Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(40)

“You were so smug with your tie-dye.” Dodging her attempts to prevent him from retrieving the dress, Sarge managed to snatch it off the rack. Jasmine made for the exit, but Sarge hauled her back with an arm across her middle before she’d taken two steps. “Oh no, you don’t. We had a deal. You at least have to try it on.”

Jasmine wiggled in his hold, which presented a problem since her bottom was curved into his lap. Her struggle was halfhearted at best, but the way his body responded was the exact opposite of halfhearted. “Now look what you’ve done,” Sarge rasped into her ear, thankful they were hidden by the clothing racks.

“You weren’t kidding…” Jasmine breathed. “About needing me more.”

“No, I wasn’t. I need you all the f*cking time, baby.” Sarge slid a hand down her belly, pressing her back against him more firmly, groaning when she tweaked her hips. “Jesus. Stop doing that.”

She tossed a crafty look over her shoulder. “I’ll stop when you put the dress down.”

“God, you play dirty.” Sarge unglued their bodies with an inward groan, unable to remove his attention from her hips and thighs. “Fine. I won’t make you try on the dress. But you do realize you’re giving a man from New Jersey bragging rights?”

That brought Jasmine up short. She swayed toward the exit, then circled back around with a glare. “Oh, fine. I’ll try it on.”

On their way to the dressing room, they signaled the salesperson, but she didn’t even look up from her cell phone, simply waving them back. A quick glance toward the exit told Sarge the crowd following them didn’t appear inclined to enter the store; however, they would most likely be waiting when he and Jasmine left. Worry over her reaction began to weigh heavier on Sarge’s shoulders as he watched Jasmine disappear behind the last in a row of hanging curtains.

When she peeked through the curtain a minute later, laughter making her eyes sparkle, he forgot to be nervous. Couldn’t hear a single thing over the organ knocking against his ribs. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

Sarge was already on his feet moving toward the changing room. No way was he letting this opportunity pass. Not when Jasmine might try to split when she saw they’d attracted a crowd. Christ, don’t let that happen. His good times on the road always felt forced or fleeting. Each minute of these stolen hours with Jasmine were valuable. Easy, too. So often, Sarge was required to put on a show. Be the entertaining front man for everyone present, even in his downtime. Jasmine seemed content being with him, just as he was. Or the guy he had been, before the road buried him, leaving him struggling for oxygen.

And yeah, he’d been infatuated with Jasmine as far back as he could remember. He saw her through a different lens now, though. An adult lens that clicked a little more into focus the more time they spent together. He noticed things that hadn’t been apparent to his younger self. Her honesty. Her loyalty. The way she weighed his words before responding, instead of spitting out some patented response. Women like Jasmine didn’t come around…ever.

Ignoring her muttered protests, Sarge tugged aside the dressing room curtain and slipped inside. “Goddamn.” His voice emerged ragged. “How’d you make that thing look so good?”

Good was an understatement. Had words been invented yet to describe how Jasmine’s body looked, outlined in tight red fabric? She looked indecent. Unfit for public. It was the type of outfit worn to entice a man from the living room to bed—not an outfit worn dancing. Not under his watch. “This is a shirt, Sarge. Not a dress.” She tugged on the hem with a laugh. “I think this means you lose.”

“Hell no, baby.” Taking her wrist, Sarge spun her around to face the full-length mirror. He lifted and locked her hands around the back of his neck, making the hem slip even higher. High enough for her shiny gold thong to peek out. “I definitely won.”

“Sarge—” His name came out sounding breathless, Jasmine’s head tipping to the side as Sarge’s tongue raked up her exposed neck. “Stop turning me into moaning, weak-kneed girl. I’ve never been her.”

“Good. And I can’t stop.” Sarge tucked a hand beneath the shirt’s hem and drifted it up her bare stomach, circling her belly button with his middle finger. “Not when you keep turning me into the guy who tries to f*ck through your clothes in public.”

In the mirror, he watched an out-of-breath Jasmine push up on her toes to get closer, calf muscles and thighs flexing. “God, it’s like I want you to. Even though I know it’s a bad idea.”

His growing cock stretched the material of his boxer briefs with such a swift rush of sensation, Sarge had to strangle a groan. The hand beneath Jasmine’s dress moved higher to knead her full breasts. “The cops would understand, right? Once they showed up and saw you in that—” He broke off, jealousy coating his vision in green as their gazes locked in the mirror. “Forget I said that. This is only for me.”

Jasmine nodded, mouth falling open on a gasp when he thumbed her pointed nipples, back and forth. Her legs were squeezing together, obviously trying to ease an ache between her thighs, a predicament he understood all too well. Her dark hair was spread out on his chest, those brown eyes shining, her skin glowing.

“Dammit, Jasmine. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” Sarge turned her around for a kiss he needed to avoid certain death. “I thought I knew. But now you’re actually seeing me and I didn’t…I had no idea. Your eyes…”