Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(9)

His thumb dipped into her shoe, sliding along the arch of her foot. “It’s just a sandwich, Jas. Humor me?”

The more pressure he applied to the sensitive section of her foot, the more her eyelids fluttered, but after a moment of the treatment, she shook her head and sat up straighter. “No, it’s not just a sandwich. It’s you forcing me to admit I made a bad decision in terms of who I date.” She pushed away the grilled cheese. “I’m fine admitting that to myself, but not someone else. You’re judging.”

She tried to slide off the counter, but on impulse, Sarge stepped between her legs at the last minute, forcing her to slide down his lap to the floor. It was a big f*cking mistake, even though the answering bliss in his groin as her * slid over the bulge behind his zipper felt nothing like one. Still, it ripped the Band-Aid off the moan he’d managed to cage since entering her apartment. It released against the top of her head like feedback from a hot microphone. He could practically feel the facade he’d been attempting tumble to the floor in a heap…but that wasn’t all he felt. Jasmine’s petite curves shivered against him, almost violently, a call his body answered by pressing her back against the counter, his fists lifting to bash against the overhead cabinets.

He heard her gulp, followed by wavering but determined words. “Whatever this is, it’s not happening. I won’t let it.” She shifted against him, her shuddering exhale fanning his collarbone when he only pressed closer to keep her from rubbing against his cock, which would cause all hell to break loose in his jeans. “Sarge. W-what is this? You’re my…best friend’s kid brother.”

Finally, he found the power to speak around the arousal clawing along his spine. His mouth was a centimeter from hers now, but he had no memory of when he’d moved. Both sets of their lips were parted, hot, hurried breaths clashing between them. “I haven’t been a kid for a damn long while, Jasmine. You want to feel it again and make sure?”

Her lips parted in shock, pink appearing on her cheeks. “Sarge.”

He recognized that tone as her stern, no-nonsense, I’ll-tell-your-parents-about-this-behavior tone, and it propelled him to take his warning a little further, even though something told him she was working hard to pull off her disapproving attitude. “No more fixing me sandwiches. No more ruffling my goddamn hair.” He reached down and grasped her hand, bringing it to the back of his head, moving it in a messy circle. “If I ever feel your fingers in my hair again, they’d better be pulling my face closer to whatever I’m licking.”

The sound that tumbled from her lips was part sob, part hiccup, hands scrabbling against his shoulders to push him away. He let her go, because she needed to know he would always stop when she indicated he should. Always. No matter how much it ached to stop touching her.

The hand Jasmine shoved through her dark hair shook, but her voice was steel. “You can’t just talk to me like that.”

Honestly, he wanted to laugh up at the cracked ceiling. She obviously hadn’t been paying close attention to his song lyrics. “Look, I say what I’m thinking now. Keeping it to myself never did me much good.”

“Oh yeah?” She kicked off her high heels in the direction of the tiny dining alcove, near the kitchen’s entrance. “Well, it’ll do me some good.”

Sarge crossed his arms, smiling inwardly as an idea presented itself. “Fine. You’ll get no more gutter mouth from me as long as I’m in town.”

Her chin lifted, but she was suspicious. “Thanks…”

“But you have to take a bite of this sandwich.” He felt the amusement slip from his expression, but couldn’t stop it from going. Yeah, it was important to him that her last meal not be from some unworthy son of a bitch. But there was a darker part of him that wanted to fall asleep knowing he’d put something he’d made in her stomach. Ah, come on, who was he kidding? He wouldn’t sleep a damn second tonight. It would take him an hour to figure out how to wring his cock out without her hearing across the hall. And if the past were any indication, once wouldn’t be enough where Jasmine was concerned. “What’s it going to be?” he asked, his voice having dropped around fifty octaves.

“Oh for the love of…” Jasmine stomped across the kitchen barefoot, obviously uncaring that her tits were bouncing like sweet little temptations as she went. Sarge stepped closer as she took the bite, swallowing a growl when her teeth sank into the bread and she chewed, swallowing a few seconds later. “Happy?”

God, he wanted to smear the lipstick painting her mouth. Over to her chin, across her cheek, down her belly. “You have no idea.”

She held up a single finger. “That sounded like gutter mouth in disguise.”

“You know me so well.”

Jasmine paused at the kitchen’s threshold, one hand lingering on the frame as she perused him over her shoulder. “I thought I did.”





Chapter Four


Jasmine never had trouble sleeping. Since childhood, she’d had the ability to black out as soon as her head hit the pillow. Couch armrests, car doors, and folded arms were all fair game. At the factory, she was famous for catnaps in the break room while vending machines vended and employees chattered. So there was just no excuse for being wide-awake with three glasses of wine in her system. Dreamland should have been an easy destination, reached in mere seconds, but no. No, she had a too-young man with an ambitious mouth right across the dark, narrow hallway.