Chapter Ten
They never broke routine at the factory. If the cogs didn’t turn, the product didn’t ship on time. If the products didn’t ship on time, money didn’t exchange hands. Which meant the floor workers didn’t get paid. Like Jasmine, most of her coworkers lived paycheck to paycheck, and having their salary docked spelled disaster. So when the bell rang for quitting time at three o’clock, instead of five, everyone on the floor kept working, assuming it had been in error.
Until it rang again.
Beside Jasmine, River tossed down her clipboard and pushed the goggles up onto her head. “Maybe it’s a fire drill?”
Jasmine hummed in her throat. “I’m not stopping until I smell smoke.”
The bell rang a third time, making both women frown. Jasmine stopped in the process of applying her machine to the waiting metal plate when the head boss’s droning voice thrummed over the loudspeaker. “Factory is closing early today. Clear your station and head out.” A loud sigh was accompanied by static. “There’s pizza and beer in the parking lot. This is a one-shot deal, so don’t get used to it.”
A cheer went up at the same moment the machines ceased their clanging, making the elated laughs and whistles extra loud. Seeing River light up with a smile of disbelief told Jasmine to stow her skepticism. There had to be a catch. She’d been working in the factory long enough to know their boss wasn’t a generous man. But she wasn’t going to ruin her best friend’s—or anyone else’s—fun.
Around them, factory employees cleaned up their stations in a hurry, dashing toward the locker rooms to change back into street clothes and warm coats. Jasmine and River were caught up in the flow of chaos, losing track of each other until twenty minutes later when they filed down the hallway into the back parking lot. When the double doors swung open, Jasmine’s mouth fell open. Coolers of beer sat in the backs of pickup trucks, pizza boxes being passed among the crowd of bewildered factory workers. It took her a few seconds to decipher the source of her sudden suspicion, but the music pumping from one of the trucks’ speakers finally penetrated her shock.
Old News played, but it wasn’t just any song. “Girl in Blue,” in its dirty, bass-heavy glory, filled the parking lot. Just like that, she knew Sarge was behind their early dismissal. The realization spread a foreign sensation through her body, kind of like that weird stage after you’d been hit in the funny bone. When you can’t decide if the feeling is pain or pleasure.
River distracted Jasmine by grabbing her arm. “I’m going to grab some pizza. You coming?”
Jasmine tried not to be obvious about scanning the crowded parking lot for Sarge. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“’Kay,” River trilled, bouncing off toward the circle of trucks.
One of her coworkers pressed a cold Bud Light into Jasmine’s hand. She took it and leaned against the factory wall, an amused smile playing around her lips to see her coworkers so animated. Someone had already produced a football, which was being tossed dangerously close to the crowd, but no one seemed to care. Warm breath puffed into the December air, reddening faces and forcing people to huddle together. It wasn’t perfect by most definitions, but to them, it was paradise.
A dense gray cloud passed over the winter sun, casting a shadow over the parking lot. Almost on cue, the song restarted, seemingly louder, stopping Jasmine’s breath from leaving her throat. “Girl in Blue” was like being trapped inside a human chest. The thick, sexy drumbeat that couldn’t find an exact rhythm, picking up and dropping out without warning. Boom. Boomboomboom. Boom. Like an erratic heartbeat. The bass line was low and heavy, transmitting the sense of an impending storm. A warning. Vibrating guitar chords joined the fray off and on, unable to make up their mind. And all that happened before Sarge’s voice sneaked up and pounced.
I need tending. Never ending.
Want that, need that, girl in blue.
No panty lines, no ties, no binds.
Got me hard up over you.
As the song played, Jasmine could hear her own breath scraping up her chest, drifting out over her lips in a white puff. Could feel her toes curling in her shoes. Was everyone looking at her? No. No, they weren’t. She was the only one who knew Sarge had written the song about her. Jasmine took a long pull of beer, but the alcohol only turned up the heat inside her, the slow slide of it down her middle feeling like a caress. She closed her eyes, images flickering against the backdrop of her eyelids like an X-rated movie. Sarge releasing his length from his pants, the way it dropped and bobbed in the space between her legs.
Grip those hips,
Up into you
Raging, pushing, letting go
Biting mouths, suck those roses
Once not enough
Flipped over. Round two.
Wetness rushed to the spot that had been so well loved by Sarge’s mouth that morning. Just that morning. How could she be this needy? It took a concerted effort to keep her breath from rasping like she’d run a marathon. Her palms were slicking up and down her squeezing thighs, creating friction through her leggings. Hot. So hot. So hot.
When the cell phone buzzed in her front right pocket, a gasp tripped over her lips, the vibration almost enough to send her flying. She knew who called before even answering. “Hello?”
“Jasmine.” Sarge’s gruff voice transported her back to the darkness of her bedroom, taking her miles away from the bustling parking lot.
