“Because …, you’re the devil. You need someone to be with. I want to be that person,” she gasped.
“Goddamn, do you let everyone treat you like such a slut?” he said, feeling the sweat pour down his body. He grabbed her ankle, held her leg out away from her body so he could get even deeper inside of her. He wanted to reach places no one had ever been before; places no one else would ever reach again. She suddenly laughed, a low, dark sound.
“You like to think you’re the only one, don’t you? That you’re the only one who fucks me good,” she replied.
“I know I am.”
“Then why am I thinking about a baseball player right now?”
He slapped her across the face, hard, and then grabbed her neck. She started coming, crying out and dragging her nails down his chest. He wasn’t far behind her, pumping everything he had in to her before collapsing on top of her chest.
It was a couple minutes before his brain could function again, wrap around what they had just done. He knew he should check on her, make sure she was okay, that what they had just done was actually okay. He pushed himself up over her, but instead of saying kind words, he grabbed her wrists instead, pinned them above her head. Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him. She looked almost stoned. Satisfied. Glowing. Happy.
“Were you really thinking of him?” he demanded. She chuckled.
“Jameson, when you fuck me …, nothing else exists but you,” she breathed. He leaned down, baring his fangs against her neck.
“Good,” he whispered. She let out a groan.
“That was so good, Jameson. That is officially, without a doubt, the best sex I’ve ever had,” she said with a laugh.
“Better than Angier fucking you in a filthy alley?” he asked. She laughed harder.
“Stupid man. I lied. You were always the best sex I ever had, I just didn’t want to admit it,” she laughed.
“I knew it.”
He kissed her then. A long, slow kiss. He stretched out on top of her, inside of her. Ran his hands from her head to her thighs, and back up again. She breathed in to his mouth, moaned his name, scratched her nails down his back. He started to get hard again, and he backed away. Rolled her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up. A couple minutes later, he laid down flat, pulled her on top of him. Then pushed her off, made her fuck herself for a little while before diving back inside of her.
It was slow, and it was almost sweet, but he liked it. Just being secure in the knowledge that it would be okay to let go and do whatever he wanted, made it easily the second best sex either of them had ever had.
*
Angier Hollingsworth was not in love with Tatum O’Shea, but he did feel a certain kind of possessiveness; he had always thought it was just friendship. Even when she started fucking Satan and stopped fucking Ang, he hadn’t thought much about it. Men had come and gone from Tate’s life, but Ang had always been a constant.
But then something changed, and he could feel the tide begin to turn. He had been there for the ex girlfriend discovery. Knew about the baseball player. The fight in the kitchen. He had cuddled with her for two of the three days that she had spent hiding in her room. She refused to talk about Jameson, but Ang knew she was thinking about him.
Then Tate went back to Jameson, and Ang didn’t see her for a whole week. She texted a lot – apparently they had reached some new plateau in the interesting sex department, and she was living in orgasm-city. Coming in to town to see her best friend was asking too much, and Ang wasn’t exactly welcome in the devil’s house. He hadn’t asked, but he just knew that was true.
He was angry. He felt like he couldn’t talk to her about it. He took it out on his coworkers, on the cast and crew of the porno he was working on, on his other friends. It was ridiculous, to be mad at his best friend for being happy, but Ang was mad. He knew it was fleeting. Jameson Kane was the devil. Tate claimed that she knew what she getting into, that she knew he would never love her or want to be with her. She tried to pretend that she felt the same way. But Ang knew better. He always knew better.
He was angry when he went over to her apartment. Tate had borrowed one of the movies he had starred in - “I want Jameson to see you in action, so he can understand why I’m so infatuated with you” - but Ang didn’t want Jameson to see his movie. Didn’t want Jameson knowing anything about him, at all. Tate was his friend, she understood where he was coming from – Jameson was a stuck up, rich boy, silver spoon sucking, asshole.
Ang was very angry.
