The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  “Whatever. Point to the challenger then, me. Defend away,” she responded, rolling her eyes.

  He didn't respond, just continued smirking down at her. The lawyers began filing back into the room and Jameson took his position on the other side of the table. She wasn't really sure what their little spar had been about, or what had come out of it. She was just going to try to get through the rest of the conference, and then she would scurry away before he could talk to her again. She didn't want anything to do with Jameson Kane, or his -,

  “Ms. O'Shea,” his sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. Tate lifted her head.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked, making sure to keep her voice soft and polite.

  “Could you bring me some water, and something to eat,” he asked, not even bothering to look at her as he flipped through a contract.

  She loaded up a tray with his requests and made her way around the table. No one even looked at her, they just threw legal jargon around at each other – a language she didn't know. She stood next to Jameson and leaned forward, setting his water down and then going about arranging cheese and crackers on a plate for him. She was about halfway done when she felt it.

  Are those ... his fingers!?

  Tate froze for a second. His touch was light as he ran his fingers up and down between her legs. She glanced down at her knees and then glanced over at him. He was still looking down, but she could see him smirking. She tried to ignore him, tried to go back to setting up his food, but his hand went higher. Daring to brush up past her knees, well underneath her skirt. He couldn't get any farther, not unless he pushed up her skirt, or sunk down in his chair. She dumped the rest of the cheese on his plate and started to scoot away. She had just gotten back to her station when she heard a thunking noise, followed by groans.

  “No worries. Ms. O'Shea! So sorry, could you get this?” Jameson's voice was bored sounding.

  She turned around and saw that he had knocked over his water glass. He was blotting at the liquid as it spread across the table. The lawyers were all holding their papers aloft, grumbling back and forth.

  Tate groaned and grabbed a towel before striding back to the table. She glared at him the whole way, but he still refused to look at her. She started as far away from him as she could get, mopping everything up, but eventually she had to almost lean across him to reach the mess. She stood on her toes, stretching across the table top.

  As she had assumed it would, his hand found its way back to her legs. Only this time he wasn't shy, and her position allowed for a lot of access. His hand shot straight up the back of her skirt, his fingertips brushing against the lace of her panties.

  She swallowed a squeak and glanced around. If any of the other gentlemen lifted their heads, they would have been able to see their client with half of his arm up his assistant's skirt, plain as day. He managed to run his finger under the hem of her underwear, down the left side of her butt cheek, before she pulled away. She stomped back to the food station, throwing the towel down with such violence, she knocked over a stack of sugar cubes.

  When she turned around, Jameson was finally looking at her. She plunked her fists on her hips, staring straight back. His smirk was in place – as she had expected it would be – and he held up a finger, pointing it straight up. One. Then he pointed at himself. One point. Tied. He thought they were playing a game. She hadn't wanted to play games with him, but she hated to lose at anything, and she never wanted to lose to a man like Jameson Kane.

  An idea flitted across her mind. Tate wanted to make him as uncomfortable as he had just made her feel. She coolly raised an eyebrow and then took her time looking around the room. The lawyers all still had their backs to her – not one of them had turned around the entire time she'd been there. Blinds had been drawn over every window, no one could see in the office, but she knew the door wasn't locked. Anyone could walk into the room. She took a deep breath. It didn't matter anyway, what was the worst that could happen? She would get fired? It was a temp job, that Jameson had requested her for – he didn't even work there. Did she really care what happened?

  She dragged her stare back to meet his and then ran her hands down the sides of her skirt. He raised an eyebrow as well, his eyes following her hands. When she got to the hem of the skirt, she pressed her palms flat and began to slowly, achingly, slide the material up her legs. Now both his eyebrows were raised. He flicked his gaze to her face, then went right back to her skirt. Higher, up past her knees. To the middle of her thighs. Higher still. If anyone turned around, they would be very surprised at what they saw. One more inch, and her skirt would be moot. Jameson's stare was practically burning holes through her.

