drifts down between us, brushing against the hardness straining against my pants. My breath catches, and I bury my face in her neck, growling softly as her touch sends heat rushing through me.

“Mmm Ivy,” I grit out, my voice rough and barely controlled. My hand slides up her thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of her dress. When I find the heat between her legs, I feel the dampness through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re so wet,” I whisper against her ear.

She moans, her back arching, her hand reaching around and digging into my ass.

“Please,” she begs, her voice almost breaking. “I need more.”

Her low, breathy voice. The way she looks at me through hooded eyes. The heat in her words.

It all combines to undo me.

My fingers press against her, teasing through the fabric, reveling in the way she trembles beneath me.

Her breaths are quick, shallow, uneven. Every sound she makes fuels the fire raging inside me.

“Yeah? What do you need?”

Finally, I can’t hold back anymore.

I slide my arms under her, lifting her effortlessly.

She gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist.

“Which one is the bedroom?” My voice is rough, edged with pure hunger.

“This one,” she breathes, pointing.

I carry her toward it, our mouths never breaking apart.

Her hands roam over every inch of me they can reach, fingers exploring, digging, pulling.

The urgency between us is electric.

When we reach the bed, I lay her down gently, but there’s nothing gentle about the way I kiss her when I lay down on top of her. It’s wild, unrestrained, like she’s the only thing I’ll ever need. Her dress rides up as I settle between her legs, and the way she looks up at me—lips swollen, eyes full of heat—makes my chest tighten.

“I need you,” she whispers, her voice raw and trembling. “Now.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Damn. Me neither.”

“I’m clean. You?”

“I’m on the pill. And I never do this. Do you?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I trust you, Jackson. When we did that eye staring thing earlier at the bar? I realized I really trust you.”

Her words hang between us, her voice shaky but certain. I search her eyes, trying to make sure this is what she really wants. The way she looks at me—like she’s daring me to hold back, like she needs this just as much as I do—makes my resolve shatter.

“Good. I trust you too.” I lean down, brushing my lips along the shell of her ear, my voice low and rough. “Tell me how bad you want this, Ivy.”

She moans softly, her nails digging into my shoulders as she arches beneath me. “I want it,” she whispers, but I need more. “Bad.”

“No,” I say, pulling back slightly, just enough to make her look me in the eye. My hand trails up her thigh, teasing. “I need you to beg for it. Beg for it, Ivy.”

Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling as she grips my shirt.

“Please, Jackson,” she grins, her voice trembling. “I want you so bad I can’t stand it. I need you. Please.”

Her words send a spark straight through me, igniting something raw and primal. I press my forehead to hers for a moment, trying to steady myself even as my body screams to take her, to give her exactly what she’s begging for.

“That’s all I needed to hear, baby.”

My lips crash back onto hers, and my hand slides up her thigh, pushing her dress higher until it pools around her waist. Her skin is soft, warm, and every inch of her responds to my touch. I trail my fingers to the edge of her panties, feeling the heat radiating from her, and she gasps into my mouth, her hips bucking toward me.

“You’re so ready for me,” I whisper, my voice thick with desire. “Don’t be quiet. I want you to be as loud as you feel like being.”

“It’s late, though. We might wake the neighbors.”

“So?”

She moans, the sound sending a jolt through me as I slide her panties aside and find her slick, waiting. My fingers tease her, stroking circles, and she trembles beneath me, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Her nails slide under my shirt, and rake lightly down the skin of my back.

I lift myself slightly, sliding my free hand under her back to pull her closer. The need between us is overwhelming, all-consuming, I pause for just a second, looking into her eyes.

“Tell me what you want, Jackson.”

Her voice is breathless, heavy with want, but I’m not the only one she’s torturing. Because as soon as she says it, she reaches between us, slipping her hand inside my waistband, her fingers wrapping around my thick length.

A groan rumbles through me, low and guttural, vibrating against her skin. My fingers dig into her hips as she strokes me, slow and teasing, her delicate hand circling my cock with just enough pressure to make me lose my damn mind.