So when he let himself in to Tate’s apartment, he wasn’t in a very good frame of mind. Being in Tate’s room, amongst all her things, smelling her scent, made it worse. He felt it should be him leaving marks on her body, not Satan. He got angrier. And then he walked in to the hallway and nearly ran over Rusty, Tate’s roommate. Looking down at the short girl, Ang suddenly understood where Tate was coming from, when she said sometimes she wanted to be treated badly during sex, and other times she wanted to be the one treating someone badly.
Rus smiled her sweet smile up at him. She was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, her strawberry blonde curls wet. She had a huge crush on him, he knew. He felt nothing for her. Tate had told him that under no circumstances was he ever allowed to mess with Rus. But he was angry at Tate. He wanted to treat her badly, and she wasn’t there.
Strawberry shortcake would have to do.
*
Tate was in the library when her phone rang. She was laying on the floor, on her stomach, skimming through a magazine. Jameson was behind his desk, working on something. Sanders was somewhere in the depths of the house. She was about to go find him when her phone lit up. Rusty’s number scrolled across the screen and Tate smiled, lifting her phone to her ear.
“Hey, chickee, I was about to call you,” Tate answered.
“EEEEEEK! It happened! It finally happened!” Rus gushed, so loudly even Jameson heard from across the room. Tate laughed and moved so she was sitting on her butt.
“What happened?” she laughed. Jameson rolled his eyes, went back to his papers.
“I finally slept with him! It was amazing, oh my god, Tate. I saw the back of my own eyeballs. His hands, his tongue, I couldn’t believe it!” Rus squealed. Tate snickered.
“Who is this sex god, and why haven’t I slept with him?” she teased. Jameson snorted.
“That’s kinda the weird part – you have slept with him,” Rus said, laughing. Tate stopped smiling.
“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice serious.
“You always said he was so freaky, but Ang was so sweet! He really took care of me, told me I was so beautiful, that I was so amazing. It was amazing. I really think we had a connection!” Rus blurted out in a breathy voice. Tate climbed to her feet.
“You didn’t,” she breathed.
“Oh, we did. Twice. Once in the bed, and once in the shower. Can you believe it!? The shower. I’m trying to become more adventurous,” Rus laughed. Tate groaned.
“No, no, no, please tell me you’re joking,” she begged, but Rus ignored her.
“Look, the reason I’m calling is because I haven’t heard from him in a week, since it happened. I was getting kinda nervous, but then I figured maybe he doesn’t have my phone number. I mean, it was really good sex. He said we had something, said he felt it, too. He has to call, right? Could you give him my phone number?” Rus asked, the happiness fading out of her voice. Tate swallowed thickly.
“You know what, I’m going to call him. Right now,” she managed to say.
That piece of shit mother fucker. He knew better.
“Thank you, thank you so much. I mean, I don’t want to seem clingy. Am I being clingy? It’s only been a week, I guess. A whole week,” Rus’ voice began to falter at the end, and the insecurity that she was obviously trying to hide broke through – she kind of sounded close to tears.
“No, you’re not clingy. I gotta go, chickee, I’ll call you later,” Tate assured her. Rus ma
naged a small laugh, and then the line went dead.
Tate let out a long shriek. Startled, Jameson leapt to his feet. As she called Ang’s phone number, Sanders came running in to the room. Both asked her what was wrong, but she ignored them. She pressed the phone to her ear and paced down the room.
“Hey, honey pot, I was just thinking about -,” Ang answered.
“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed in to the phone.
“Whoa! Nice greeting! What the fuck is your problem!?” he demanded.
“You! You are my problem! How could you do that!? And not say anything to me!? I’ve talked to you EVERY DAY THIS WEEK!” Tate shouted at him. Jameson was now pacing along side her, demanding to know what was wrong. There was a sigh on the other end of the phone.
“It wasn’t any of your business, Tate. And it wasn’t a big deal,” Ang told her.
