Page 5

Chapter Five

IVY

"Ride me, Ivy," Jackson rumbles, his voice rough and full of need as he flips onto his back. His body glistens with sweat, his toned six-pack catching the shadowy light, looking so damn sexy I can barely breathe. And then there’s that thing between his legs —huge, hard, and impossibly thick. The sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through me.

My thighs tremble as I crawl on top of him, straddling his hips, facing him. His hands rest on my waist, his grip firm, grounding me as I hover over him, my body already aching to take him. His blue eyes lock onto mine, blazing with intensity, and the look on his face is enough to undo me.

“Take what you want, baby,” he grits out, his voice like gravel. “I’m yours.”

My breath catches, the tip of him pressing against me. I let myself sink down slowly.

“Oh, baby,” He grits out, holding my hips steady. “Oh yes. Good fucking girl.”

“Mmm.”

The stretch is immediate, delicious, and I gasp as he pushes inside, inch by inch. He fills me completely, the thickness of him almost overwhelming, and I have to pause to catch my breath, my hands bracing against his chest.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he groans, his hands tightening on my hips. “You look so hot from this angle. It’s crazy. And my God, you’re tight.”

I moan softly, adjusting to him as a shiver runs down my spine. “Yeah well when you’re as big as you are…of course I’m tight,” I whisper with a slight grin, my voice trembling as I begin to move. I lift myself up slowly before sliding back down, the sensation sending sparks shooting through my body.

“Mmm, just like that, baby,” he growls, his hips rising slightly to meet mine. “You’re perfect.”

His words fuel me, and I start to move faster, my hands gripping his chest for balance as I ride him. His cock fills me so completely, hitting spots inside me that make me cry out, my head tipping back as waves of pleasure roll through me.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice commanding yet soft. “I want to see you when you come.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the raw hunger in his expression sends another jolt of heat straight to my core. His hands slide up my sides, brushing the undersides of my breasts before moving back to my hips, guiding me as I move faster, harder.

The rhythm between us builds, the friction perfect, the pleasure mounting with every thrust. My nails dig into his chest, and I can feel the muscles beneath his skin flexing as he moves with me, his control barely hanging by a thread.

“Jackson,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

His words are my undoing. My body tenses as the climax hits me like a tidal wave, my thighs shaking, my breath catching in my throat as pleasure crashes over me. I cry out, his name spilling from my lips again as my body tightens around him, pulsing, gripping him like I never want to let go.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips bucking up into me, losing control.

His hand slides up my throat, pulling me in for a wet, sloppy, desperate kiss. His tongue tangles with mine, his breath ragged, his grip firm—like he can’t get enough of me.

My lips part, my chest heaving, my body wrung out from pleasure.

Then, his hands slide down, gripping my ass, squeezing hard. His voice is rough, thick with need.

“Get on all fours.”

Heat flares through me at the command.

I shift forward, my knees pressing into the sheets, my back arching as I position myself for him.

Behind me, I hear him curse under his breath.

“My God, that ass. Ivy, I can’t tell if you’re a devil sent to tempt me or an angle sent to rescue me.”

A shiver rolls down my spine. “Why can’t I be both?”

I feel his hands on me—spreading me open, teasing me—before he thrusts back in.

A sharp, broken cry rips from my throat as he pounds into me from behind, his fingers digging into my hips, pulling me back to meet every thrust.

I brace myself against the mattress, every movement pushing me higher, deeper into the pleasure that coils tight inside me while he fucks me from behind, letting me feel the heavy muscle behind his frame. He’s unrelenting, and I lose track of time.

“Yeah, baby. Like that,” I moan.

I squeeze him and his pace quickens, rougher, more desperate. His moans turn guttural, his grip unrelenting.

And then—with one last deep, shuddering thrust, he buries himself inside me, pulsing as he comes, filling me completely.

The sound he makes is low, raw, vibrating through my entire body.

I collapse forward onto the bed, spent.

I feel him shift behind me, his movements slow, deliberate. His hands trail up my spine, soothing, grounding. Then, he turns me toward him, gathering me into his arms.

I melt into him.

Our bodies are a tangled mess of limbs, heat, and exhaustion.

I press my cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heart. His arms tighten around me, holding me close, fingers lazily tracing circles on my back.

Neither of us speaks.

We don’t need to.

The silence is thick, heavy, charged with everything we just did.

