What had they been talking about? Right. The advantages of him being seven years younger. This was so not the discussion to have upstairs at his sister’s house, but he had Jasmine’s attention and he wouldn’t waste it.
Sarge transferred his other hand to her ass so both of them were gripping the swell of her cheeks, massaging them slowly. “Yeah, I’m younger. That means I’ll need you more often. I probably won’t let you out of bed in the morning until you’re covered in sweat.” When her head tipped back on an uneven exhale, he ran his tongue up her sweet-smelling neck, not even attempting to be neat. He wanted to leave a trail, wanted to know it was there. “I can fill you full of thick dick every time you need to orgasm. Can make it last until you’ve had enough and your fucking legs start to cramp around my waist.”
“Leg cramps shouldn’t sound so good,” she whispered, slipping a hand beneath his shirt and tracing devastating patterns over his abs. He felt every single one of them below his belt, as if she were jacking him off instead of touching his stomach. Goddamn, his cock felt heavy and abused in his jeans, reminding him of that sweltering summer his last year in Hook when he couldn’t take two steps without seeing Jasmine in a tight dress or a bathing suit.
“I’m young enough to learn new tricks, too, baby. Learn what makes you scream the loudest, come the hardest, and brings you back for a second, third, and fourth helping.”
Finally, finally, their lips slid together and his knees almost liquefied from the force of his need, so he tightened his legs and shoved up between her thighs. “I want to fuck you like a beast in heat, Jasmine. And you’re wiggling around on top of my cock like you want it bad. So tell me again why my age is a problem.”
She answered him in the form of a French kiss, her tongue sliding into his partially open mouth and dragging an agonized groan from his throat. He didn’t remember backing Jasmine toward the opposite wall, but suddenly she was flattened by his body on the hard surface while their mouths mated. If someone gave him the choice of a juicy orange or Jasmine’s mouth after a week without sustenance, he would have stomped on the orange and gone after her like a starving caveman.
Her fingers twined in his hair, that mindfuck body humping his lap with the small amount of movement their position allowed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sarge knew he needed to pull back and wait for the right time. Like when they weren’t five feet from his niece’s room and a few climbed stairs from his sister discovering them. But Jasmine was purring in her throat and hooking her right leg over his hip to get more cock between her thighs and—
“Oh, shit. Okay,” Jasmine panted, breaking away on a strangled moan. “We have to stop.”
“I know.” Sarge gave a slow roll of his hips, his breathing rough against her swollen mouth. “So quit trying to get me inside you through my jeans and I’ll stop.”
The sound that escaped her was half laugh, half sob. “This is crazy.”
“No.” He licked her upper lip, snagged it with his teeth. “Crazy would be staying away from each other because I’m a little younger.”
“We need, like…parameters. Or something.”
“Fine.” With a mighty will, Sarge eased back and let her slip down the wall. “You’ve got the car ride home to decide what they are.”
And Sarge had the ride home to remind himself of his own parameters. He could let his body sink in and take, but his head needed to stay above water. He needed to remember what the hell of unsatisfied need felt like—and remember who’d been responsible for putting him there. Tonight he would finally break free.
Why did his own assurance sound so unconvincing?
Chapter Eight
Jasmine watched Sarge’s denim-hugged thighs move as he climbed the stairs to her apartment, a few yards in front of her. She’d insisted he go first, knowing if she felt him staring at her backside with all that brooding concentration, she’d turn around and hurtle herself right toward his sexy bulk, crying take me, take me, please. Like some kind of demented, sex-starved meteor from Planet Horny.
Parameters, parameters…
Whose idea had that been? Hers. Yes! It was a damn good idea, too, because bad things were afoot. Very bad things, indeed. She’d been feeling Sarge on a physical level since he’d shown up and mowed down Carmine at the Third Shift. Since he’d boosted her up on the kitchen counter like she weighed less than a flea and proceeded to dirty talk her panties into a twist. Tonight, though, things had…shifted. Sarge had all those qualities she remembered. He was perceptive when it came to people’s feelings, especially his sister. He could laugh at himself. Facets of a man’s personality Jasmine had assumed couldn’t be maintained when being showered with all-out fan worship.
Sarge had not only maintained those qualities, he’d turned into an entirely different monster. One that had the nerve to show up with the perfect princess necklace and look like he’d just been hit with a cement truck upon meeting his niece.