Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(29)

“Si. Yes, yes.”

“I know you do.” Sarge trailed a series of kisses along her delicate flesh. “You want it now. And you want to remember it later, too, so you can touch all the places I ate you. You want to remember the bad things I did.”

The idea had come to Sarge out of nowhere—and it was entirely unlike him. But the uncontrollable impulse to immortalize the first time he brought her pleasure wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed her to have proof, a memory of him as the man who’d been anything but plutonic while between her legs.

He gave her hip a gentle slap, continuing to tease her * with gentle bites and kisses. “Get your phone. I want you to play this back later when you’re alone and my mouth and fingers aren’t here to handle your ache.”

Two frantic, sobbing breaths. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.” He lapped once at her clit before lifting his head to lock gazes with passion-fogged brown eyes. “More than that, baby, you want to. You want to watch me do it all over later.”

“I don’t,” she gasped.

“Liar.” A quick scan of the room found her iPhone sitting on the bedside table. “Go on. You can reach it.” Sarge turned his head to run his open lips up the inside of her left inner thigh. “I’ll wait right here.”

Jasmine threw her head back with a frustrated whimper, then made a grab for the phone, fingers fumbling to open the camera application. Sarge smiled against her skin as she lifted the device. And then it was on. The phone dropped to her belly the first time his tongue circled her clit, but he growled until she propped it back up. A pounding began in his head, inflicted by her taste, the way her flesh clenched when he slipped his tongue inside. Tight little thing. He couldn’t get an adequate description in his head of what her taste reminded him of, so he lifted her ass in both hands, bringing her up to meet his mouth like a f*cking meal.

Yeah, it turned him on knowing she’d be pressing play on these moments again later. He thought of her coming home from a long day of work and sagging back against the front door. Pulling out her phone and sliding her hand inside her jeans, legs slipping wide. He didn’t expect the spark of jealousy to flicker in his chest. Maybe he didn’t want her touching herself. It should be him.

It should always be him.

“Stop filming,” Sarge ground out. “I’ll do this for you any time you need it. You call me and I’ll come. My tongue belongs right here.”

“N-no. No.” Her stomach shuddered down, forming a sexy hollow. “This was your idea. And I want it…want to remember…oh.”

He attacked her with his mouth, out of heat, out of frustration he didn’t quite know how to define. The possibility of living without this place between her thighs made him f*cking crazed. Made him want to cause destruction. She liked having her clit sucked, so he executed the roll of his tongue, followed by prolonged suction until she finally dropped the phone with a muffled scream, fingers turning to fists in his hair.

“Sarge. Ay que rico. Don’t stop. So close. So close.”

Hearing his name coated with lust straight from Jasmine’s mouth sent a fresh bolt of need to his cock, thickening the neglected part where it snaked out from his unzipped fly. He needed to fist himself and pump until come shot from the tip, but she needed his fingers more, so he f*cked himself against the bed’s edge instead, groaning against her * as he thrust. Her thighs were starting to lift again, probably with the intention of locking around his head, but he wasn’t having that. With rough hands, he shoved Jasmine’s legs open and gave her one final chance to orgasm before he climbed up the bed and f*cked her into delirium.

His middle finger and tongue wedged inside her entrance at the same time, rotating positions once, and that was all it took. Jasmine strained beneath him on the bed, hips lifting, thighs quaking, straight out of his dirtiest dreams. Her heels shoved against his shoulders, voice cracking, but he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop dragging his tongue over her clit, tasting what he’d done.

Only when her ankles finished their crusade to push him away did he allow himself to let up. Sarge prowled over her body, nudging her knees apart with his own. She still wore the blue dress, but it was beginning to wilt from the sweat he’d worked her into. Above the bodice, moisture dotted the swell of her bouncy tits. The ones he’d been thinking about since his body identified that his attraction and need belonged to one single person. One single woman.

“Gold. You taste like the color gold.” Sarge dropped to his elbows, making a quick grab for the condom he’d placed within reach on the bedspread. No sooner had he covered his dick with latex than he pressed their bodies together, groaning as their lower bodies made first contact. “Warm. A little bit like cinnamon. Perfect.” She whimpered as he jerked open a handful of the dress’s buttons, exposing dusky-pink-tipped tits, pointing right at his mouth. “Made a f*cking mess of this dress, didn’t I?”

Sarge twisted his hips once and drove home, shouting a curse into the space above her head. Oh God, I’m inside Jasmine and I’m so screwed she’s perfect, perfect. Narrow and dripping and perfect. She was climaxing around him already, struggling beneath him under the swiftness of her body’s reaction, which didn’t bode well for his plan to make this last. Making sure she found her peak was no longer a problem, so what was to prevent him from tossing her trembling legs over his shoulders and ending his own torment?