“Where are you?” she whispered, even though she could hear “Girl in Blue” playing down the line, meaning he was close to the parking lot. Watching her?
“I’m close.” How did he make those two words sound so filthy? “Pull up the video on your phone. The one we made last night. I want to see you watch it.”
Excitement almost buckled Jasmine’s knees, even as she spoke her denial. “I’m not watching that here. I can’t.”
“Why not?” His voice was deep, abrasive. “Your pussy can’t get any wetter than it already is, Jasmine. I see you.”
Jasmine sucked in a breath, pressing end on the call in an attempt to rein in the compulsion to follow Sarge’s orders. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—do something so inappropriate with her coworkers and best friend surrounding her. But she wanted to. The damn song must have been on repeat, because the intro started again, calling to the pit of her belly, twisting it in a knot. All day, she’d resisted watching the video, but right now…right now, it felt impossible. Beneath her winter coat, her nipples strained, the damp seam of her leggings rubbed against the ache. Watching the video wouldn’t help her situation, but Sarge would. Had it gone unsaid that he would come to her once she followed his directions? Or was that wishful thinking?
With a muttered curse, Jasmine swiped the screen of her phone and pulled up the video application, hitting play on the last recorded option before her nerve deserted her.
Jasmine almost dropped the device as a loud moan emerged from the speaker, but she quickly lowered the volume, relieved when no one seemed to notice. And then there was only Sarge, tongue flicking against her most private flesh, his big hands holding her thighs open as he watched her. His blue eyes were glazed as if he’d just smoked opium, mouth working, working. From the angle she’d held the phone, the erection hanging between his legs was visible…and that was what drew her attention, even more than his masterful mouth. She wasn’t in the mood for foreplay. No. Being filled was all that mattered.
It was only when Sarge’s name appeared on her vibrating phone and she answered that Jasmine realized her whole body was shaking. “Where?” she breathed.
Sarge sounded like a dying man when he responded. “Side entrance, baby. Hurry.”
Jasmine took a moment to make sure no one was watching before speed-walking along the factory’s perimeter and slipping around the corner. Sarge paced in the alleyway, his hair a total mess. When he saw her, the growl that emerged from his mouth made her loins tighten like belt. They met in a tangle of limbs, mouths devouring in wet slides of tongue and bumping teeth, Sarge’s hands unzipping her jacket to get their bodies flush. Reason deserted Jasmine. She didn’t care how Sarge got their lower bodies locked together, so long as it was now. Now. As their mouths mated in a frantic dance, she could see the video from her phone. His worshipping mouth, his forceful hands, the way he’d reached down to wrap a fist around his arousal every time she moaned his name.
Sarge broke the kiss. “Inside. Have to get inside.” He cupped her breasts, lifted and kneaded. “Much as I’d like everyone to know I’m the one making you this goddamn hot, I’d have to beat them off you with a stick afterward.” Dipping his head, he nipped at the tips of her breasts in turn. “And I want this all to myself. I want to guard you and feed you and fuck you.”
Did that send another shot of liquid slicking down to her core? God, yes. She was dying a slow death, the longer it took to get Sarge inside her. But nothing could stop those insecurities from rearing their ugly heads. They were always present, just waiting for an opening to sing their solo. “You want this so bad?” Her laughter was half breathless, half skeptical, maybe a little sad. “You can still see the outline of my goggles.”
His disbelief was capped with annoyance when he pulled away, wedging her face between his hands. “You listen to me, I’ve been to twenty-nine countries and stared out at millions of faces, and…” He ran frustrated blue eyes over her face. “No one’s lip turns up the way yours does. No one’s chin is as stubborn as yours while still being so stupid cute. No one looks like they can keep all my secrets. Or be the reason for all my secrets. They only built one of you. So no more. I’m shutting that shit down right now.”
Sarge gripped her shoulders and backed her toward the side entrance, reaching around her hip to pry the door open. They were ensconced in darkness, his intensity boring down on her, shredding her up inside as the door slammed. An overhead grate allowed thin slits of sunlight into the silent machine room, giving her shifting views of harsh planes of his face, the heat in his eyes, as her back met a concrete wall. “Sarge—”
He cut her off with his seeking mouth, kissing her until air became necessary to staying conscious, determined hands working the fly of her jeans. “You.” His forehead bumped into hers. “You don’t make jokes about how bad I need you. Feeling like I might die without you wrapped around me isn’t funny.”