“Not a big deal!? She’s practically picking out her fucking wedding dress! You piece of shit! Why!? I specifically told you that she was off limits! Why!?” Tate demanded.
“You don’t make all the rules, Tate! You’re not in charge of everyone! We’re adults, we can fuck if we want to!” he yelled back.
“Sure you can! But hey, here’s a thought – if you wanna casually fuck one of my closest friends, maybe not tell her that you have a fucking goddamn special connection! Why would you say that!?” she shrieked.
“Hey! You’re fucking Satan, right? What, I’m not allowed to be the devil sometimes!?” Ang demanded. She gasped.
“Are you fucking serious!? This is because of me!? You’re blaming this on me!?” she shouted.
“You’re goddamn right I am! You fucking threw me over for some asshole because he’s a good fuck, which is a really shitty move! Fuck you, Tate, I fucking hope you -,”
It all went downhill from there. She began screaming obscenities in to the phone. He shouted them right back at her. When she was red in the face and gasping for air between rants, Jameson ripped the phone out of her hand. He handed it over to Sanders, who put it to his ear and walked out of the room. Tate let out another shriek, slapping her hands against Jameson’s chest before falling against him, pressing her face in to his shoulder.
“What the fuck is going on!?” he demanded.
“Ang. Slept with. Rus,” she managed to pant out. Jameson went very still.
“You’re this upset over him sleeping with someone else?” he asked. She gave him a violent shove.
“Jesus christ, none of you want to actually be with me, but all of you are jealous of every single fucking move I make!” she snapped. He put his hands on either side of her face, forced her to look straight at him.
“You wanna take your anger out on me, fine. Let’s do this,” he offered. She glared at him for a second longer, and then her bottom lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled up with tears.
“I’m upset because he promised he wouldn’t. Rus isn’t like us, she really is a nice, normal girl. She’s always had a crush on Ang. He doesn’t care about her. He made her all these promises, said all these sweet things to her, and then he just walked out. Dined and dashed. She thinks they’re soulmates. He just did it to get back at me,” Tate explained.
“Get back at you for what?” Jameson asked. Her eyes slid away from him. He shook her gently. “Talk to me. Get back at you for what?”
She sighed and leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She could feel his surprise – while a very sexual person, Tate wasn’t the most affectionate person. She wasn’t prone to hugs; except with Sanders. But she squeezed Jameson tightly and decided it was now or never.
I just don’t care anymore.
“He’s getting back at me …, for falling for you instead of him,” she whispered.
14
The tension between them grew to be almost unbearbale. Tatum hadn’t thought that Jameson would take her confession so hard. She hadn’t said she was in love with him. She hadn’t asked for marriage or babies or anything – she knew what was going on between them, knew it was mostly one sided. She was okay with that, or at least that’s what she told herself. And she told him, too, right after he had let go of her and stepped away, his face hard and pale.
She spent the whole next week telling him it was okay, but it didn’t seem to matter. Conversation didn’t flow between them the way it used to. He became prone to sitting in silence behind his desk, and when she would look up, it was often to find him staring at her. Frowning.
Not a good sign.
She asked Sanders if anything had been said to him, but nothing had – Jameson was keeping silent on his thoughts. She began counting the days, waiting for him to tell her it was over. She would wait till he said something, she wouldn’t throw in the towel. She would finally win one of their games.
Strangely, though, it didn’t affect their sex life. If anything, he went harder. The day after her little confession, Tate was coming down the stairs when suddenly he was behind her, a hand in her hair, forcing her against a wall and her shorts down around her ankles. A day later, she was held down on the couch in the library. The nights were the same – sex, sex, and just when she was about to fall alseep, a little more sex.
His mouth was filthy and his hand heavy. It was like she had opened a flood gate. She couldn’t tell whether she was being punished for her confession, or rewarded. She certainly wasn’t complaining. She encouraged him, pushed him to – and over – the edge as often as she could; wanted to make it all as good for him as possible.
