“Watch how you fucking speak to me, and keep it the fuck down. Goddamn, Tate, I know you love being a whore, but not everyone needs to hear it,” he cursed.
“Then stop fucking me,” she challenged, her breathing starting to hitch. He leaned back, pulling himself up onto his knees.
“Oh, I always finish what I start.”
“Really? I can remember a couple times -,”
He slapped her across the face, then his hand was back on her throat. She began to cry out in time to his thrusts.
“Why do you make me do that!?” he demanded.
“Because ... I love it,” she whispered, her eyes rolling back in her head.
“Apparent-fucking-ly. Such a stupid cunt, couldn't wait a couple fucking hours. We could be doing this with you bent over the railing on the balcony, but no. You had to throw a fucking pity party, hide in here. Ruin the night for everyone,” he growled at her.
“Doesn't seem like it's ending so bad for you,” she pointed out. He let go of her throat, grabbed one of her legs instead. Pushed it up so her knee was almost touching her chest. He was so deep inside her that she was seeing spots with every thrust.
Just how I like it.
“That's what you think. If I wanted a lousy fuck, I would've stuck with Isadora.”
“Funny, I had the same thought the other day about Ang.”
That earned her another slap.
“Shut the fuck up, you love everything I give you.”
“Jameson, I can't ... please ... I want ...,” Tate couldn't form a coherent sentence. Couldn't form a coherent thought. The orgasm that was approaching was starting in her chest, making her breasts tighten; making it hard to breathe.
“I know what you want,” he whispered, letting go of her leg and leaning down close to her. She met him halfway, kissing him hard.
His fingernails digging into the back of her thigh started it, and when she cried out, he bit down on her bottom lip. That finished it. She came immediately, her whole body going into a spasm before it locked down on him. He groaned, pressing his forehead to her chest while he waited out her orgasm. It took a while.
“Fuck. Fuck,” she panted, rubbing her lips together.
“We're going to kill each other someday, while we're doing this,” Jameson breathed as well.
“Totally.”
“Get up.”
Tate barely had the feeling back in her legs and Jameson was rolling off of her. She sat up, but before she could even ask what he had in mind, his hand was in her hair, pulling it. Pushing her. Forcing her down his length. She didn't even hesitate, just wrapped her lips around the head of his shaft and began bobbing away. She had barely gotten three good pumps in, still trying to catch her breath and find her rhythm, when Jameson groaned and pushed down hard on the back of her head. Dick met back of throat and Tate swallowed against her gag reflex, forcing herself to take it.
Cause I'm a fucking champion.
One of Jameson's favorite things about her were her legendary blowjob skills, so she always tried to put on a show for him. She found her stride after that, shifting and moving on the bed so she was bent over him, a hand on his thigh. Her fingernails scratching into his skin.
“God, you're so good at that, baby girl,” Jameson groaned, and she felt the hand on the back of her head relax. “So fucking good.”
“Better than a Brazilian?” she asked, coming up for air. He chuckled and forced her head down again.
After a couple minutes, she could tell he wouldn't last much longer. She could feel him literally throbbing. But by that point, she'd been working at it for a while, and the whole scenario had gotten her heated up again. Her fingers found their way between her legs, and suddenly her attention was divided in two.
“Tate ... fuck, I'm gonna come in your mouth,” Jameson warned. Tate pulled away and he actually growled, but she moved fast, swinging her leg over his hips.
“Not today,” she breathed, lowering herself onto him.
“Did I fucking say you could -,” he started to snap, but was cut off when she tightened all of her muscles around him. Both of them gasped and his hands went to her thighs, gripping hard enough that she knew there would bruises. She began rotating her hips against his.
It didn't take long. Jameson actually came before she did, a rarity for them, but his orgasm set off her own and she practically screamed, collapsing on his chest. She shook and panted, clenching her fingers against his rib cage.
“Holy shit. Holy fuck,” she gasped for air.
