“If you don't want your friends treating me like a whore, maybe don't mention that you offered to pay me,” she suggested.
“I didn't, I made a joke,” he said. She rolled her eyes.
“Yes, and men are retarded assholes. You make a joke like that and he looks at my tits, and it's one-plus-one equals whore,” she explained, and Jameson finally laughed.
“I wish I had gone to that school,” he chuckled, running his hand through his hair.
“It's really not a big deal, Jameson. Don't go freaking out. He's business. I'm pleasure. We'll keep it separate from now on,” Tate suggested. He nodded.
“Looks like neither of our little games worked out. Our worlds don't seem to mesh so well,” he pointed out. She nodded.
“We seem to have assholes for friends.”
“God, what does that say about us?”
“We're asshole royalty.”
“King and Queen of the Assholes?”
“Totally.”
They both cracked up after that – it was too far into the realm of ridiculous for Jameson, and the fact that he had kept it going made her laugh, as well. He pulled the Jack Daniel's bottle close and took a drink as well. He made a face as he passed it back to her.
“How you drink that shit, I'll never know,” he grumbled.
“When you're just poor, white, trash, you don't exactly go straight for the Johnny Walker Blue Label,” Tate laughed.
“I have some, we could be drinking that instead,” he offered.
“Nah, I like to stay true to my roots,” she joked, taking a healthy swig of the whiskey. He was silent for a moment, staring across the room. Sounds from the party drifted into the kitchen. Jameson scowled.
“I can't fucking believe Dunn did that,” he grumbled, staring out the kitchen door.
“He said you've shared girls before,” she told him. He glanced at her.
“Not like that, not like what we are,” he replied, gesturing between himself and Tate.
“Like how, then?”
“Like the same girl from an escort service. I've never let him sleep with a girl I was actively sleeping with on a regular basis. I don't do that. I would never be okay with you sleeping with him, or any of my other colleagues. Not now, or at any point in time in the future,” Jameson told her. She nodded.
“I'll keep that in mind.”
“You had fucking better.”
“Hey, don't get mad at me – I'm the one who was solicited. I deserve like restitution, or something,” she joked. Jameson laughed.
“Restitution? Like what?” he asked.
“A $50,000 pearl necklace,” Tate replied without hesitation. He snorted.
“Just go ahead and start holding your breath, I'll get right on that,” he told her. She made a face at him.
“I missed you, you know,” she blurted out. His eyebrows shot up.
“Really? The succubus missed her lord and master, Lucifer?” he joked, and she almost choked. It was basically the same joke she made about them in her head.
He's psychic, I knew it.
“Maybe 'miss' is too strong of a word,” she corrected herself. He laughed.
“Shut up, you couldn't have missed me that much. You were too busy getting stoned with Angier,” he taunted.
“One night. It was a peace offering, he came over to apologize. I would never turn down good weed,” she told him. Jameson laughed again.
“Are you sure that's all that happened? I don't know if I trust you,” he said. She rolled her eyes.
“I solemnly swear that I did not sleep with Angier while you were in Los Angeles,” Tate held a hand over her heart while she promised. He nodded.
“Good. So, what did you miss about me, baby girl?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the island. She thought for a second.
“Your penis.”
He barked out a laugh.
“I already knew that. What else?”
“I don't know. Sometimes you're almost funny. You let me run around in my underwear all the time – Rus hates it when I do that at home. And sometimes you're almost halfway sweet to me,” she tried to explain.
“Jesus, I sound like if Stalin owned the Playboy Mansion,” he pointed out. She nodded.
“Yes. Exactly like that,” Tate agreed.
“Shut up. What else?” Jameson pressed. She was thoughtful again.
“The way you treat me. Sometimes, and don't get me wrong, I love him, but just sometimes ... Ang kind of babies me. Coddles me. Tries to take care of me too much. Like he's afraid I'm gonna fall on my face if I'm out of his sight. You, on the other hand, practically push me down the stairs and just tell me to move my feet,” she laughed.
“You make me sound abusive,” he remarked. She shrugged.
“I meant it as a compliment. And you kinda are, in a way. I just happen to like it,” she told him. He glared at her playfully.
“I'm not abusive. I'm ... aggressively sexual,” Jameson explained. She rolled her eyes.
“More like a sexual aggressor,” she teased.
“You flatter me too much. And I might have missed you, too, just a little bit,” he confessed. She pressed a hand to her chest.
“See? There it is – sweetness. Be still, my beating heart.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Tate got up and wandered across the kitchen, grabbed some crackers and then leaned back against the cupboards. While she munched away, she watched him. He had turned to watch her, as well.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she started, “how much did you miss me?”
“I don't have a basis for comparison.”
“One - you didn't think about me once, ten – you cut your trip short because you couldn't live without me,” she suggested. He thought for a second.
“A two?”
She threw a cracker at him.
“God, you're such a dick. Sweetness, gone. You probably didn't miss me because you were too busy plowing some starlet,” she joked. Jameson was silent, just stared at her, and she gasped. “Oh my god. You did, didn't you?”
