The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  She couldn't handle it. Sanders could be as quiet as he wanted, but she simply couldn't.

  “Oh, god,” she gasped for air as she rocked on top of him. “I'm going to ... I can't ... I'm going to come.”

  “Is too soon bad?” he asked through gritted teeth. She laughed, then let out a sharp cry as a tremor ripped through her body.

  “Coming is never ever ever a bad thing,” she replied, pressing both her hands against his chest. He finally opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “I don't want this to end yet,” he breathed. She shook her head.

  “It's not ending any time soon,” she promised, starting to shake all over.

  But he was full of surprises. She let out a shriek when he abruptly rolled them over, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight. When they finally came to a stop, he was on top of her and she was impaled on him. She couldn't remember how to breathe.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked, not moving. It took her a few seconds to be able to answer.

  “No ...” she squeaked out, scratching her nails down his chest, silently begging him to move and alternately praying that he'd stay just where he was. “No. Sometimes ... it's not good. Not fun. But this ... this ...”

  “This is so good,” he groaned, pulling out so slowly she thought she was going to go insane.

  “Fuck, yes. Yes, it fucking is,” she agreed quickly.

  “You said I could do anything, correct?”

  “Yes. Anything. Whatever you want. Please.”

  “I think I like it when you do that.”

  “God, what? I'll do anything. What did I do?”

  “Beg.”

  Kinky little fucker.

  “Please, Sanders,” she breathed his name as she started moving around. She had some practice with begging – maybe she and Sanders had similar tastes, after all. “Please, please, please. Do whatever you want to me. Do anything you want. I want you to. God, so much. Please. Don't stop.”

  He slammed into her and she screamed. She was worried for a second it would scare him, but he didn't even pause. She dragged her nails down his back and babbled incoherently while he fucked her. She made somewhat of an attempt to continue begging, but she was pretty sure most of it was nonsense.

  How could she possibly think when he was everywhere? His hands were all over her, constantly moving and pushing and squeezing. Exploring, just like he'd said, yet it didn't slow him down at all. He kept pushing and thrusting and pounding away at her. God, so much. She felt like she was going to explode and she started coiling herself around him, lifting her legs and squeezing her thighs against him.

  “You were right,” he panted, running a hand down her thigh and then cupping her ass cheek. “You are very, very good at this.”

  “I have a good partner,” she replied. Her nerves were being wound so tight, her teeth actually started to chatter. He dug his fingers into her flesh and dragged his hand back up her thigh.

  “Tatum,” he said. It was the first time he'd said her name since he'd been inside her, and it almost undid her right then. She bit down on her lips and tried to concentrate on his voice. “This has been very amazing, but I need to know one more thing.”

  “Anything, anything, anything,” she chanted in time to his thrusts.

  “I'm going to come,” he breathed. “Please ...” He didn't finish the sentence.

  “Please, yes, I want you to. Anywhere you want,” she urged, turning to look at him. She was surprised to see him staring right back at her. His forehead dropped down to hers again.

  “I want you to come, too,” he said.

  “Don't worry,” she whined, her voice high pitched and thready. “I'm going to.”

  “Please, for me. Just this one time. I want to know I could make someone do that, at least once.”

  “Oh god,” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut tight, trying to stave off the orgasm until he was finished. She felt his fingers against her face, tracing over her lips.

  “Don't, don't, don't,” he whispered. “Don't hold back from me. Don't ever do that.”

  Funny how she could stand harsh words and stinging hands so well, yet a dear friend speaking so softly and sweetly could just shred her.

  She screamed when she came, her entire back arching off the bed. His index finger pressed down hard against her bottom lip, setting off the nerve endings there, then dipped into her mouth. Stroked over her tongue. She moaned and cried, gently biting down on him. She heard him give a loud groan and he started thrusting even harder. The headboard banged against the wall in time, making a loud, sharp, smacking sound that seemed to reverberate through the room.

  “Oh my god,” she sobbed when he finally pulled his hand away. “Holy fuck. I can't stop ... god, please, Sanders ...”

  If she'd been in her right mind, she would've been worried about leaving scars on his back, but her right mind was a million miles away. No, her current state of mind was set to “well fucked” and she paid no attention to the deep scratches her fingernails were leaving behind on him.

  He didn't seem to mind, though. One of his hands was clenched around her breast and the other moved to grip the top of the wiggling headboard. He used the leverage to pound harder still and she really did go cross eyed.

  She was of no use to him, locked in her orgasm. She could only moan and shriek and say his name. Over and over again. Finally, he let out his own shout. He let go of her breast and when she opened her eyes, she saw that both his hands had the headboard in what looked to be a white-knuckle-grip. His erection throbbed and grew inside her, and then she could feel him coming. Felt him pulsing and twitching.

  Her orgasm had just started subsiding when he collapsed on top of her. His face was next to hers, buried in the pillows, and their chests fought against each other as they both tried to catch their breath.

  “Well then,” she panted, sliding one hand gently up his sweat slicked back. “Now you are officially not a virgin anymore.”

  “Yes,” he grunted, and she felt him nod. “I think it is safe to say that I am most certainly not anymore.”