“What the fuck was that? A second wind?” Jameson asked, breathing hard as well. Tate slid to the side, moving off of him till she was laying flat on the mattress.
“Something like that,” she agreed, swallowing thickly. She felt his hand against her back.
“Feel better?”
“Immensely. Thank you.”
“Good,” he said, then lurched upright. He stood up and she could hear his belt buckle jangling. “Now get the fuck up and get back out there.”
“Can't. My bones don't exist anymore,” she chuckled. He smacked her on the butt, then pulled her skirt back into place. Grabbed her hips and rolled her till she was on her back.
“Tough. I rewarded your pouting. You owe me,” he said. One of her stockings had come completely loose, just a bunched up mess around her ankle. Jameson took her shoe off and pulled the hosiery free. Straightened it out.
“I don't owe you shit. If anything, I just gave you a reward,” she challenged him, stretching her arms above her head. He moved over her, his knees on either side of her hips.
“I just fucked you, and you're already getting attitudey again? Do you ever learn?” he asked, and she suddenly felt his hands near her throat. Silk against her skin. She realized he was wrapping the stocking around her neck, and she opened her eyes.
“Apparently not,” she said, her voice husky. He knotted the material and pulled it tight enough for her to feel it pinch.
“We could have a lot of fun with this,” he murmured, coiling the excess silk around his fists. One jerk, and Tate wouldn't be friends with oxygen anymore.
“A lot more fun than some boring party,” she whispered back.
“You're such a fucking whore. I love it. I'm going to -,” Jameson started pulling tighter on the stocking, when suddenly the bedroom door opened.
“Hey, can I borrow your -,” Ang's voice began blurting out, then he stopped. Tate tilted her head back, smiling up at him. Ang stared down at them, a grin spreading across his face. Jameson just glared.
“What's up?” Tate asked casually.
“You could fucking knock, you know,” Jameson pointed out.
“Thank god I didn't, I would've missed all the fun!” Ang joked, sliding in the door and shutting it behind him.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Jameson demanded.
“Enjoying the show. God, I feel like it's been forever since I've seen your tits, Tate,” Ang almost whined. Tate burst out laughing and looked down. She still had her bra on, but some how during their little tête à tête, Jameson had ripped open her blouse.
“What do you want, Angier?” Jameson sighed, letting go of the stocking and crawling backwards off of Tate. Once he was standing, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a sitting position.
“Oh. Yeah. Can I crash in your guest bedroom?” Ang asked. Tate pulled the stocking away from her throat and stood up as well.
“What's wrong with your room?” she questioned, turning to face him as she attempted to close her shirt.
“My room doesn't have the same ..., amenities as yours,” he answered, but he was speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. She stared at him.
“What kind of amenities?”
“Well, your room has a naked Brazilian model in it, so ...,”
“Jesus,” Jameson growled. “I introduced the two of you so could go off and fuck on your own time. Not in my hotel room.”
“I'm just glad she's not fucking you in
your hotel room,” Tate snickered. He glared at her.
“The night's still young.”
“Pleeeeease? If I make her get dressed, it'll ruin the mood,” Ang begged.
“How did she wind up naked in the guest bedroom, anyway?” Tate was curious.
“Well, she was going down on me in the bathroom – you might want to call for housekeeping, by the way – and then she just pretty much dropped all her clothes and spread herself out. Frankly, you should be happy I even thought to ask,” Ang pointed out. Jameson snorted.
“I don't have to -,”
“He's right,” Tate interrupted, laying her hand against Jameson's arm. “It's pretty amazing. Normally we wouldn't find out till we heard the sex noises. Just let them be.”
“God. Fine.”
“Speaking of sex noises, most of your party guests left after monkey noises started coming out of here. You guys need to learn how to shut the fuck up,” Ang cackled, then dashed out the door before Jameson could throw something at him.
“See, I told you, you never shut up.”
“He was talking to both of us.”
“Shut up.”
