Jasmine twisted, trying to get away from his torturous fingers and failing. “I’m going solo. Sorry you had to find out this way.”
Sarge’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, baby. Now you’re going to get it.” His big hands planted on her denim-clad thighs, squeezing the most ticklish spot on her body. Jasmine shot up with a yelp, legs shooting apart to dislodge his hand to no avail. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact second his touch went from playful to downright sexual, but instead of tickling, Sarge began massaging the insides of her thighs. Pushed close to kiss a path over her ear.
“One hour, Jas,” he rasped. “One hour at this party before I take you home.”
“What happens at home?” Jasmine breathed, knowing full well she played a dangerous game. He’d made his intentions for the evening abundantly clear every chance he’d gotten since leaving the toy store. Backing her into alcoves, kissing her against the driver’s side door so long she’d been panting when he finished. This thing between her and Sarge was flat-out insane. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t seem to stop turning up the volume on their attraction. Even as common sense told her to back off, her body—and God, maybe even her heart—had gone deaf to her protests.
“What happens at home?” Sarge’s bulk loomed closer, cornering her in the driver’s side seat, as his fingers yanked down her jeans zipper. When he reached inside to cup the apex of her thighs, Jasmine whimpered and allowed her legs to fall wider. “When we get home I’ve got this edge to take off. Soon as I make sure you’re wet enough, your feet won’t be touching the floor again for a goddamn while.” Sarge’s fist ground down on her center, same time as his teeth clamped on the flesh of her shoulder. He growled, biting down just enough, before drawing back with a soothing lick. “You will get off, because that’s a huge part of what gets me off. But, baby, it’s going to feel like I’m just using your little body. Using the fuck out of it.”
Oh God, she could come just this way. His rasping voice in her ear, his rough palm dragging back and forth over her clit. “Yes, I want that. I want you to use me.”
His uneven exhale heated her cleavage. “That right? You want a desperate man riding your * from the back, so hot to come he forgets he’s a lot stronger than you? Forgets what gentle means?”
Jasmine’s most sensitive flesh clenched like a fist. A prolonged, devastating squeeze. “Oh my God, yes.”
“Good.” With a clear effort, Sarge zipped her pants back up, heaving himself back into the passenger seat. “One hour,” he said, wiping sweat from his upper lip as Jasmine tried to regain some semblance of control on the driver’s side.
She opened the door a crack, allowing cool air to infiltrate the steamy car. Still, it took long minutes for her temperature to lower, her breathing to calm. “I want to leave with you tonight, Sarge. You didn’t have to guarantee it like that.”
“No?” Sarge’s jaw flexed, his closed fist tapping the passenger door. “I have to walk into the Third Shift and behave like we’re just friends. Things might not look the same an hour from now.”
Although his explanation was vague, Jasmine discerned his meaning. The Third Shift had a way of moving pawns around on the Hook chessboard, as if the dingy establishment had some mystical quality. She and Sarge had gotten along fine until now under the restrictions she’d placed on their relationship, because they hadn’t been around anyone who knew them, apart from River. Once they walked through the barroom door, their temporary hiatus from acknowledging the pitfalls of their relationship would be over.
Sarge exited the car and rounded the front bumper, pulling Jasmine’s door open fully and offering her a hand. “Will you let me buy your drinks?” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Give me something, baby.”
It felt a little like signing over her independence, which she didn’t like, but it seemed a small price to pay to put him at ease. Not to mention, you could drink all night in the Third Shift and fail to rack up a bill higher than forty dollars. “Okay.”