“I don't think you really want to have this conversation right now,” he said, moving away from the island and heading towards the kitchen door.
“Was it your ex?” she called out, and he stopped. Turned back towards her.
“No. She's not an actress, and she doesn't live in L.A.,” he assured her.
“Then who was it? Has she been on tv? Please tell me I've seen her in a show or something,” Tate laughed. He leaned against the doorway, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“You're really okay with this?” he asked. She moved back to the island and pulled herself up so she was sitting on top of it, facing him.
“I want all the gory details. Was she prettier than me?” Tate asked.
“I don't know how to answer that question,” he replied. She laughed.
“You're shy, Jameson?” she teased. He shook his head.
“I can't say if she was prettier than you because there were two women.”
“You slept with two women, in L.A., in one week?” Tate tried to lay everything out. He shook his head again.
“In one night.”
“Impressive. Smooth operator. Did they pass each other going through the front door?”
“They walked through it together, at the same time.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh wow, Jameson had been a naughty boy while he was gone. She was touched that he was worried it would bother her, but it didn't really. She wasn't threatened by some random chicks in Los Angeles.
“Hot. So, were either of them prettier than me?” Tate asked again.
“They were twins, and they were very sexy, but not as sexy as you,” Jameson assured her. She smiled big.
“I'm choosing to believe you on that. Were they better in bed?” she continued. He thought for a second.
“Well, that's hard to answer. Twice the anatomy to play with, kind of gives them an advantage,” he said. Tate pouted her lower lip out at him
, trying to hide her laughter. “But they weren't better. No. No, definitely not. No one takes care of me quite like you.”
“That's good to hear, seeing as how it's usually you doing all the taking care of – have you ever slept with them before?” she asked, munching on a cracker. He shook his head.
“No, I just met them that week. Kind of a spur of the moment thing. They asked me to dinner, one thing led to another,” he nodded his head for emphasis. Tate laughed.
“The ol' one-thing-led-to-another-suddenly-I'm-fucking-twins kind of night. I have that same problem all the time. Bitches just be falling for you in pairs, man,” she teased. He rolled his eyes.
“God, I shouldn't have said anything.”
“No, I'm glad you did. I want to know everything,” she urged, pushing the box of crackers away. His face became hard, serious. Almost angry.
“Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down and had her watch while I fucked the other? Or how they took turns sucking my dick? Things like that?” Jameson's voice was serious as well. The temperature in the kitchen suddenly cranked up about a hundred degrees. She licked her lips and nodded.
“Exactly like that,” Tate replied, her voice breathy. He stared at her for a second, then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, pushed a button.
“Sanders,” he barked into the phone, still staring at her. “Party's over. I want everyone out of my house in five minutes.”
“Ooohhh, finally, alone time,” Tate chuckled.
He didn't say anything in response, and they watched each other in silence. When they heard the sound of feet clomping through the house, he winked at her and slid out the door, closing it behind him.
She let out a breath, bowing her head forward. The mental image of Jameson, having sex, with two women. She rubbed her legs together. When she was having sex with him, she was too caught up in the moment, most of the time, to really pay attention. The idea of sitting back and watching him, seeing him in all his perfect kind of action; it turned her on. With two women? Wow.
The goodbyes seemed to take forever. She could hear voices murmuring, picked out Jameson's voice among them. She laid back flat on the island, propped her feet up on the edge. Two women. Did he talk with other women the way he talked with her? She imagined him tying a woman's wrists to a bed post, calling her names. Tracing his tongue down her prone body. Tate's hand crept onto her stomach. Fiddled with the edge of her bikini bottoms. She took a deep breath through her nose, forcing her hand to stay still.
It had been a long week without him.
“Getting started without me? Bad girl,” Jameson's voice was soft as he walked back into the kitchen.
“No, but I thought about it,” she replied, not lifting her head but holding up her hands for him to see.
“That's bad enough. I've barely told you anything, and you're already turned on?” he asked, moving so he was standing in front of her. She sat up, letting her legs fall back down against the drawers beneath her. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs so he could stand between them.
“I've got a very good imagination, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He placed a hand against the crotch of her bikini bottoms, gently tracing his middle finger up and down. She sucked air through her teeth, trying not to moan.
“Apparently. You're soaking wet, Tatum,” he informed her. She nodded.
“You have that effect on me, if you haven't noticed.”
“You sure it wasn't all those men you were flirting with? Laying it on pretty thick out there,” he told her, his fingers from his other hand digging into her knee.
“I thought you liked it when I was slutty,” she pointed out. He narrowed his eyes.
“Hmmm, sometimes,” was all he said in response, the pressure from his fingers getting harder. She sucked in another gasp of air and grabbed onto his wrist.
“No fair. I want to hear your story,” she told him, stopping his movements.
“You are an amazing woman, Tatum O'Shea,” Jameson chuckled, stepping back away from her.
“You have no idea. Now make it juicy. Lie if you have to,” she told him, and he laughed, going back to his position by the door, leaning against the wall.
“Alright. What do you want to know first?” he asked. She laid back down.
“How it all started, start there. What were you wearing. What were they wearing,” she suggested.