Tate went into the bathroom and cleaned herself up, pulled off the other stocking and straightened out her skirt. When she went back into the bedroom, Jameson was changing into a whole new suit. She crept up behind him, wrapped her arms around him and nibbled on his shoulder while he tried to button a vest.
“Thank you,” she whispered, fiddling with his tie.
“For what?” he asked, turning his head towards her.
“For understanding me.”
“Always, Liebe.”
They went back to the party. Ang hadn't been lying, there weren't a whole lot of people left, and the few that had stuck around looked pretty uncomfortable. Probably because even crazier sex noises were coming from the other bedroom. Grossly inappropriate.
I love it.
Sanders and Jameson managed to salvage what was left of the party, laughing and chatting it up. Tate got to talking with the wife of a real estate attorney, and actually enjoyed herself.
But she kept one eye on her boys. Jameson would catch her eye every now and then. Wink at her. Sanders played it cool. Actually made eye contact with people, even laughed a couple times.
He's changed so much.
Over the years, he'd actually filled out a little. He'd always be somewhat trim, but he was no longer “skinny”. When he'd first moved to Russia, he'd had a lot of free time. Apparently he'd filled most of it with exercising. His body showed it. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker. It made Tate proud. She'd always thought he was handsome, since the first time she'd seen him. Now it felt like he was finally seeing his own potential, and actually cared.
Thinking about all that also made her sad, though. She knew he'd be leaving them again. His home was in Moscow now, his life was there. It broke her heart. She didn't want him to go. Sometimes, just sometimes, she longed for the old days. Before she had her own business. Before Sanders left home. Before her and Jameson played the break-up-make-up game. Back to when they'd all first met, and she and Sanders were free to run around all day. She and Jameson were free to play around all night.
Why can't things stay the same?
~9~
“Okay, so what's the plan today?”
“No plan.”
“But it's just us.”
“Just us, Porn God.”
“I like that. That's my name today, I'll only answer to it.”
“Got it.”
“And why is it just us?”
“Jameson is meeting with that lawyer, finally.”
“And that takes all day?”
“If you wanna go hump your Brazilian girlfriend, it's fine. Go.”
Ang laughed and yanked on a lock of Tate's hair.
It had been a week since the failed hotel room party. Isadora the Brazilian hoochie-slash-model had given up on wooing Jameson – apparently Ang more than fulfilled her needs. That left Tate and Jameson and Sanders with a lot of together time, which was nice. For a week, she got to pretend like it was old times again.
But that morning, Jameson informed her that his lawyer had finally flown into town. Sooner than expected. Wasn't Tate happy about that? She could finally get back to her precious Boston and her precious bar. She gave him a wet-willy as he walked out the door, which earned her a slap and a threat of retribution.
Good times.
Jameson took Sanders with him, so that left Tate alone in the hotel room. Which she promptly left to invade Ang's room. He was spooning with Isadora, or possibly having half-asleep sex, Tate wasn't sure, but she burst into his room anyway, all but dragging him out of bed. Like a true friend, he ditched his skank and hit the town with Tate.
“I've humped her enough. It's already boring. So are we going to do this all day?” he asked, looking around him. They were on a bright red, double decker tour bus. The top floor didn't have a roof and they sat up there, watching the sites roll by them.
“No. But I figured this would be a cheap, easy way to see the city,” she explained, turning to look as they rolled by the famous Peninsula Hotel. Jameson had told her he normally stayed there when he visited, but had decided on a larger, “brand name” hotel for her this time.
“Cheap? Do you actually have to worry about stuff like that anymore? Big Daddy Kane won't give you access to his funds?” Ang teased. She rolled her eyes.
“That's boring. I can whip out the black American Express card easy peezy, but then we wouldn't get to see it like this,” she pointed out.
“He gave you a black American Express card!?”