I want him to remember me. I want every woman after me to be compared, and found lacking. He will rememeber me.
At the end of the week, as she was bent over his desk, trying to catch her breath, he let the hammer drop. Her panties were in a ball on the floor, her skirt a bunched up mess around her waist. Her scalp was stinging, as well as her ass. She was on cloud nine when he backed away, sat in a chair, and sighed.
“I’m leaving,” Jameson said in a low voice. She held her breath for a second.
“Where are you going?” she asked, still laying flat against the desk.
“I have to go to Berlin,” he replied.
“How long will you be gone?” she pressed. A long pause.
“I don’t know.”
Tate took a deep breath. Licked her lips. Stood up and put her clothing to rights. She didn’t think it was fair. If she had known that would be the last time they were going to have sex, she would’ve been more assertive. Insisted on facing him, looking in to his eyes. He had such amazing eyes. She walked over to the other chair and sat down as well. The fire was roaring, like always, but she didn’t mind the heat. Welcomed the sizzle against her skin. Wondered if Sanders had anymore xanax.
“Is this it?” Tate whispered. Neither of them looked at each other.
“Do you want it be?” Jameson asked.
“Obviously not. But if you do, it’s fine. I’ll go pack my stuff, and when you come home, you won’t even know I was ever here,” she tried to joke.
“Tate.”
“We’ll have to work out a custody schedule for Sandy, though,” she laughed. “He’s half mine now. I want to -,”
“Tatum.”
“What?” she asked, finally looking at him. The wing of the chair hid his face.
“This isn’t a joke,” he told her. She nodded.
“I know that, I’m just trying to make you comfortable. It’s okay, Jameson. I promise. I’m okay,” she assured him. He sighed.
“Why are you so good to me?” he whispered. She laughed.
“Because you were so bad to me,” she teased.
“Do you want to stay?” he asked, and she could see him turn his head towards her. The bottom of his face became visible. His strong jaw, stern mouth. She shivered.
“I don’t want to stay where I’m not welcome,” she answered his question sideways.
“You’re always welcome, Tate. Just …, you have to know, I’m not ready for what you want,” he told her. She nodded.
“I
know that. I’m not asking for one single thing. I never did. Maybe we should just end this, go our separate ways. It’s kinda sick, right?” she laughed. He suddenly stood up, walked over to her chair, and pulled her up as well.
“I don’t think it’s sick,” Jameson breathed, pulling her in to a hug. “I care about you, Tate. I hate you, and you ruined things a little, but I care about you so fucking much. How did you do that to me?”
“I’m special that way,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“This was all supposed to be a game. What happened?” he asked. She shook her head.
“I have no idea. Maybe you weren’t mean enough,” she managed a laugh.
“Maybe I was too mean. You are a freak like that,” Jameson replied, and she really laughed.
“Shut up.”
“I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know what I want. But I don’t want you to go. Wait for me?” he asked in a soft voice, his lips brushing the top of her head. She took a deep breath.
“I waited for you for seven years. I can wait a little longer,” she answered. He chuckled.
“I hope I don’t take as long this time. Will you be here when I get back?”
“If you want me to be.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll be here.”
“Why can’t you be this compliant in bed?” he asked, and she laughed again.
Satan’s on a roll tonight.
“It wouldn’t be as fun,” she replied.
“You have ruined me, Tatum O’Shea,” he told her. “Completely wrecked me.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“It’s only fair, you did it to me first,” she whispered. He finally pulled away from her, held her at arms lengths. His eyes traveled over her form, and she wondered what he saw. What he really saw in her.
“I leave early tomorrow morning. You are welcome to stay here at the house, otherwise I’m going to have Sanders close it up,” he said, his voice all business as he let her go.
Close it up?
“Sandy isn’t going with you?” she asked. He shook his head.
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