“Jas, can you get Marcy’s teeth brushed and put her in bed?” River stood and began clearing the table. “I’m going to get these into the dishwasher.”
“You got it.” When Jasmine stood beside Sarge’s chair, he handed over the sleepy child, his throat aching when they had to pry her fingers from around his shirt collar. Something passed between him and Jasmine when their eyes met, but he had no idea what it was. Or what it meant. He only knew everything about the moment felt good. Felt right. And he wanted to do it all over again tomorrow.
There was no stopping his watching every step Jasmine took up the stairs, carrying his niece on her hip, but as soon as she disappeared upstairs, Sarge went to help River in the kitchen.
“So listen…” she started, covering leftovers and storing them in the fridge. “I know it’s short notice and probably a lot to ask—”
“What is it?”
River leaned back against the counter. “There’s a church service at Holy Cross on Christmas Eve. I helped organize the potluck dinner afterward at the school gymnasium across the street, and…” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Would you bring your guitar and play a song or two?”
Sarge’s eyebrows damn near hit the ceiling. “My songs aren’t exactly church-friendly, Riv.”
“I know.” Pink stained her cheeks. “You could sing a Christmas song, though. You know. Instead of a sex one.”
“A sex one.” He shook his head. “I thought I knew the meaning of weird. Until tonight.”
His sister snapped the dish towel and caught him in the thigh. “Just think about it, okay? You’re one of the lucky ones that made it out of Hook. It makes you kind of a big deal.” She turned back to the sink. “Now, go kiss your newest admirer good-night. And I’m not talking about Jasmine.”
“Right.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sarge pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen and ascended the stairs. He reached the landing just in time to catch Jasmine walking out of Marcy’s room, index finger over her lips with a warning to stay quiet. His flare of disappointment over missing his chance to say good-night to Marcy was eclipsed by a righteous punch of hunger when Jasmine hesitated in front of him. As if she wanted to head back downstairs where it was safe, but couldn’t quite ignore their being alone again. Not about to let that hesitation go unrewarded, Sarge nudged her back against the hallway wall, gratified as hell when her mouth fell open in a husky pant.
“Not here.”
Sarge wondered if she was aware of her hands fisting in his T-shirt, yanking him closer. “Where, baby?” he muttered against the top of her head. “You want to pull the car over a block from here and mount me on the passenger seat? Or wait until we’re somewhere I can spread you out and eat you first?”
“Dios. I don’t know,” she breathed, making him pull back to scrutinize her face. She raked her teeth over that pouty lower lip, stiffening his cock. “We just had dinner with your sister, and, well…it reminded me that you’re too young for me, Sarge.”
“Why can’t my being younger work to our advantage?” Sarge asked, tugging her away from the wall, sliding a palm down her rounded backside. He gave the taut flesh a firm squeeze, lifting her up and against him, groaning at the back of his throat when the vee of her thighs notched over his rising erection. Sweet fuck. Her leggings made her as good as naked in this position, allowing him to feel the separation of female flesh, the smooth skin on either side. He hadn’t been this horny since…that morning. Then again outside on the walkway. How much more of this could he take before ripping her mother-loving clothes off, not a damn given to their surroundings?
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.