  Taking short, quick, breaths through her nose, Tate slid her hands around to her butt. She wiggled the material up higher back there, careful to keep the front low enough to hide her whole business, and was able to hook her fingers into her underwear. She didn't even think about what she was doing, couldn't take her eyes off of Jameson, as she slid her underwear over her butt and down her hips. As the lace slid to her ankles, she pushed her skirt back into place. Then she stepped out of the panties and bent over, picking them up. When she stood upright, she let the lace dangle from her hand while she held up one finger. Point.

  Winning.

  Jameson nodded his head at her, obviously conceding to her victory, then returned his attention to the papers in front of him. Tate let out a breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding, and turned around, bracing her hands against the table. She leaned forward and took deep breaths. She had just started to gain some ground on slowing her heart rate, when a throat cleared.

  “What is that, Ms. O'Shea?” Jameson called out from behind her. She spun around, balling up her underwear in her fist.

  “Excuse me, sir?” she asked.

  “That,” he continued, gesturing with his pen at her. “In your hands. You have something for me. Bring it here.”

  Now everyone turned towards her. Tate held herself as still as possible, her hands clasped together in front of her legs, hiding the underwear between her fingers. All eyes were on her. Jameson smirked at her and leaned back in his chair. She took a shaky breath.

  “I don't know what -,”

  “Bring it here, Ms. O'Shea, now,” he ordered, tapping the table top with his pen. She glared at him.

  Fuck this.

  She turned around and pulled one of the silver trays in front of her. She laid her panties out neatly on top, making sure the material was smooth and flat. She was very thankful that she had gone all out and worn her good, expensive, “I'm-successful-and-career-oriented!”, underwear. She balanced the tray on top of her fingertips and spun around, striding towards their table, a big smile on her face.

  “For you, Mr. Kane,” she said in a breathy voice, then dropped the tray in front of him. It clattered loudly and spun around a little before coming to a rest, the panties sliding off to one side.

  As she walked away, she could hear some gasps. A couple laughs. A very familiar chuckle. When she got to the door, she pulled it open before turning back to the room. A couple of the lawyers were gawking at her, and the rest were laughing, gesturing to the display she had just put on; Jameson was looking straight at her, his smirk in place. She blew him a kiss and then stomped out the door.

  A COUPLE HOURS LATER, Tate sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her closet. She should have been getting ready for work. She had promised to do a shift at the bar for one of the other girls, Tuesday was usually her day off. She had taken a shower, tried to motivate herself to get dressed, but after the afternoon she'd had, she really didn't want to get sexy-ed up and go sling drinks. She sighed.

  Get over it. Rent is due.

  She began yanking out clothing, not paying attention to what she picked out. Her mind kept wandering back to the conference room. Tate had grown pretty bold over the years, very confident in herself and her sexuality, but she had never done something like that before; had never stripped in a room full of peo
ple.

  How was it possible that he still had that kind of power over her? One time. They had been together only one time, it wasn't fair. And weirder still – why did it seem like he was pursuing her? Jameson Kane didn't pursue anybody, not even seven years ago. Ellie had asked him out. He had certainly never pursued Tate. She had all but fallen on his dick that night, she'd been so eager for him. She shook her head back and forth, trying to clear her thoughts.

  Never again. I am never going to think of Jameson Kane, never -,

  “Tate!” Rusty's voice squealed through her door.

  “What? It's open,” Tate called out, dropping the towel she had been wearing and shimmying into a pair of sweat pants. Her door cracked open and Rus peeked her head around the corner.

  “There is some guy here to see you,” she said in an excited voice. Tate scrunched her eyebrows together. Some guy?

  “Who? What does he want?” she asked, pulling on a t-shirt and then yanking her damp hair up into a ponytail.

  “I don't know who he is, but he is so good looking, I can't believe he's real life. He's wearing some expensive looking suit,” Rus described. Tate groaned, rubbing her hands over her face.

