Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(28)

“A few more parameters,” she blurted, and watched Sarge’s whip-tight muscles bunch even more through the cotton of his shirt. “If either one of us wants to bow out after tonight…no hard feelings.”

His laughter was hollow. “Won’t happen.”

Jasmine smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, over the peaks of her breasts and lower to her stomach. “How do you know?”

Sarge whipped off his T-shirt and discarded it, giving her a view of his broad, sculpted back, the twin indentations at the base of his spine. Those shoulders. “There’s a button I need to press on you,” he rasped, his hands gripping his knees. “For the next few hours, finding that hot button and pressing it over and over is my life’s f*cking mission. If you want to bow out after that, it’ll only be because I wore you out or rode you too hard. And you’re too stubborn to admit either.”

She sucked in an unsteady breath. “You probably shouldn’t call a woman stubborn when you’re trying to sleep with her.”

“Stubborn is part of the reason I want her so bad. Any other rules?”

God, this man was dangerous to the detachment that was usually her salvation. He wouldn’t stop saying things that made little lights go off in unused sections of her brain. “No.”

“Good.” She could tell by his flexing triceps that he’d begun unbuttoning his jeans. “Get over here, Jas, or I’m coming to get you.”

Needing to give the flurries in her belly a moment to settle, Jasmine found her reflection in the mirror across the room. Most mornings, she couldn’t even bear to look into her own exhausted eyes, but just then, she appeared the furthest thing from exhausted. In the blue dress she’d always associated with confidence, an exultant moment frozen in time, she looked…ripe for picking. Sexual. Even a little innocent, which made what was to come a hint more exciting. As if sex with a testosterone-charged, filthy-mouthed man needed the added stimulation.

Before she could lose the loose hold on her boosted self-image, Jasmine went to Sarge and rested her hands on his wide shoulders, purring when the muscles jumped beneath her palms.

His eyes blazed, mouth falling open with an agonized sound. Big hands snaked around the backs of her knees, yanking her into the vee of his thighs. Sarge’s height put his mouth level with her pointed nipples, a position he took advantage of like a starving man, opening and closing his lips on her aroused, puckered flesh through the thin material of her dress. As he mouthed her breasts with low grunting noises, his touch slid higher, higher, to close around her bare bottom.

“Last time I saw you in this dress, I was sixteen.” His fingers dug into her twin swells of flesh, tightening hard. “Everyone was looking at you. In awe of you. And I wanted to ask what took them so f*cking long.”

Without so much as a warning blink, Sarge twisted, using his grip on her backside to reverse their positions, landing her flat on her back on the bed. The hem of the dress fluttered up to rest at her waist, Jasmine’s hands moving automatically to tug it down. But Sarge’s hungry expression stopped her. His focus was nothing short of breathtaking. He’d apparently just glimpsed the promised land between her thighs, because he looked enraptured, tongue bathing his lips, big hands fisting the bedspread.

“Fuck, Jasmine. Look at your tight slit. Even after I had my fingers pumping inside you yesterday?” Shaking his head, he ran a thumb down her entrance, making her back arch on the bed. “I wondered if your * would be smooth as those thighs. Wondered if it would be parted a little so I could see your clit, but I can’t see a goddamn thing. God.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, releasing it through his teeth. “You’d never know it from the way you ground on me earlier, but that blue dress was hiding something sweet, wasn’t it?”



Refusing to take his gaze off her dampening center, Sarge ran his tongue along the inside of Jasmine’s smooth thigh. Closer, closer, to the hottest sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Jasmine—his Jasmine—with her legs parted, that blue dress rucked up around her hips. There was a bullish rise in his sternum, smoking out to fill his insides. He wanted to rear up with a shout, cover her with his body, and fuse their mouths together. Wanted to dry-f*ck her with his aching dick until she was soaked and then f*ck her like the world was ending. It was painful to hold back, but after last night, he was determined to give her more. Not some quick-on-the-trigger moron who didn’t recognize the treasure laid out for his consumption. A treasure representing the curse he needed to break—and he couldn’t do that if he lost himself.

Since he’d caught her off guard, she was still attempting to be modest, elegant fingers twisting in the hem, inching it down, which only made him twice as anxious to get his mouth on her flesh, to watch that caution shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Stop trying to be a good girl, baby.” He parted her flesh with his middle finger, finding her wet enough to push inside with a satisfied noise. “We’re here to be bad.”

“Oh…that’s. Am-mazing.” Jasmine thighs writhed on either side of his wrist as he stroked in and out with his finger, breaking to tease her clit with the wetness. No, no…he wanted her legs spread. Wanted her with no other options or escape routes, save releasing against his lips and tongue and chin.

Sarge used his free hand to secure her right leg to the bed, shoving her other thigh open with his opposite elbow. “Watch my tongue.” He waited until she followed his instructions before dragging his stiffened tongue through the center of her *, ending at her clit and pushing down hard. Hard. Until her hips were bucking, moans filling his ears. “You don’t stay open so I can see every hot little inch of you, I won’t do that again. Don’t you want me to keep licking?”