“Damn, Ivy.” His voice thick and filled with awe. His fingers are still gripping my hips, his touch possessive even as our bodies slowly begin to relax. He shifts slightly, brushing damp strands of hair from my face, his eyes wild, still feral with hunger.

“That was…” He trails off, exhaling roughly.

“Yeah,” I whisper, my body still trembling, my mind still reeling. “It really was.” Incredible.

We lay there for a long moment, our breaths mingling, my skin buzzing with aftershocks. But then my stomach rumbles—loud.

Jackson smirks, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on my thigh. “You hungry, baby?”

“Starving.” I sigh, pushing my damp hair off my forehead. “I think I burned about a thousand calories just now.”

His smirk deepens. “Oh, I plan on burning at least a thousand more.”

I swat his arm, biting back a grin. “And how do you want to do that?” I joke.

“I have a pretty good idea of how. But…food first. Do we have any good late-night pizza in this town?”

“You’re in luck.” I stretch, already reaching for my phone. “Fonzo’s is open till four.”

Jackson whistles. “Fonzo’s till four? That’s commitment to the late-night crowd.”

“The best,” I confirm. “Thin crust. Greasy. Perfect.”

He rubs his jaw. “Alright, what are we getting?”

“Well…” I bite my lip. “The real question is onions or olives?”

His face twists in exaggerated disgust. “Olives. Who the fuck willingly eats onions on pizza?”

“Excuse me! Onions add flavor.”

“Onions make your breath lethal,” he counters. “And I plan on kissing you again. A lot.”

I narrow my eyes, huffing. “Fine. Two pizzas. One with olives, one with onions. We both win.”

“Now that’s a compromise I can get behind.” He leans in, nipping at my lower lip. “Call it in.”

Forty-five minutes or so later, we’re curled up on the couch, devouring slices and watching When Harry Met Sally , because I insist that it’s the perfect late-night movie. Jackson grumbles at first, but he ends up watching, his arm draped around me, fingers idly stroking my shoulder.

I smirk, chewing my last bite. “Told you this was a classic.”

He huffs. “Yeah, yeah.” But his hand tightens on my hip like he actually gives a shit about the plot.

For a little while, we just lay there on our sides, his warmth sinking into me, the quiet hum of the TV filling the room. But then, I shift. Just a tiny movement. Just enough to feel him against my backside.

And I don’t miss how he exhales sharply.

A slow grin spreads across my lips.

Oh.

I do it again, wiggling slightly, pretending to get comfortable, pressing against him through his briefs.

“Careful, baby.”

I turn my head, all innocent eyes. “What?”

Jackson’s hand on my hip tightens. His breath is hot against my ear. “You know what.”

I hum, rocking my hips back just a little more, feeling him grow harder. I reach behind me, and skim my hand along his length.

His groan is low, reverberating against my spine.

"Fuck," he mutters. Then his hands slide under my oversized shirt, finding my breasts, teasing my nipples until I gasp.

“You wanna tease me?” His voice is thick, heavy with need. “You wanna act like a little brat?”

I shiver. “Maybe…”

He smirks against my neck, fingers rolling my nipples before slipping lower, past my stomach, pushing beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.

"Maybe?" He chuckles, dark and amused. “Baby, I can feel how wet you are already.”

My breath stutters.

Without another word, he grips my sweatpants and yanks them down in one swift motion.

A startled gasp leaves my lips as cool air hits my bare skin.

“Shh, baby,” he rasps, his mouth hot against my ear, one big hand sliding under me and the other on the top of my hip. He flips me onto my stomach, positioning me exactly how he wants.

I whimper, my pulse skyrocketing as he grips my ass, spreading me open.

“You started this, Ivy.” Jackson teases my entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, I did,” I whisper, my voice laced with anticipation and need. “Guilty.”

His chuckle is low, dark. Dangerous.

“Did you really think I was gonna let you fall asleep without one more?” His voice feels rough and full of promise.

I shiver as he messily kicks off his briefs, his body heat wrapping around me. He reaches for the hem of my oversized shirt, slipping it over my head, leaving me completely bare beneath him.

His palms glide down my back, slow and possessive, before pressing me firmly into the couch, stomach down.

“Prone bone, baby,” he rasps. “Damn you look sexy like this. I can’t wait to feel you.”

A whimper escapes me, my body arching instinctively.