“I am not buying you stuff.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
They actually did go shopping after that, near the water front there were a lot of shops. Tate was a sucker when it came to Urban Outfitters, in any country. Sometimes, a person just needed a clock that looked like it was melting. Or at least, she did. They laughed at their purchases as they headed to the Sky 100 deck, inside the seventh tallest building in the world. They had tea service while over looking Victoria Harbor.
“He's calling me,” Tate mumbled, glancing down at her phone. Before she could answer, Ang yanked it away from her.
“This'll be good, trust me,” he said quickly, then answered the call, making moaning sounds.
“We are in public!” Tate hissed, smacking him with her napkin. Ang waved her away and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Sorry, sorry about that, you know how Tate's mouth is. God, she's even better than I remembered – glad you haven't ruined all the years of hard work I put into her,” Ang said quickly, sounding breathless. Tate couldn't hear Jameson's response, but she could guess.
“You're such a dick,” she grumbled, throwing the balled up napkin at Ang's face. He was silent for a while, then glanced at her before turning away.
“No. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Gotcha. Do you want to talk -, okay. On it. Too late, Satan, you said whatever it takes,” Ang's voice was teasing towards the end.
What the fuck are they talking about?
But before Tate could ask that question out loud, Ang hung up the phone. Didn't even offer for her to say hello or goodbye.
“What was that!? I wanted to talk to him!” Tate snapped.
“Just some man talk. His meetings are running late, he told me to entertain you, so c'mon. Get naked,” Ang instructed. She snorted.
“Fuck off. What did he say?” she asked.
“Just that – he's gonna be with his lawyer for a while, that's why he was calling you. Said that we could hang out and do whatever we want tonight. So let's make it good, god knows when we'll get a chance like this again,” Ang said, slowly standing out of his chair.
“I'm not having sex with you.”
“You're so boring now.”
Tate wanted to go back to the hotel to change, but Ang pitched a fit. He wanted to go to the Avenue of the Stars, take a picture next to the Bruce Lee statue. And
once they were down there, he wanted to stay so they could watch the “symphony of lights” - when several of the city's larger buildings would put on a light show, set to music. So another couple hours were spent milling around till that happened.
Despite her continued complaining about wanting to change out of her sweaty clothing, Ang dragged her to a nightclub. Tate had to admit, it was pretty good fun. He plied her with alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. After a certain point, she stopped caring that she was wearing sweaty clothing. Stopped caring about almost everything.
“We should do this more often!” Tate yelled, hopping around to the heavy bass.
“If you could convince Satan to move to L.A., we could!” Ang yelled back, dancing around her in a circle.
“He does have that condo there,” Tate said, trying to sip at her drink while still hopping.
“Use your magic snatch to talk him into it,” Ang suggested, poking at her crotch. She spit out her mouthful of liquor, laughing.
“Magic snatch, that's the best.”
Tate had no clue what time it was when they finally left the club. Late enough that the stifling heat had abated somewhat, a breeze blowing through the streets. Ang caught them a cab, managed to get them back to the hotel. She was somewhat aware of the fact that he wasn't nearly as drunk as she was; in fact, he didn't seem drunk at all. But she was too tipsy to care. She laid back in the taxi, sticking her feet in his face.
When they got to the hotel, Tate tried to take out her cell phone so she could call Jameson, see if he was home. If he was, he probably wouldn't be happy – it was after two in the morning. But as she felt around her shorts, she didn't feel the familiar lump of her phone.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing Ang's arm as they walked through the lobby.
“Huh?” he mumbled, chowing down on some sort of meat-on-a-stick he'd bought from a street vendor.
“My phone. I lost my phone, we have to go back,” she said, shoving her hands down the front of her shirt, checking to make sure her cell wasn't stashed in her bra.
“Nah, I've got it,” he told her, continuing on towards the elevators. She jogged after him, straightening out her top.
“Why!? When? Give it to me,” she demanded. He took it out of his back pocket and she snatched it from his hand. The screen lit up – eight missed text messages and three missed phone calls. Oh god. She unlocked the phone.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 88