  They were quiet for a while. Her hips were aching and her thighs were trembling, but she didn't say anything. Just kept one hand in his hair and kept rubbing the other up and down his back.

  When they could both breathe normally again and the warmth in the air started to dissipate, he finally slid off her. He pulled the sheets over them, then laid on his stomach next to her. She stayed on her back, smiling up at the ceiling.

  “I did alright?” he finally asked. She barked out a laugh.

  “Uh, yeah, Sanders. You did 'alright',” she snorted. “I'm pretty sure every single person in this motel knows just how 'alright' you did.”

  “Do you know, I always wondered how you could stand to be so loud. Why it didn't embarrass you,” he said. “But now I think I understand. I didn't even care when it was happening. Didn't even think about it.”

  “We'll see how you feel about it tomorrow at breakfast when you have to face all the other guests,” she joked.

  “I don't think I'll care then, either.”

  “No, you probably won't. When sex is that good, you never do.”

  “Was I as good as some of the other people you've slept with?” he asked boldly.

  “Yes. Good god, yes, you were.”

  “Even for it being my first time?”

  “Shockingly enough, yes. Did you study for this or something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus, how do you study for sex?”

  “I can be somewhat obsessive when I want to know about something, and I have had a lot of alone time to thoroughly think things through and read up on the subject. The only thing missing was someone to engage with.”

  “You should teach a course,” she suggested.

  “So I was better than some of your other partners?” he asked. She loved that he asked so outright. No shyness, no hinting, like other men would do.

  “Than most of them,
” she told him, then she reached out and pressed her hand against his back. “I'd put you in the top ten.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is quite an honor, considering how many people you've slept with.”

  She burst out laughing and swatted him.

  “Watch it, you're not good enough to be giving attitude during pillow talk.”

  “Was I as good as Jameson?”

  Ah. She had wondered if that question would be asked. Wasn't surprised to hear it. She turned to face him and found him staring at her.

  “Do you want me to tell you the truth?” she asked. He nodded.

  “Always.”

  “No,” she was honest. “No one has ever been as good as him, at least not for me. Not only does he have a lot of practice, but he's ... he's my other half, Sanders. It's like my body was built specifically for him. He knows where all the switches are, all the buttons. He knows exactly what I like, what I want to do, what I want to hear. Sex is good with anybody if they're halfway decent at it, but with Jameson it's ... someday, you'll experience it with somebody.”

  “With me it's just sex,” Sanders understood. “With him it's making love.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “As fucked up as it is, he and I make love. It's something completely different, and it'll happen for you. You'll find your other half and you'll know what it feels like. It's ... there's nothing like it.”

  “Then I look forward to it.”

  “You're gonna break some hearts,” she sighed, rubbing her hand up and down his side. “I'm almost jealous.”

  “Almost,” he chuckled, and then he reached out his own arm and wrapped it around her waist.

  “Whoever these girls are, you better warn them that I'll kick their ass if they treat you wrong,” she told him, turning onto her side. He'd closed his eyes again, but he smiled at her.

  “Thank you, Tatum. For tonight. You were right, I wouldn't have enjoyed myself with anyone else for my first time, and now I feel more comfortable with the act. What you did – what you both did for me – I know how important it was, and I am very honored that you chose to do this. I will remember tonight always, and with great fondness,” he told her. She sighed happily and combed her fingers through his hair.

  “Well, tonight's not over,” she pointed out. His eyes popped back open.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We have this room for tonight and tomorrow night,” she reminded him. “I rented it for only one purpose. We have the rest of tonight, and then tomorrow we'll go get breakfast and maybe go shopping, find somewhere for dinner. Then we have tomorrow night before this all turns into a pumpkin and we have to go home the next moring.”

  He was silent for a long time and for a moment, she wondered if she'd scared him off.

  Too much, too soon?

  “Do we have to leave the room at all?” he asked.

  Tate burst out laughing and pushed him away.

  “I do believe I have corrupted you, Mr. Dashkevich.”

  “Forgive me, but I do believe you are right, Ms. O'Shea.”

  CHECKING IN

  The Kane Series, a chapter

  ~1~

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Tate said, putting her hands on her hips. “Some how, this is my fault?”

  Jameson rolled his eyes. “Isn't it always?”

  A rolled up sock hit him in the side of his head.

  Why do they have to behave like this?

  Sanders sighed and glanced at his watch. He didn't have time for this, he should be taking care of his own problems. Yet here he was, trying to broker peace between the two most important people in his life. The two most tumultuous.

  As annoying as it was, though, a teeny, tiny, deep down buried piece of himself was happy about it all. It was how they operated. Jameson ran cold to the point of freezing. Tate ran hot to the point of boiling. Sanders was in the middle, so carefully balanced, he usually managed to keep them in check. That's what he should be doing right now, he knew. Stopping the fight before it could really gain ground and explode into something ridiculous, like public indecency.

  Why can't they argue like normal human beings? Just apologize and be done with it. Why does it always have to end in sex?

  “You certainly like to think so,” Tate replied, then snatched the thrown sock out of Jameson's hand when he held it up. “But I had nothing to do with this, like always. You plan things, Jameson, and forget that sometimes people have other plans.”