  “Jesus! What, is he stalking me now!?” she moaned.

  “No,” a deep voice came from her doorway. She looked up.

  Jameson Kane is in my piece of shit apartment.

  “Make yourself at home,” she sighed, gesturing for him to come into her room. Rus giggled and turned bright red, making room for him and then scurrying out the door.

  “She's cute,” Jameson commented as he wandered around the tiny room, inspecting things.

  “Oh really? Want to eat her for breakfast, too?” Tate asked. Jameson laughed, leaning close to a photo.

  “Hmmm, not really my tastes. I'm hungering for something a little darker,” he replied. Tate narrowed her eyes.

  “Well, that 'something' isn't on the menu,” she informed him. He stood upright and faced her.

  “We'll see about that.”

  “Seriously. What the fuck do you want?” she snapped at him. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Attitude. I like it. Where's all that shit you normally have around your eyes?” he asked, walking towards her. She started to back up but then stopped, holding her ground.

  “I was just about to put all that shit back on when I was interrupted by a conceited asshole,” she replied.

  “Look. I want to talk to you. We haven't seen each other in a long time. You ... intrigue me. Not much does anymore,” he explained a little.

  “Intrigue?”

  “You're so different, but still kind of the same. It's interesting. I'm curious to see how deep both go,” he added. She sighed.

  “Look, Kane, you don't just get to decide -,”

  “Jameson,” he corrected her. She blinked at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Jameson. That's my name. Call me by my name,” he instructed her.

  “But everyone calls you Kane. All those lawyers today, my sister, everyone,” Tate replied, a little lost in the conversation. He shook his head.

  “I don't care. You always called me Jameson. Say it again,” he ordered. She laughed.

  “Okay, play time is over. Get out of my apartment. I'm very flattered that you think you want to know something about me, but I don't really give two fucks. I don't want anything to do with you. You are nothing to me. So thank you, and goodbye,” she stated, gesturing towards her door.

  Jameson watched her for a second and then walked towards her, his steps slow and deliberate. She refused to back away, so they wound up almost chest to chest. Not quite touching, but close enough that he sucked all the oxygen out of her. She stared up at him, rubbing her lips together so she wouldn't blurt out the thoughts in her head.

  “It hasn't escaped my attention that you growing a massive set of balls seems to have happened right after I fucked you. I think I deserve some credit, and therefore, you owe me,” he broke it down for her. She burst out laughing.

  “You're an amazing piece of work! Just because we had sex, doesn't mean -,”

  “I fucked you. There is a big difference.”

  “It was seven years ago!” Tate was suddenly shrieking. “Seven fucking years! Who gives a fuck!? I've fucked a lot of people since then! I'm sure you have, too! So big fucking deal!”

  Nothing rattled him. He stood still, continuing to smirk down at her. It drove her insane. She wanted to slap him. Claw her nails across his face. Knock him to the ground. And then possibly fuck his brains out ...

  “I think it was a very big deal, and we can discuss that another time. For now, let me take you to work. Let me see this shit hole bar you work at, then maybe we can set up a time to chat,” Jameson offered.

  Her mind was spinning. It had been a big deal to him? Not possible. Not. Fucking. Possible. He'd barely even looked at her after it had happened, and she had been a puddle on the floor. Jameson Kane wasn't that kind of guy, she couldn't imagine anything being that big of a deal to him. She had always assumed he had forgotten about it.

  That's why she was so stunned.

  “I ... you ... what?” she asked. He laughed.

  “I'll be waiting downstairs. Your apartment scares me. Be down in fifteen minutes. Do not make me come back up here,” he ordered, pointing a finger at her before walking towards the door.

  “You can't tell me -,”

  “Oh, and Tate, you forgot these,” he said, digging in his pocket. He pulled her panties out and tossed them onto the floor. “You always seem to be dropping these around me.”