Jackson groans, gripping my hips, dragging my ass higher, spreading my legs wider beneath him. He grinds against me, slow, torturous, teasing me with every inch of his thick length without giving me what I need.

“Still starving?” he teases, his voice dark with amusement.

“Yeah,” I breathe, barely able to think straight. “But now I’m hungry for something else.”

Jackson chuckles, low and approving. “That’s my girl.”

Then, he grips my ass, spreading me open, and slides in a couple of inches.

I moan at the delicious stretch, my fingers digging into the couch cushions.

He pulls back, just slightly, then pushes in another inch, groaning. “You take me so fucking well, baby.”

I whimper, rocking back against him, desperate for more.

Jackson grips my hips tighter, his fingertips digging into my skin as he thrusts in deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

Until he’s buried to the hilt, stretching me wide, filling me completely.

My moan is loud, breathy, uncontrollable.

“Jesus, Ivy,” he groans, pulling back and thrusting in again, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has me gasping. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

My body trembles, the pleasure unbearable, the sensation consuming. His hands slide up my back, pinning me down, keeping me exactly where he wants me as he moves.

It’s overwhelming. It’s everything.

My orgasm builds fast, white-hot and undeniable.

“Jackson,” I gasp, my nails scraping against the couch. “Oh, my God?—”

He knows.

He can feel my grip on him tighten.

“Let go, baby,” he growls. “Come all over my cock.”

And I do.

I fall apart, shaking, crying out his name as pleasure crashes over me.

Jackson groans, still fucking me through it, never letting up, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure until I’m spent beneath him.

But he’s not done with me yet.

He keeps moving, deep and unrelenting, one hand gripping my hip so hard I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. His other hand slides up, palming my breast, squeezing, rolling my nipple between his fingers until I whimper, overstimulated and desperate.

“How’s that, baby?” He whispers, his chest against my back.

“I love it.” I love how in tune he is with my body. It’s like every one of his movements responds to me.

Then, his palm leaves my breast—only to crack against my ass.

I gasp.

“Fuck,” he groans, his breath hot against my shoulder. “You like that?”

I nod, pushing back against him, needing more, needing everything.

His hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back, exposing my throat. He leans down, lips grazing my ear, his voice thick with need. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, baby? To be fucked rough like this?”

“Yes,” I pant, my body writhing against his. “Yes, Jackson. I like it rough. I love it.”

“Me too, baby. Me too. And I love how you keep up with me. It’s like you were made for me.”

His pace quickens—rough, deep, and unrelenting—driving into me with a force that leaves me breathless. The couch creaks beneath us, a steady rhythm matching the filthy sounds of skin on skin, the sharp slap of his hips meeting mine.

I moan, completely lost in him, in this, in us.

But then—he pulls out.

A desperate, empty ache clenches in my core, my body instinctively pushing back toward him. But before I can protest, he stands, adjusting his stance, his thick cock gleaming and still painfully hard.

And I can’t resist.

I drop to my knees in front of him, licking my lips, looking up through my lashes.

“I want to taste you,” I breathe, wrapping my fingers around him, feeling him twitch in my grasp.

A deep, animalistic groan rumbles from his chest. “Fuck, Ivy. You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.”

I flick my tongue over his swollen tip, savoring the salty taste of him before parting my lips and taking him into my mouth. He’s thick, hot, heavy on my tongue. I stretch my lips around him, sinking lower, pushing past my gag reflex as my hand twists around his base, stroking him in sync with every bob of my head.

Drool spills from the corners of my lips, dripping down my chin onto my bare chest. My fingers work over him, slick with spit, sliding with a tight grip as I take him deeper.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” His hand fists in my hair, his thighs tensing. “Look at you, baby. So fucking messy. So eager.”

I moan around him, the vibrations making him curse, his grip tightening.

His abs flex, his muscles locking up. He’s close.

But then—he yanks me back up.

“As much as I fucking love your mouth, I need to be inside you again. On your hands and knees,” he growls.

Heat rushes through me, my body instantly obeying.

Before I can catch my breath, he helps me spin me around, pressing me forward onto the couch, nudging my legs wider. “I wish I could take a photo of you right now. So damn hot.”

And then?

He drives into me in one long, deep thrust.

I gasp, my fingers digging into the cushions as he stretches me all over again, his cock pulsing inside me. His grip tightens on my hips, his thrusts turning desperate, relentless, perfect.

“Ivy.”