  “No, I just don't care about other peoples' plans.”

  “Well, I'm not going,” she threatened, then she hopped on one foot as she pulled on the sock.

  “Oh, you're going.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  Jameson's arms folded across his chest, and Sanders let out another sigh. This was going from bad to worse. Nudity was imminent.

  “This wasn't a request, Tatum.”

  “Well, I just don't care,” she made fun of him as she sat down to put on her running shoes.

  “Can we please,” Sanders finally spoke up. “Please not do this?”

  Tate looked up at him like she'd forgotten he was in the room. Jameson didn't even respond, acting as if he wasn't in the room, at all.

  “I'm sorry,” she apologized quickly, like she always did with Sanders.

  So why can't she do it for Jameson?

  “Good, then go back upstairs and get ready,” Jameson was the one to respond. The fire in Tate's eyes reignited.

  “No,” she stated firmly, standing up. “I had plans – we had plans. I'm going for my run, then I'm going to dinner with Sanders, and you can go to dinner with your investors, and you can just explain to them that your girlfriend gives zero shits about shareholding and market cornering.”

  “Market cornering?”

  “Or what-the-fuck-ever-ing,” she groaned, rolling her hand at him while she put her ear buds in.

  “Tate, please, stop being difficult. It's one night. Sanders set it up, for christ's sake,” Jameson pointed out.

  Sanders managed to hide a flinch as Tate shifted her gaze onto him. She never flashed fire at him, ever. Not since Spain. No, what she gave him was much worse than she ever gave to Jameson. He couldn't stand to see her hurt, not over anything.

  “You set it up?” she asked. He cleared his throat and avoided her gaze. It was a bad idea – it caused her to march up and stand right in front of him. She made him nervous when she was so close. Brought back memories he'd prefer to keep buried.

  “Yes,” he answered in his driest voice. “I thought since he was here, it made sense to arrange a business meeting. I know these people have been wanting to do business with Jameson for a long time, and I feel it is a wise investment opportunity. I would like to invest my own money, and since Jameson is my broker, it made even more sense to have him meet with them.”

  “Are you shitting me?” she asked. “Money? You two are the richest men I've ever met, and you're screwing over date night for money?”

  Sanders wasn't quite sure how to respond to her. He had an odd relationship with money, he knew. It was an afterthought to Tate. She'd been raised in a wealthy family, but then had lived an extremely poor young adult life, so she treated it like a whim. Something here one minute, gone the next.

  Jameson had been born into an even wealthier family, and his wealth had only ever grown over the years. It was dependable, reliable, unlike human beings, so he treated it like something he could control. Something he could wield with power, take away in anger.

  Sanders had been born into a poor family, in poor circumstances. He hadn't known anything of real money until he'd met Jameson. Money was like a gift to him. A god send, it had quite literally saved his life. It made people pay attention to him when they otherwise wouldn't, made them listen. It also made it so he would never, ever, have go back to the life he'd been born to, so he hoarded it zealously.

  Plus, it was just common sense. A good investment was a good investment, why not take one ev
ening out of their vacation to listen to these people talk?

  But as he stared at Tate, he wondered if it was a mistake. She and Jameson were only visiting for a short time. One night out of seven – almost 15% of their total vacation. When Sanders thought of it that way, it did seem like a lot to ask. He wasn't going to go broke any time soon, and neither was Jameson.

  “I,” he almost stammered, so he stopped himself. Cleared his throat again and finally looked her directly in the eye. “I didn't think of it that way. It simply seemed like a good investment opportunity. I apologize.”

  “Jesus, you two,” she grumbled, stepping around him and into the entryway.

  “Tate,” Jameson barked. “Shut the fuck up and get back in here. Let us apologize, then go upstairs and get changed for dinner.”

  “You know, it's not a big deal,” she finally agreed as she turned to face them. “It's not, I get that. You want to meet these dudes, make some money, you're already here, why not kill two birds with one stone, I get it. What I don't get is how you can't seem to get how I'm feeling.”

  “And how are you feeling?” Jameson mocked her, his eyes like ice chips.

  “I'm feeling like I wasted my time. I planned tonight, made reservations, set things into motion. Hired a car, got an outfit. Worst of all, I got excited. The three of us, back together again. When will we get this chance again? Just the three of us, like old times? It was a big deal to me. I made the mistake of thinking it would be a big deal to both of you, as well.”

  Sanders was very good at not showing his emotions. He'd spent his whole life training himself not to, so no one ever knew when they dealt him a blow. Tate's words cut him to his core. She was right, it should have been a big deal to him. It was, when he thought about it. Every moment he got to spend with her – with them – was a big deal. Knowing that he'd made her feel like it wasn't special, like spending time with them didn't mean much to him, it hurt, and because it hurt, he couldn't speak. He couldn't show it. So he held it inside and stared over her shoulder and tried to think of the best way to apologize.

  “Tatum,” Jameson groaned. “No one is dying, so can we stop with the fucking dramatics? We'll cancel this goddamn meeting and go out on your dinner date, alright?”