  Mother fucker.

  JAMESON WAS A LITTLE shocked that she came down within the fifteen minutes. She eyed him sideways for a minute, and it was obvious she was considering just walking off, but something made her think twice. She must have figured out that he would just follow after her. She sighed and stepped around him, letting herself into the passenger side of his car.

  Tate didn't talk to him, other than to give directions. Her voice had gotten just a touch lower than it had been when she was eighteen. A huskiness had been added to it, or something. Something sexy. Everything about her was sexy. Seven years ago, she had been sexy as a clueless, naive, young woman. Now, as a confident, forward, twenty-five year old, she stopped his heart. Made it hard to think straight.

  She had put makeup on. She seemed to favor a smudgy, smoky eye. It looked good on her. A little trashy, but in a very sexy way. Her pert mouth was coated in a pale, pink gloss, that really emphasized the fact that she most definitely had CSL - cock-sucking-lips. Seven years ago, he wouldn't have ever been able to imagine Tatum O'Shea sucking dick. Now he couldn't stop.

  Jameson wouldn't let himself think about her body, or he'd have to pull over the car and ease the tension between them, right then and there.

  She was fighting against him, and it just turned him on even more. When she had started pulling down her panties, in the middle of that room, with all those people ... it had taken every bit of restraint he had not to dismiss everyone and fuck her right then. The old Tatum had been fun to play with, cute. This Tatum, he wanted to own. He wanted to break her down, bend her to him. She seemed a worthy adversary, and Jameson loved a good fight.

  “Do you always start work this late?” he questioned, pulling up in front of a kind of dive looking bar. She shook her head.

  “No, I'm filling in for someone, I normally work weekends. Thanks for the ride,” she said before leaping out of the car. He got out right behind her.

  “Oh, I've gotta see this place. I'm fascinated by your life. Good girl goes bad. Is there piss on the floor?” he asked, holding the door to the bar open. She gave him a smile full of sweetness.

  “You have such a sexy way with words.”

  Then she elbowed him and strode through the door.

  She made a beeline to the bar, ducking under the partition and heading into a back room. Jameson planted himself on a bar stool and ordered a bourbon. Neat. The woman serving h
im was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a string-bikini top, and wore them well. It made him curious as to what Tate would be wearing, wondered if it would be as slutty.

  He wasn't disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, at ten o'clock on the dot, she reappeared. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was wearing a tiny pair of jean cut-offs. He had wanted to see her ass, and now his wish was pretty much granted. When she leaned over the back of the bar to grab something, he could see the bottom swell of her ass cheeks.

  On top she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of baseball logo on it, but she had ripped off the bottom half of it. It stopped just beneath her breasts, and when she lifted her arms, he could see a gray, lacy bra. The shirt also show-cased her stomach, with was tone and flat. The girl took care of her body. She had leather boots on her feet, almost combat like, but with the tops folded down. They should have looked at odds with her sexy outfit, but they worked some how.

  “Is this how you normally dress for work?” Jameson asked when she made her way towards his end of the bar. She glanced down at herself.

  “No. Sometimes I wear less,” she replied, and he laughed.

  “Less? So if I come in here on the weekend, you might be serving people in a bikini?” he had to shout to be heard over the music and the rowdy patrons. It had been pretty full when they'd walked in – now it was standing room only.

  “Only if it's a game day.”

  “Hot. But those shorts, I think they have to go. Sometimes less is more, you know,” he teased. Tate raised an eyebrow.

  “You think they're too short?”

  “Yes.”

  She whirled away from him and took long strides to the other end of the bar. She picked something up and then headed back towards him. It took him a second before he realized it was a blow horn. She smirked at him and then lifted it to her lips.

  “Everybody! Hey!” she shouted. There was a roar of cheers and the music was turned down. “This man here thinks my shorts are too short! What do you all think!?” She pulled the blow horn away, lifting her arms up in a questioning gesture.