“I’m sorry,” Jasmine breathed, meaning it. How could she not mean it when his voice shook, when his words were slamming into her chest like unruly bumper cars? The situation was getting away from her, the morning’s resolve nothing but a distant echo. There wasn’t a precipice in sight she could hold on to to pull her out of the quicksand. “I didn’t mean to make fun. It’s just…the way you’re making me behave.” Something about the near-darkness sent honesty tumbling out. “I’ve never had trouble putting the brakes on before. The first time shouldn’t happen when I’m thirty, right? I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…”
“What?” The word emerged like an expletive against her ear. “You shouldn’t want a man who walked around all morning feeling sick? For passing up a chance to bang your sweetness up against the kitchen counter?” He dragged the jacket off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a whoosh, before planting his hands over her head. “I’m sick as fuck, Jasmine. Cure me.”
This is what it feels like to be craved. Beyond reason. Beyond anything in her experience. His pain called to an untapped facet of her womanhood and dug in, knitting loose ends together. There was a thrill that came with knowing you’d caused a man’s desperation and you were the only one who could fix it. The only one capable of negating his aches by driving them higher, higher, before letting him down. Sarge had started a boil this morning by denying her the chance to reciprocate the pleasure he’d given. Now the boil rollicked and bubbled over her edges, sizzling down her sides, rousing the dormant seductress housed inside her.
Jasmine hooked a finger in Sarge’s belt loop and tugged his hips forward, smiling when his breath rushed out in the form of her name. Jasmine. “When I was watching the video?”
“Yeah?” he prompted.
She cupped his erection through his jeans, pulse picking up speed at her own bravery, at the weight of him. “I couldn’t look away from this.”
Sarge groaned, tilting his hips to push himself into her palm. “Did you see me fucking your bed I needed inside your pussy so bad?”
“Yes,” she whispered, giving him a firmer grip. “But that’s not what you want right now, is it?”
“I always want it,” he growled, ramming his fist into the cement wall. “I want to be pumping inside you every minute of the day.”
Good Lord. It took Jasmine a moment to come down from the potency of his statement. There were two sides of her battling for supremacy inside Jasmine. The terrified side, worrying Sarge wanted more than she could give—and the side dying to give him everything. In the darkness, with their bodies primed for only one thing, logic was the weaker opponent. Her thighs rubbed together, her teeth raking over her lips like an all-out addict whose drug of choice was this man. Only this man. Now.
Jasmine unbuttoned Sarge’s jeans and slowly lowered the zipper, noticing that he held his breath. “Do you ever think of me on my knees?”
His laugh turned to a gritted curse when she fondled his hardness, pulling it from his jeans and running light fingertips over every ridge and vein. “Ah, Jesus. You don’t want to know how often I think of that, baby.” His forehead dropped down onto her shoulder. “You’ve sucked my cock in every hotel shower across Europe.”
The apex of her thighs contracted—a swift tug of muscles. “But it was all in your head.” Using one hand to grip his length, she found his balls and massaged, her eyelids falling when his body jerked on a moan. “I want to give you the real thing.”
Back and forth, his head shook on her shoulder. “I’ll come too fast. You need me between your legs. The song…the video. I know you need fucking.”
Despite his denial, she could hear the lust coating his voice. He wanted inside her mouth. She was aching to give herself to him that way. There was no stopping this. Jasmine went down on her knees between his body and the wall, pushing away his halfhearted attempts to keep her standing. “You’ll give that to me later, won’t you?”
His eyes blazed, hands clenching in her hair. “Jesus, don’t tell me from your knees that you want me to fuck you later, Jas. I won’t last a minute.”
Had she ever felt this alive? This daring? She swirled her tongue around the slick, engorged tip. “But I do want that. So bad.”
Sarge’s groan rang in her ears. “Fuck this. Stand up so I can rip the panties I made wet right off your sex-kitten ass.”
Jasmine’s response was to glide her mouth halfway down his shaft, maintaining eye contact as she sucked her way back to the tip. Sarge fell forward, his lips parting on a silent shout of pleasure. His palms slapped onto the wall behind her, leaving him bent at the waist, legs spread shoulder width apart. As if the move were unconscious, but he wanted to get all of himself as close as possible, Sarge gathered his shirt in a fist and lifted, giving her a front-row seat to his flexing stomach.
“Baby, baby, that’s so good. Feels so good riding on your tongue. My stomach hurts already just knowing…knowing it’s you. Won’t last, goddammit…I can’t.”
His face was a mask of pleasure, eyes struggling to stay open but squeezing shut every few seconds when she sucked a little more of him. The taste of salt was already spreading on her tongue, evidence of his lust that couldn’t be contained. She lifted his heavy arousal toward his belly to lick the underside, turned on to see how tightly his balls were drawn up. Close, he was already so close, and having witnessed his unbelievable stamina last night, the obvious desire wrought by her mouth was a huge turn-on. Her heart was beating triple time in her chest, wetness rushing between her legs. Without conscious thought, she palmed the twin globes of hanging flesh and gloried in the sound of him releasing a string of curses.
