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…”
When she clung to his shoulders and not only allowed his tongue to plunder her mouth, but responded with hot, equal measure, Sarge knew he had to break away. Or as sure as they were standing there, he’d be thrusting inside her tight body in under a minute, covering her mouth as she bounced up and down against the dressing room wall. Already his need seeped from the head of his dick, a demand for pleasure. A demand for Jasmine.
He had to close his eyes while catching his breath, forehead lodged in the hollow of Jasmine’s neck. Couldn’t look. If he saw even a hint of invitation on her face, there would be hell to pay. “I’m buying the dress. For later.”
“Fineyesokay.”
There was a wealth of pain in his laughter, but somehow it still felt real and incredible. “I’m going to back out of here slowly and stay out. While you get dressed. In regular clothes. So I can take you somewhere private and rip them off.”
She nodded, bumping into his jaw. “Sarge?”
“Yeah.”
“When were you going to tell me about the crowd of people following us?”
That’s when Sarge knew. He was out-of-his-mind, flat-on-his-ass in love with Jasmine. Not like it had been before. Not just an attraction or an overdeveloped crush that bred more frustration than satisfaction. No, this…this feeling burned inside his stomach like a bonfire being fed with kerosene. His impulse was to hide out in the dressing room forever, snarling at anyone who came within ten feet of her. And at the same time, he wanted to stick her up on his shoulders and walk the streets, shouting at anyone who would listen how fucking incredible she was.
“I…” He swallowed and pulled away, unable to resist smoothing Jasmine’s hair back. Their respite from Hook was coming to an end too damn quickly. “I thought you didn’t see them.”
Her shoulders lifted and fell as she stepped away, already retrieving her clothes. “It’s okay. I don’t recognize any of them from Hook. If anyone in town sees the pictures….” He mourned the loss of her legs as denim hid them from view. “They know we’re just friends.”
The bonfire in Sarge’s stomach hissed. “Yeah. Just two friends shopping together, right?” Jasmine’s head lifted at his tone, her sweet mouth already opening to remind him they were a secret. But if she said the words now, minutes after she’d trapped his heart in a cage, he wouldn’t handle it well. His counterargument would be the furthest thing from reasonable, and this free afternoon she’d given him would be a waste. The alternative was to stay on his game and not ruin the moment by pushing.
Easier said than done, but he’d swallow the irritation knowing it would keep something real with Jasmine within reach.
“I’ll wait outside,” Sarge said before she could speak. As he grabbed up the discarded 69 dress from the floor with the clear intention to purchase it, he winked up at her. “We’ll call the contest a tie.”
Chapter Twelve
You’re not getting rid of me that easily.
Had it only been this morning Sarge had issued that warning in her kitchen? Apparently he’d been serious as a heart attack, because he wouldn’t budge. Worse, despite her attempt to create distance, the idea of Sarge budging made her stomach plummet. But just look at what his attention was doing to her.
As they walked side by side through the mall, toward their final stop to buy a toy, Jasmine felt a confidence that had been absent for years. Instead of her usual impulse to twist her hair up into a bun, it was hanging loose around her shoulders in messy waves. She’d applied lipstick before leaving the dressing room and couldn’t remember ever having been so aware of her mouth because of the way Sarge continued to stare down at it, as if imagining its various erotic uses. There was a new lightness twisting and turning through her limbs, making her want to dance. Or climb Sarge’s body, knowing—knowing—his reaction would be fuck yes, no matter where they were or who was watching.