Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(12)

It was his…manhood. There really wasn’t a more accurate term to describe it. Jasmine had seen dicks in her lifetime. In real life and on her laptop screen. What Sarge had going on was so very much more. It sprouted from a dark patch of hair at the top of his spread thighs and it…lounged against his abdomen like a brawny ruler, looking down on his subjects. He was aroused. Very much so. In a way that she could relate to after the fevered dreams she’d only so recently woken from. It had to be a trick of her overwrought imagination, but she swore she could see the thick vein pulsing along the underside of his distended flesh, swore it beat in time with her pulse.

Dampness spread between her legs, more noticeable and swift than she’d ever encountered before. The need to touch herself and find relief became tantamount. Choppy breathing was a disjointed echo in her ears, telling her it needed to be now. Now. Now.

But not here. No way. Not where Sarge would see her and know how she’d been affected. Although “affected” was such a silly term for the pressing need to use her fingers on the rapidly dampening flesh inside her underwear.

The car. It would have to be her car.

More than a little irritated that she’d been reduced to auto-masturbation, but too turned on to talk herself off the ledge, Jasmine took a few hurried steps, snatched up the keys and spun toward the door—

“Jas?” came Sarge’s sleep-roughened voice behind her. “What…?”

Knowing she absolutely shouldn’t, but apparently residing in a self-destructive realm that morning, she peeked over her shoulder, her desire taking on a whole new meaning. Sarge, clearly regaining more and more consciousness by the moment, had wrapped his hand around his erection, abs flexing as he attempted to sit up. Then he did something that seemed to suspend all time and space.

His fist descended in one single hip-thrusting stroke as he watched her.

Mother of God.

Jasmine booked it, chanting the words “too young, too young, too young” as she slammed out of the apartment and down the stairwell to the parking lot, located behind the building. A tremor ran through her hand as she unlocked the car and slipped into the passenger seat, her breath puffing out white in front of her. She didn’t bother putting the keys in the ignition. There was no time. She simply tossed them on the passenger seat, fumbling with breathless anticipation to unzip jeans pulled on with such resolve minutes earlier. Resolve that incinerated with the act of slipping seeking fingers down the front of her panties.

“Yes. Oh God,” Jasmine moaned as her middle finger and forefinger met her clit. Her chest heaved, thighs widening as she treated the starved bud to quick, no-nonsense strokes. The quickening that began in her loins was immediate and powerful, a thunderbolt across a black night sky. Her flesh grew slippery beneath the pads of her fingers, the sounds of her gasps bouncing off the car’s interior. The orgasm loomed as her heels pressed down, digging into the driver’s side footwell. Christ, she just needed to take the edge off before it sharpened any further—

The passenger side door opened, jolting Jasmine on the seat. She knew it was Sarge. She knew the moment cool air invaded the car and purred over her fevered skin, yet did nothing to cool her need. Looking toward the passenger side to confirm he’d followed her was pointless—deep down she’d known he’d come, hadn’t she?—so Jasmine threw her head back on the seat as the door clicked closed, eyes sealed shut.

Her own wrist was circled by a rough, masculine hold and yanked free of her underwear. One slow-motion beat passed. Two. Almost as if he was waiting for her to protest, but she’d shut down her better judgment in favor of almighty relief. As long as she didn’t open her eyes. She would hold on to that safeguard at all costs, despite the fact that it only made sense to her overwrought mind.

She heard Sarge’s weight shift closer on the neighboring seat…and—callused fingers dragged over her shuddering belly. Lower, lower until they met the pulsing bud begging for attention between her legs, teasing with a light downward rub that nonetheless set off a bomb blast inside her. Jasmine’s broken moan pierced the air, answered by Sarge’s guttural grunt, making her future climax burn even brighter, more intense as he shoved his mouth up against her ear and shook out a scalding breath.

“Liked what you saw, baby?”

Yes. Goddammit, yes. Jasmine stabbed her teeth into her bottom lip to contain the harsh sentiment, praying her silence wouldn’t make him stop. The car’s interior seemed to close in around her, the sounds of passing traffic on the nearby street doing nothing to detract from the extreme sense of airlessness. Stark, enfolding intimacy. They were the only two people awake, right here, right now, and she would die if he didn’t deliver what she needed. There was no chance of that, though, because Sarge’s mouth found the skin behind her ear and introduced it to his tongue, just as two big fingers slid down on either side of her clit, caging sacred flesh between rough knuckles.

“This is what I’ve been chasing. Fuck. Right here. You want to know how long you’ve been teasing me with this *?” A light pinch of her nub made her knees jerk together on a gasp. “I’m going to tell you anyway, but a yes would make my cock harder. Say yes—now—so I can replay it later and pretend you’re whispering it from your knees and unzipping my goddamn jeans.”

“You’re—” Jasmine broke off as he shoved his middle finger into her heat, pushing deeper until she screamed his name. Even then, he didn’t stop, grinding his fist against her damp flesh, a motion that twisted his middle finger inside her. Static crackled inside her ears, a weightless tickle beginning midthigh. If he didn’t stop, this would be over quick. So quick. But that was what she wanted, right? Yes, but she hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed so completely. “You’re not…last night, you said you w-wouldn’t talk like that anymore.”