Jameson had never been one for beating around the bush. He liked to call a spade a spade, and he was telling the truth – Tate was sexy. She just didn't know it yet.
And judging by her reaction, she couldn't decide if she believed him or not. Or even believe that he'd actually said what he'd said. She held her breath, which caused him to smile again as her shirt pulled tight across her chest for a second. Then she visibly shook away her nerves.
“Whatever ...” and she did her best to shrug off his comment, launching back into another bitch session about Ellie.
While Jameson wasn't normally one to indulge in idle gossip or sister squabbles, it was sort of refreshing to talk with someone who didn't think the sun shined out of Ellie's ass. His father loved her, and her father loved Jameson. He could tell they were all already planning his wedding.
Too bad it would never happen.
Then, right after a funny story about Ellie's OCD habits, Tate spilled her champagne down her front. Jameson groaned and was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was just some silly eighteen year old. He wasn't much older than her, only twenty-three, but he at least knew how to hold his alcohol. He led her into the master bedroom and told her to take one of Ellie's shirts, then left her alone to change.
Stupid. He was a stupid, stupid man. Lusting after his girlfriend's little sister. Sure, he'd kind of always had a thing for Tate, but it had just been that – a thing. He'd never given it more than a passing thought. Now, though, tonight, with her there in front of him, her dark eyes invading the darkest parts of his mind, her pink lips curling and smiling ...
Even at only twenty three, Jameson Kane was already used to getting anything and everything he wanted. Even within his relationship with Ellie, he had a lot of pull – he didn't want to be with her, and she knew it, so he slept with other people, and she knew that, too. For a man like him, even at his young age, the world was his for the taking.
And right now, all he wanted was the woman in the next room.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. This “want” will have repercussions, Kane. Not to mention the fact that if you so much as hit on her, she'll probably run screaming from the building. Don't do it.
There was suddenly a loud thump – it came from the bedroom. Then he heard snickering. Laughter. He slowly walked towards the bedroom door, then stood there for a moment, taking in the sight in front of him. Tate was fumbling around with her soaked shirt, she'd some how gotten caught in it. The fabric was up over her head, twisted around her arms, while she seemed to be scratching at the back of the collar. Everything from her neck down was exposed.
She really was fit, with a flat and tone stomach, and full, perky breasts. He smiled to himself as he looked over her lacy bra. It was black – who would've thought? He stepped further into the room.
“What are you doing?”
His presence clearly unsettled her. She stopped laughing immediately. Almost seemed to stop breathing. He moved even closer to her still, standing in front of her, then laughed when she informed him that she was stuck. He pushed her shirt up over her mouth and nose, exposing what was quickly becoming his favorite body part on her – her lips. But he left her eyes covered. Wanted to savor this moment for just a little longer before either of them came to their senses.
She insisted that she wasn't drunk, which she didn't sound like it – her voice was clear and strong, no slurring. He hoped she wasn't, he wouldn't want her blaming the alcohol later on. He started tugging at her shirt again, and discovered the culprit holding it in place. The tag had snagged on a cheap pearl necklace she was wearing. One good yank and the strand broke, sending pearls cascading down her body and allowing him to pull the material free from her head. They stood face to face, her large dark eyes staring very directly into his blue ones.
“You're very different from Ellie,” he said softly, then dropped his gaze back to her mouth when she rubbed her lips together.
“I know.”
She wasn't moving. She wasn't reaching for her shirt. She was just staring at him, taking shaky breaths that were just daring him to stare at her tits. Since he was never one to shy away from a dare, he dropped her shirt and looked down at her chest. A solitary pearl was caught in the center of her bra, so he traced a finger down her skin before plucking up the piece of jewelry. Of course it was from her boyfriend. Jameson smirked and examined the pearl.
“He's cheap,” he told her. “It's not real.”
Oh, Tatum, bad taste – never settle for a man who won't give you the real thing.
When he looked back at her again, she was holding her breath. Her jaw was clenched shut. She was nervous, for sure, but she wasn't ... she wasn't scared. Which was yet another pleasant surprise. She was just full of them.