“You, Ivy,” I growl, my head dropping into the crook of her neck. I bite down gently, dragging my teeth over her sensitive skin before pressing my lips there, letting my breath fan over her. “I’m gonna spread you open, make you feel every fucking inch of me.” I slide a hand down her back, gripping her ass possessively, my voice thick and unrelenting. “Gonna pin you down, fuck you deep until you’re crying my name—until you’re so full of me, you can’t think straight.”

She shudders, her breath hitching, her grip tightening around me.

“Oh, God,” she whispers, her palm gliding over me, feeling every ridge, every thick inch. Her other hand fists in my shirt, nails raking lightly over my abs. “Jackson…”

“Yeah, baby?” I watch her through hooded eyes, completely wrecked by the way she looks at me—needy, desperate, lips parted and swollen from my kisses.

She swallows hard, hips arching against me, pressing into my cock as she strokes me harder. “I want that. All of it.”

“Fuck.” My control snaps.

I grip her chin, tilting her face up, devouring her mouth with mine as I slide my hand between her thighs. She gasps into me, and I groan, feeling just how wet she is—so fucking ready for me.

“Then let’s make that happen right now,” I rasp.

I flex in her grip, barely holding on to my restraint.

“That’s it, baby,” I rasp, my hips instinctively rocking into her touch. “You’re fucking killing me.”

She squeezes just a little tighter, dragging her thumb over my tip, smearing the pre-cum leaking there.

I need to be inside her. Need to feel her wrapped around me.

I grin, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. I let my eyes roam over her, taking in the way her chest rises and falls, the way her lips part slightly, like she’s already anticipating my answer. “I want to rip off your dress. And then I want to go down on you until you’re so wet you’re begging me to be inside you. Then, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Her breath catches, and her mouth opens slightly. “Fuuuck,” she mutters, her voice thick with want. “Yes, please. All of that.”

Without hesitation, her hands fly to the hem of her dress, gripping the fabric with an urgency that sets my blood on fire. In one swift motion, she pulls it up over her head, the emerald fabric slipping from her fingers and tumbling to the floor. For a split second, all I can do is stare.

She’s laying on her bed there in nothing but her lacy black bra and matching panties, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows that dance along the curves of her body. Her skin looks impossibly smooth, her breasts glorious and her legs long and toned. The swell of her hips makes me lose any shred of composure I might’ve had left.

“You’re fucking stunning,” I say, my voice rough. “Better than I imagined.”

“You imagined this?” she teases, though there’s a slight shake to her voice, like my reaction has left her feeling as breathless as I feel.

“More times than I’m willing to admit while we were chatting,” I confess, stepping closer. My hands find her waist, my fingers brushing the bare skin just above her panties, and she shivers under my touch. “But it doesn’t come close to this.”

She exhales shakily as I kiss her again, this time slower, deeper, my hands trailing up her sides, my thumbs brushing the curve of her ribs. Her hands slide to my chest, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, her urgency building again. “This shirt is in my way,” she mutters, her voice low and frustrated.

“Patience, Emerald Girl,” I tease. She makes quick work of the buttons on my shirt, tugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. My undershirt follows, and her hands explore my chest, her touch igniting every nerve in my body.

Her fingers move to the waistband of my pants, but I stop her this time, my hands wrapping around hers. “Not yet,” I say, my voice low as I press a kiss to her wrist. “I want to take my time with you.”

She groans softly, but there’s no protest in her eyes—just desire. I let her go long enough to kick off my pants and socks, stepping out of them until I’m left in just my briefs. Her eyes flick down, and the way she bites her lip as her gaze lingers makes me grin.

“Like what you see?” I ask, stepping closer until my body presses against hers.

“Uhhh yeah,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. “You stay in shape, Coach.”

“Hey, if you want to pump my ego up, I’ll take it.”

Her gaze drops again, heat simmering in her eyes. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, sliding them down and kicking them aside. Her breath catches, a soft, helpless sound that makes my pulse thrum. But there’s no protest in her eyes—just desire.

The sparse light in the room washes over her, highlighting every curve, every inch of her that’s driving me out of my mind. She reaches behind her back, unhooking her bra and letting it slip down her arms, revealing herself completely.

The sight steals my breath. Her skin glows in the dim light, her breasts full and perfect, her nipples tight from the cool air. My eyes trail down her body, to the slight curve of her stomach, the dip of her waist, the delicate lace still clinging to her hips.