“That’s it. That’s it. Feel me getting ready?” His thighs started to shake on either side of her face. “You…no. Jasmine, baby. You stop now. I’m…oh my God I’m going to lose it so hard. I’m thinking of fucking you. Fucking you. Fucking you. Get up. I can’t stop it.”
Greedy. She was greedy for Sarge. His shaft was so full inside her mouth, so stiff. His hands were punishing fists in her hair, made all the hotter because he likely wasn’t even aware how much they pulled. He was just a hungry male trying to get his mate’s mouth closer, tighter. When she felt his fullness jerk, heard Sarge’s voice choke off into rough pants, she reached around his hips to dig her fingernails into his ass, hard enough to leave marks, tugging him closer as he spent himself down her throat.
“Fuuuuuck.” His hips gave two uneven rolls. “It can’t…be this…good. Jesus.”
Jasmine lost her balance, partially because of Sarge moving against her mouth, but mostly because of the incessant rounds of heat blasting her. One after another, until she tipped to the side, felled by the power of his climax. She’d done that? Yeah…she’d done that.
“Up,” Sarge growled, gripping Jasmine’s elbows and hauling her into a standing position. And ohhh, what a knockout punch to have his giant, satisfied body towering above her, still semierect and dripping onto the ground. Her fingers twitched, desperate to dip inside her jeans and give pressure to her swollen clit. Time wasn’t allotted to her, however, because Sarge had other plans.
He turned Jasmine toward the wall and pressed forward, forcing her hands up to stabilize her. A breathless moment passed wherein she could feel him forming intentions with a sweep of his gaze. Jasmine found herself arching her back, offering her bottom up for his perusal. “Did you like that, mi rey?”
“What did you call me?” Sarge’s chest was flush with her back in a split second, his mouth messing up her hair, fingers fumbling with the zipper of her jeans. “Call me that again while my fingers are in your pussy.”
Fragments of light shot through Jasmine’s vision when Sarge’s touch delved into her panties and thrust home with two fingers. “Mi rey. Don’t stop, my king.”
“Fuck. Your king? I won’t stop, baby. You know I won’t.” His free hand dragged her jeans down, leaving the denim bunched beneath her backside. Working his fingers in and out of her already-clenching center, he kneaded her bottom hard, stroking in between light slaps. “Feel how sweet you are on both ends? Goddamn. Don’t even get me started on your mouth. My imagination wasn’t doing you justice.”
A rush began at the tops of her thighs, swirling higher, unnamed muscles beginning to spasm. “Almost, almost. Please keep going.”
He spanked her bottom harder than before. “You think I would let you pull those jeans back up over an unsatisfied pussy?” His teeth raked up and down the side of her neck, his voice dropping as he started to sing in a tone made of gravel. Just hearing the song he’d written for her sent Jasmine’s system into a tailspin. Oh God, she couldn’t breathe. “I need tending, never ending. Want that, need that, girl in blue,” he sang. His warm breath blew into Jasmine’s hair, and her neck lost its ability to function, letting her head drop forward. “Grip those hips…” Slap. “Up into you.”
Her core pulled tight, tight around his fingers. “Oh, oh…Sarge—”
Slap. “Once not enough.” His thumb dragged over her clit, back again, and she climaxed. “Flipped over…round two.”
Sarge caught Jasmine around the waist as her knees gave out. The sweating palms of her hands slid down the wall as she struggled to inhale. So much. So much. She could actually pinpoint the exact spot beneath her belly button that twisted, twisted, with such wicked precision, it blinded her in its perfection. Sarge was muttering husky words against the back of her neck, his body solid and reassuring behind her, keeping her anchored to reality. Although being in the darkness with a dynamic man wasn’t reality for her. Never had been. Might only stick around for a short while.
Could she just enjoy it while it lasted? Without questioning it?
She wanted to so bad. When would she get this chance again?
“You with me, Jas?”
“Yeah.” She managed a half smile as Sarge turned her around in his arms, those blue eyes analyzing her face like a hot, mussed-up mad scientist. “Yeah, I’m just…yeah.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, forming a dimple in his right cheek. “You like me singing to you, baby?”
Oh damn. Who was this sexy and adorable at the same time? Jasmine went ahead and let her knees give out again. Just so Sarge could catch her. Which he did, looking more than a little startled. It was a silly thing to do—and she didn’t care. It felt really freaking good.
“Jasmine.” His alarm eased when he saw her smile. “I’m not even going to ask because it got me holding you again.”
After a long moment of scary hesitation, Jasmine gave in to the urge to put her arms around his neck, inhale his scent. “Yeah, I like you singing to me.”
Sarge jerked her up against him so hard, her feet almost left the ground. “We have some time before that retirement party tonight.” A beat passed. “Hang out with me for a while?”
Jasmine didn’t look. She simply leaped, along with her heart. “Okay.”