Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(13)

“It doesn’t feel like you want me to stop talking, Jas. It feels like just seeing my cock already has you halfway to busting.” He scraped his stubble up the side of her neck. “If you’d just crawled into bed with me, I’d have made you sit on it. Bet you would have ridden me hard enough to break the bed. So soaked, you would have slid all over my f*cking lap like some kind of dream.”

Jasmine’s inner walls clenched around his finger with so much power, her head slammed back against the seat. “Oh…oh no. Sarge, this is—”

“So bad it’s good. So good it’s bad.” His voice was sharp-edged and sexy beside her ear. “Stop overthinking it, baby, and open your legs to get fingered.”

It was easy to do what he said, because he didn’t speak like the Sarge of her recollection. This man, this brutal, uncompromising man, was a naughty fantasy come to life, even though compared to the treatment he was inflicting on her body and senses, her fantasies prior to now had been watered-down garbage. She’d never been this hot in her life, never felt the tide between her hips rise so high. If she wasn’t careful, it would immerse her…but caution was a presence inside her breastbone, preventing her complete downfall. So yes, yes, she opened her legs and felt his thick finger slip deeper, felt the heel of his hand fondle her clit.

“Good,” Sarge growled. “Now I’m going to tell you how long you’ve tortured me with this pretty daydream between your thighs.”

He reached across her body and yanked open her hastily thrown-on jacket, before lifting the hem of her T-shirt to expose the puckered breasts straining inside her bra. Jasmine’s eyes were closed, but she could practically feel his expression shift into one of awe, but that image messed with her head, so she pictured lust instead.

One abrasive palm skated slowly across her cleavage. “I saw you. Changing for bed one night when you probably thought no one was home besides you and my sister.” The thrusting of his fingers between her legs picked up speed, as if compelled by whatever his memory was projecting. In deep, out shallow, in deep…again. Again. “I was just walking down the hallway, saw you through a crack in the door. You had on tight purple underwear and no shirt…on your knees going through your overnight bag.” She heard him swallow hard. “They were tugged to the side, just a little, so I could see some of your *, baby. But it was enough to know I’d never—ever—stop thinking about getting inside of it.”

No. No, she couldn’t be getting increasingly hotter the more he revealed. It was just his hand, just his touch. His wide thumb replaced the grinding heel of his hand, giving her the concentrated pressure she needed to zoom closer to release. “Please, right there. Keep going.”

“You think I could stop? I’d sell my f*cking soul to watch you come.” Jasmine’s mouth fell open on a moan when his lips traced over the edge of her bra, his tongue dipping inside and running the length of the material. His breath floated over her, hot and sultry, inspiring goose bumps straight down her body. “Yeah, you were twenty-three when I saw you in those little purple mindf*cks.” He sucked her nipple through the cotton bra with a lusty sound before releasing it with a quick lick. “You’ve got some damn nerve being twice as hot now, Jas.”

That statement alone made the breath pause in her throat, tempted her to finally open her eyes and look at Sarge. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at him while her body reached such an unbelievable peak, or she’d be an addict for life. She was at the base of the mountain now, climbing, climbing, racing toward the top, a white-hot clench dropping lower until her hands were clawing at the car door and Sarge’s shoulder to keep her corporeal self on the vinyl seat, while the inner being that existed for pleasure alone lifted and bumped along the car’s ceiling.

Sarge added a second finger inside Jasmine, and her answering whimper sounded like a different woman. Not her. It couldn’t be her. But it was. In that moment, she was a woman who let a man pleasure her inside a car, out in public, and didn’t give a thought to the consequences. The only responsibility resting on her shoulders was to herself. The cataclysmic need funneling around her, inside her, an undeniable force of nature. And God, Jasmine wanted to come for Sarge. Wanted to fulfill his fantasy. Create a new one. Right now, inside this car, it didn’t feel wrong.

Later, it would, but—

Sarge planted the back of his wrist on the inside of her jeans, wedging his hand and holding his fingers at a slant. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. When you’re sliding, riding and bouncing up and down on my dick later, I want to know how those hips look from the side.”

With those heated words driving her higher, Jasmine chanced cracking an eyelid to see Sarge’s head tilt to the right, to get a better view from the side, licking his upper lip as he looked. His gaze was glassy, fevered, that square jaw tighter than she’d ever seen anyone’s. Forcing her eyes back closed before she never wanted to close them again, Jasmine gripped the steering wheel, tweaked her hips back and slid down onto Sarge’s large fingers once again. “Shit,” she breathed. “Feels so good.”

“More,” he demanded, his tone dark and rocky. “More. Take more, but know that I can fill you so much more with what I’ve got in my pants.”

“Y-yes,” she said on a stuttered exhale. “I know…I saw.”