“Jesus Christ, Ivy.” My voice is hoarse. “You’re unreal.”

She shifts slightly, her thighs pressing together, and I can tell she’s feeling the weight of my gaze. “Say something else,” she whispers, her voice shy but teasing. “You’re making me nervous.”

I kneel beside the bed, running my hands up her legs until I reach her hips, my thumbs hooking into the waistband of her panties. “Don’t be nervous,” I say softly, pressing a kiss to her stomach. “Just get on the bed so we can get this party started.”

Her breath catches, and I feel her relax under my touch. I slide her panties down slowly, savoring every second as I reveal more of her, every inch of her skin making my pulse race. When she’s fully bare before me, I trail my lips up her thigh, stopping just short of where I know she wants me.

Her hands grip the sheets. I grin, looking up at her as I press a kiss to the sensitive spot just inside her hip.

Her breath is uneven, her chest rising and falling as she watches me. Her fingers twist in the sheets, and the soft, pleading sound that escapes her lips is enough to make me lose my mind.

“Jackson,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I want it. I need it now. ”

“Patience really isn’t your thing, is it?” I tease, brushing my lips just above the crease of her thigh, where her skin is soft and impossibly warm. Her thighs part instinctively, inviting me closer, and I press a trail of kisses along the inside of her leg, savoring every shiver that ripples through her body.

“Not when you’re torturing me,” she breathes, her voice breaking on the last word.

I smirk, gripping her hips gently to keep her steady as I lower myself between her legs. She’s already glistening, the sight of her undoing me completely. “I’m just trying to not to rush this moment,” I whisper, the words more to myself than to her. “You taste as good as you look, don’t you?”

She doesn’t have time to respond before I lean in, my tongue brushing against her in a slow, deliberate stroke. Her entire body jolts, her back arching off the bed as she lets out a low, shuddering moan.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, tangling in the strands as she tries to pull me closer. “Jackson, oh my God.”

I grin against her, the sound of her voice making me hungrier. I press my tongue flat against her again, this time moving with more purpose, finding the rhythm that makes her thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her taste is intoxicating, her body responding to every flick of my tongue, every small movement designed to drive her insane.

“Yes, you do,” I growl.

Her hips start to move, grinding against me as her breaths come faster, more ragged. “You’re so good at that,” she moans, her voice desperate. “So fucking good.”

I slide my hands up her thighs, gripping her firmly to hold her steady as I increase the pressure, my tongue circling her sensitive clit before flicking over it again and again. She gasps, her head tipping back against the pillows, and the way her body shudders beneath me sends a rush of pride—and pure lust—through me.

“Ivy,” I grit out against her, my voice low and rough. “I want to hear you fall apart.”

She’s trembling now, her thighs pressing against my hands as I keep her exactly where I want her. I tease her entrance with my fingers before slipping one inside, then another, curling them in just the right way to hit that spot that makes her cry out. My mouth doesn’t leave her, my tongue working in tandem with my fingers, building her higher and higher.

“Jackson, I—oh, God,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her body tenses. Her nails dig into my scalp, and I can feel the way her muscles tighten around my fingers, the way her legs begin to shake uncontrollably.

She’s right on the edge, and I press her there, refusing to let up as she finally shatters.

“…I’m coming.”

Her moan is loud, raw, her body arching off the bed as the waves of her orgasm crash through her. She’s trembling, her breaths coming in uneven gasps as I slow my movements, drawing out every last second of her release.

I kiss my way back up her body, savoring the taste of her skin as her trembling slows, her breaths still uneven and ragged. When I reach her lips, I press my mouth to hers, letting the heat simmer between us again, her body soft and pliant beneath mine. She sighs into the kiss, her fingers trailing down my chest, her touch igniting me all over again.

“That was incredible.”

I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “Oh, we’re not done, baby.”

Her breath hitches, her cheeks flushed, but there’s a spark of anticipation in her eyes, the kind that makes my chest tighten with want.

I let my hand slide down her side, gripping her hip firmly. “Now you’re gonna ride me until you come again.”

Her gasp melts into a soft, shaky laugh, and the way her lips curve into a smile tells me she’s ready for whatever comes next.