I cry out, the pleasure too much, too good, too consuming.

He flips me onto my back, on the couch, putting my legs close to my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye.

His breath turns ragged. His pace sharpens. His hands tighten.

His voice is a wrecked whisper at my ear. “Where do you want it? Your tits?”

I shudder, my body aching for him, my pulse racing.

“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 something real .

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.

And there he is.

Standing at my stove in nothing but a pair of black briefs, flipping bacon like he owns the place. The full daylight streaming into my apartment only makes him look better, his tanned skin glowing, every muscle and line of his body on display. He even has those little defined ridges where his abs meet his hips, my kryptonite. His happy trail, more pronounced in the natural light, disappears into the waistband of his briefs, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. The man either has extremely good genetics, or is incredibly disciplined to look like that into his thirties. Probably both.

I sit up slowly, raking a hand through my hair and trying to pull myself together. My sweat pants and an old T-shirt are on the couch, and I tug them on, stealing another glance at him. He’s still humming, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m one doorway away from combusting.

When I finally step into the kitchen, Jackson glances over his shoulder, a spatula in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. His blue eyes light up when he sees me, and he smirks. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Morning, Coach,” I manage, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, turning back to the stove. “Eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, coffee... the works. You seemed like you needed it after last night.”

“Pancakes?” I raise an eyebrow. “Really.”

“I raided your cabinets, and for that I apologize.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter as I watch him move. “And here I thought I’d have to kick you out and eat leftover pizza alone,” I joke.

He laughs, setting down the spatula and reaching for a plate. “Sorry to disappoint. I figured I owed you breakfast after making such a mess of your sheets.”

I flush, biting back a grin. “You’re very thoughtful.”

He slides a plate across the counter toward me, then pours a fresh cup of coffee and sets it beside the plate.

“Thoughtful is my middle name.”

“Is it now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I take a sip. “I thought it might be ‘Trouble.’”

Jackson grins, leaning casually against the counter, looking way too good for someone with messy hair and bare feet.

“Depends on who you ask.” He smirks. “And what’s your middle name?”

I tilt my head. “Last I remember, you were trying to decide if it was ‘Angel’ or ‘Devil.’”

“Seems like you’re trying to decide the same about me.”

I meet his gaze, smiling. “Maybe I am.”

We eat together, the conversation light, easy, and full of heat.

His knee brushes mine under the table. His grin lingers just a second too long.

And when we’re done, he leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug, watching me with that lazy, smoldering look that I’m getting use to.

“So,” he says casually, “I’m staying at the Riverbend Inn—nothing fancy. Would you mind giving me a ride back there to pick up my things?”

I blink. “You’re staying at a hotel? Why didn’t you mention that last night?”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Seemed irrelevant at the time.”

“Right,” I say, trying to keep my tone light even as my brain replays every moment of the past twelve hours. “What time do you need to head back?”

“My train leaves at five,” he says. “From Riverbend Station. So anytime before that works for me.”

I hesitate, suddenly aware of the weight of his gaze on me. “You’re...leaving? You’re not staying here forever?”

He nods, his expression softening. “Work calls. But I’ve got the whole day until then.” He pauses, tilting his head. “What are you doing until five?”

My instinct kicks in immediately. “Oh, you know. Busy Saturday.”

“Busy?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

I flounder for a moment, the words catching in my throat. “Things,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Lots of things.”

“Things,” he repeats, clearly amused. “Sounds important.”

“Oh, very important,” I say, narrowing my eyes at his teasing tone.

He smirks, leaning forward slightly. “You sure you’re not just trying to avoid spending more time with me?”

I sigh, shaking my head as a small laugh escapes me. Why the hell can’t I just enjoy this, whatever it is? I think to myself. He’s here, he’s charming, and he’s asking to spend the day with me. Why play games?

“Alright, fine,” I say, giving him a playful glare. “I’ll play small-town chauffeur for you. But don’t get used to it.”

“Perfect,” he says, grinning like he’s just won a prize. “Can you take me the long way around? I want the Ivy personal tour.”

I laugh, standing to grab the plates and rinse them in the sink. “Oh, the long way, huh? What are you hoping to see?”

“Everything,” he says, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. “Especially the places that mean something to you.”

The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard, and for a moment, I just stand there, unsure of what to say. Then I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Alright, Jackson. Let’s see if this little town can impress you.”

“Game on. I’m not easily impressed.”