Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)

All my life.

The pressure rising, rising in him was undeniable. His breath was coming in quick, dizzying pants, his precipice all the higher for knowing whose body would receive him. Jasmine. God, he’d never prepared for the possessiveness that hooked around his neck with a permanence that didn’t scare him. Not at all. He’d known. Always know she was the ending for him.

Pouty lips parted, Jasmine’s head tossed side to side on the bed. “Oh God, Sarge. This is bad. This is—” Her * clenched on a broken moan. “So bad.”

Bad. What did she mean? He knew her body was satisfied, because he could still taste her pleasure. Could feel more on the way. Did she mean bad…because of who he was? Were they back to that? “What’s bad, baby?” he murmured at her throat, taunting, licking the salt from her pulse. “Getting it from a younger man? One who was off-limits to you? Bad girl.”

Her legs were wrapped around his hips like a python, hips lifting to meet his punishing rhythm, but her mouth whispered, “Stop…don’t say those things.”

“Do you mean that? Stop?” No answer, just an exposing of her throat, a biting of her lip, as she twisted beneath him. Jesus, he needed to release soon. Needed it more than food or oxygen. He was ramming his dick into Jasmine’s slick entrance—slap, slap, slap—his body hovering over the promise of relief. It was right there. Right there. But the lines between him and Jasmine were so blurry and needed to be defined, or it would cheapen them. He didn’t want her to see their being together as bad. Needed her to want him again when it was over.

Gritting his teeth on a tortured groan, Sarge fisted the base of his dick and drew it out of her heat. With the most substantial pain in his memory hanging between his thighs, he rolled Jasmine onto her stomach, slid his cock up the crevice of her bottom, then pushed home inside her * once again, shaking with the power of being back where he belonged.

“Is this what you need, Jasmine?” Sarge pumped, his sweaty body meeting the underside of her curved ass. Licking perspiration from his lips, he shook out his right hand and accompanied his drives with a slap of her backside. A second and third. “You don’t hand out the punishments anymore, babysitter, in your short, teasing skirts. It’s my turn now.” So close. It hurt. So close. No more waiting, the come was shooting up his cock, gripping his body with near-paralyzing bliss. Sarge fell flush with her body, his hips pistoning out of control, fucking, fucking, fucking. About to explode, he dropped his mouth into her hair. “I might be younger, but I’m not young. I’m a man and I’m fucking you blind. I’m your man. Say it.”

“You’re my man,” Jasmine sobbed, her inner walls gripping him as he shot off all his pent-up need into the sweetest spot on earth, reveling in her climaxing for a third time. It went on forever, her milking body leaching him of seed, his hoarse shouts ricocheting off the walls and ceiling. His hands were all over her, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her ass, as the pleasure spiraled through him, rearranging everything in its path. Changing him for good.

Finally spent, he slipped free of her body and fell to the bed, pulling her backward into an unbreakable hold before his worst fear happened and she tried to get away, close herself in the bathroom or somewhere he couldn’t see or touch or talk to her. He wouldn’t deal well with that. At all. Not after what they’d done. Not after she’d engraved her name on his soul. He thought the inscription had already been there, but it was so much more prominent now.

Get her out of his system? Break the curse?

He’d been a blind idiot thinking he could accomplish such a thing. Or to think he’d even want to rid himself of Jasmine’s claim on his being. No. Never. Right now, lying there exposed, the very idea scared him.

“Sarge,” Jasmine said, still sounding out of breath. “I—”

“Shh. I know. You’re going to tell me I’m not your man. Not permanently.” Striving for casual even though his gut was sinking under the weight of her cautious tone, he traced his fingers over her naked hip, up the inside of her arm. “I am tonight, though. I’m your man until further notice. And your man should hold you like you might escape. Because you not being here when he woke up maybe sounds like the worst thing in the world. Okay?”

There was a long pause wherein Sarge could practically hear her pulse skittering and racing and dipping. “Okay.”

His eyelids slid shut, tension fading from his neck. “Thank you.”

He tucked Jasmine’s head beneath his chin and dropped off, dreaming of the color gold.





Chapter Nine


Jasmine shoved a hank of hair out of her face and stumbled into the kitchen.