“Awfully detailed.”
“I'm a very visual person.”
“Let's see. I met them for dinner. I was wearing clothing. One of them was wearing a ridiculous dress, you would have loved it – short, slutty, only covered one shoulder. The other one was more demure, some fancy shirt, and tight pants,” he described. Tate laughed.
“You were 'wearing clothing', huh? You're a horrible story teller. Do these girls have names?” she asked, propping her foot up on the island top.
“Probably,” was all he said, and she laughed.
“Terrible. So okay, we'll say Thing One is Slutty One - right up your alley. Thing Two, Demure Temptress. How long did it take you to talk them into coming home with you?” she asked. He snorted.
“I didn't talk them into shit, Tate. We had appetizers, I told them I was going home, they asked to join me. Demure Temptress sucked my dick during the cab ride to my hotel,” Jameson stated.
“Oh my. Lucky cab driver,” Tate whispered.
“Once we got into my room, I sat on the balcony while they took turns blowing me. Slutty One couldn't wait any longer, and climbed on top of me right out there,” he continued.
“What was Demure Temptress doing?” Tate asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“She went back into the room, got naked. Stretched out on the bed. Played with herself,” his voice was soft. Tate could feel her breathing pick up.
“Did you like that?”
“Very much so.”
“What else?”
“I carried the slutty sister into the room, laid down on the bed between them. You can touch yourself, Tate, it's okay,” Jameson said when her finger began to trace lines above her bikini. She laughed.
“I don't need your permission,” she pointed out.
“Wrong.”
Her hand dived underneath the bathing suit material and she closed her eyes. She brought her other leg up so both knees were in the air, the balls of her feet balanced on the edge of the island. Sometimes she wondered who was better at touching her – herself, or Jameson. Her fingers could thread her like a needle; precise, knew exactly how to touch. Jameson was more like silk; smooth, finessing everything. She began to pant.
“What else?” she moaned.
“Fuck, Tate, what did I do to deserve you?” his voice sounded strained. She chuckled.
“Nothing, yet. Keep talking, please,” she begged, her other hand joining the first as she gently eased a finger into her opening.
“The demure sister rode my cock for a while, while slutty girl let me see how many fingers I could fit inside of her. Then they traded places,” he continued. Tate moaned, pushing her hips into the air. She dragged one hand away, brought it to her hair and pulled a little.
“Get to the part with the ropes,” she gasped.
“Tatum, naughty girl, you want me to tie you up, don't you?” Jameson asked.
“I want you to do whatever you fucking want,” she said, then cried out, pushing two fingers inside.
“Good answer. I didn't have any rope, I had to use the slutty one's tights. I tied her down flat to the mattress, to the legs of the bed. Bent the demure one in half right beside the other girl and fucked her as hard as I could.”
“Oh my god, did you talk? Did you talk to them the way you talk to me?” the words rushed out of Tate, her voice sounding like she was almost whining. His story, the picture he was painting, was getting her so hot, she almost didn't need her hand to help her get off.
“Oh no. No, I reserve that for people that I think can actually handle it. That's why sex has always been
better with you – I can always be myself,” he told her in a whisper. She moaned again, long and low, her fingers thrusting in and out of herself.
“I'm glad,” she whispered, the hand in her hair going behind her head, gripping onto the edge of the island.
“Not to say that boring, old, regular sex doesn't help pass the time. After demure one came apart all around me, I moved onto slutty one. Left her tied up, so I could do anything I wanted to her,” Jameson's voice was almost menacing sounding.
“What did you do?” Tate's voice was starting to shake. She didn't want to come, not without him inside her, but she couldn't stop her fingers.
“What do you think I did?” he asked.
“Did you go down on her?” she asked, then held her breath.
“No. I don't do that for just anybody,” he informed her. It made her happy to hear it, he hadn't done that for her yet.
“I noticed.”
“You want me to go down on you, Tate?” he asked.
“I don't care.”
“I consider that a very big favor. It's quite a treat for me to give. You would owe me, big time,” he told her. She shook her head.
“Obviously, I don't need your favors,” she managed to chuckle, but it turned into a gasp as a tremor ripped through her body, forcing her hips into the air again. She was so close ...
“What the the fuck did you just say to me?” Jameson snapped. She smiled, pressing her knees together.
“God, yes, talk to me like that,” she moaned, her fingers moving fast, running a race against him.
“Shut the fuck up and stop moving,” he ordered. She shook her head.
“Can't. Sorry,” she whispered, her breathing beginning to hitch.
She hadn't heard him move, but suddenly she felt his hand on her knee. She turned her head forward and opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. He slid his hand between her thighs, moving them apart. She finally pulled her hand free of her bottoms, but he grabbed her by the wrist and raised her hand to his face, wrapping his lips around two of her fingers. She moaned again, scratching the nails of her free hand down her thigh. His tongue swirled around her sticky sweet fingers, then he slowly pulled them free.
“You always need my favors, Tatum,” he informed her, dropping her hand and then grabbing her by the hips, pushing her back along the counter. Her legs stretched out, till her calves were resting against the edge.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 18