Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(59)

Jasmine ran her fingertips up his sides. “But there are more words inside me.”

Inside Sarge’s chest, that pounding organ seized so tight, he had to swallow a gasp. “Save them for tomorrow. And the day after that.” Walking her backward toward the bed, he kissed her with building fervor. “And the day after that. We have time now. We have time, baby.”

“Every day,” Jasmine whispered, just before her back hit the mattress. “I’ll tell you more every day.”

Sarge licked a path over Jasmine’s cleavage as he shoved down his sweatpants with one hand. “Fuck it. Tell me now.”

Jasmine locked her legs around his waist and arched her back. “I love your voice, how it goes a little rough when you say my name. I love the calluses on your hands. I love you for singing ‘Frosty the Snowman’—”

“Enough. I can’t.” Sarge pinned their foreheads together. “Merry Christmas, Jas. God. God, I love you.” He heaved a breath against her mouth. “I have for such a long time.”

She kissed him hard. “Catching up is going to be half the fun.”





Epilogue


Two months later


“Why did you wear pants?” Sarge groaned into the back of Jasmine’s head. “Why would you ever wear pants?”

Her smug answering smile was fleeting because Sarge went to work on her neck, running his teeth over the spot he’d discovered at the slope of her shoulder. Warm, wet, sexual kisses that weakened her knees as Sarge’s day-old beard abraded her skin. Totally her fault since she hadn’t given him time to shave before leaving the house. They were backstage in Sarge’s dressing room, five minutes from showtime, and—

Yup. His hand had definitely snaked around her hip to unbutton the jeans she’d chosen to wear, just to avoid a late arrival for Sarge on stage. Since arriving in Los Angeles to begin work on the newly contracted album, she’d been culpable for Sarge’s lateness to three press events, five recording sessions, and one charity event, which both of them still felt guilty about. Jasmine liked to think back to Sarge’s promise that his relative youth would mean needing her more often. And then she liked to laugh over his underestimation. Before the limousine had picked them up to transport them to the show, he’d taken her up against the living room wall, one of her legs still stuck in the jeans she wore now. Her boyfriend was insatiable. And she didn’t have a single damn complaint.

“Ahhh,” Jasmine breathed when Sarge pushed his erection against her bottom, bringing her up against the waist-high dressing table. “We can’t.”

“We already would have if you’d worn a skirt.” He tangled a hand in her hair, turning her head to the side for a slippery, over-the-shoulder kiss. “This is why I made the no-pants rule at the house. All panties, all the time.”

“Rules were made to be broken.”

Jasmine’s words ended on a squeal of laughter when Sarge whirled her around, boosting her up onto the table and easing between her legs. For a minute, they just looked at each other, breath mingling between them. Moments like this weren’t unusual since they’d taken that cross-country flight and landed in Los Angeles. Their first week had been spent in a hotel while house hunting. At first, Jasmine had been a little alarmed by the prices of the houses Sarge wanted for them. Coastline property in Malibu wasn’t exactly in her range, even though she’d been saving money since she’d started at the factory and insisted on contributing what she could. But true to character, Sarge had been adamant about giving her the best, so in the end she’d relented, allowing him to put both of their names on the deed to an oceanfront home overlooking the Pacific. Jasmine’s one condition had been her helping to pay for household costs and maintenance, which meant she’d had to work fast to find a job. Which she had.

Jasmine now taught voice lessons in downtown Los Angeles. And her heart had never been so full. Doing what she loved during the day and returning to the man she loved at night. Her client roster was brimming with talent, due in part to the viral video of her singing in a certain toy store…and one super-famous boyfriend who tended to make surprise drop-ins during lessons. Life was damn good.

“You going to come out and sing with me tonight?” Sarge whispered, nipping at her lower lip. “James says they’re demanding you on Twitter and the message boards.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can sing that new song we’ve been working on.”

Her boyfriend’s sweet torture of her mouth, his tender touch, made Jasmine short of breath. “The one I started in the hotel room?”

“On the best day of my life?” They sank into a hard, demanding kiss that ended with Sarge yanking Jasmine closer on the dresser, rolling in an intoxicating rhythm between her thighs. “The day you came back to me? Yeah. That one.”

Oh, and they had been working on way more than one song. Since Sarge had brought music back into Jasmine’s life, she couldn’t stop writing. Singing. More often than not, Sarge joined her, encouraging her simply by adding his voice to hers, turning her creations into duets. Sexy ones that fit the Old News vibe. A few that would even make it onto the new album. Some of Jasmine’s best new memories of Los Angeles were lying on their bedroom floor singing up at the ceiling while Sarge strummed his guitar, ocean waves breaking down below.