Or maybe she was too naive, too stupid, to know she should be scared. He was, after all, the big bad wolf.
“You should leave this room,” he suggested as he slid his hands onto her hips. When his fingers grazed the skin at her waist, it was like an electrical current passed between them. He could actually see her skin jump at his touch. Then she shivered and nodded.
“I know.”
He kept moving his hands, sliding them around to her back and up to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and soft, and everywhere he touched, it was like static shocks.
“Ellie's my girlfriend,” he reminded both of them as he worked his hands between her ass and the dresser she was leaning against.
“I know.”
And yet still, neither of them moved. He'd started something when he'd called her “baby girl” earlier, and while he'd known it was going to lead to an explosion, he'd figured Tate had been clueless. Yet she was staring right back at him, fully aware of what was happening, and she wasn't moving. She had to be feeling the sparks between them, the tension.
She has to.
“This isn't just me,” he said outloud, wanting confirmation.
“I know,” she whispered yet again. He took a deep breath.
“If you want to run, I suggest you do it now.”
“Why?”
Stupid girl. He leaned in close to speak into her ear, his teeth cutting against her earlobe.
“Because I eat girls like you for breakfast.”
It was the truth, and it was meant to scare her, and he was pretty sure it did, but she didn't back down.
“Then stop holding onto me,” she challenged him, her voice steady and calm.
“Baby girl, this is nothing. If I didn't want you to get away, you wouldn't be able to,” he chuckled.
“Maybe I don't want to get away.”
Now that was unexpected. Sassy and challenging he understood, and even somewhat expected. But now she was speaking his language, and it turned him on in a way he'd never really experienced before. His blood started pounding in his head and his mouth went dry. Her tone, her attitude, that bedroom look in her eyes.
I'm going to break her so hard.
“Tatum,” he barked out her name, his voice full of anger. He was hoping to inject some sense into one, or both, of them. “If you don't get the fuck out of here, I'm going to rip your clothes off, bend you over this dresser, and fuck you like you've never been fucked before.”
It had the desired effect – Tate looked like he'd dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. She gasped and shoved him away from her, and he willingly stepped back. But he kept his hands on her hips.
“You act like this is my fault!”
Because it is your fault – because your lips and your eyes and your voice are making promises I don't think you're prepared to deal with.
“You're the one who was getting drunk in my kitchen, babbling on and on about hating her sister. You're the one who's half naked in my bedroom.”
“I never said I hated her! And you got me drunk – what does that say about you?” she demanded, and he laughed at her tenacity.
“I don't need to get girls drunk to fuck them, Tate,” he pointed out, trying to shock her again. She rolled her
eyes, but the faint blush rising in her cheeks gave her away.
“You are such an egotist, I wasn't going to ... do ... that with you,” she insisted.
Jameson was caught between horror at her naivete and humor. He chose the latter and threw back his head and laughed.
“'That'? God, I forget, you are just a little girl.”
Her faint blush turned into apple red cheeks, and he wasn't exactly shocked when she shoved him again and broke his hold on her.
“And you're just a pathetic excuse for a man, trolling his girlfriend's little sister because he can't get anyone else to fuck him!” she shouted as she stormed out of the bedroom.
Bravo, baby girl. We'll give you some claws, yet.
By the time Jameson strolled out of the bedroom, she was walking back out of the kitchen, her thin cardigan in her hands. She was still topless, her shirt on the floor in his room. She looked ridiculous – her top half a sexy siren in black lace, her bottom half a stern librarian in khaki and loafers.
“I wasn't trolling for you,” he decided to correct her. He really hadn't been – he hadn't made one move on her, not really. Things had just ... unfolded between them. “I didn't even know you were coming over tonight. Like I said, you were the one bitching about how no one likes you, how everyone likes Ellie, asking about our relationship. Sounds like you were trolling for me.”
They both came to a stop at the front door, and he could tell she was trying hard not to cry. She sniffled while she struggled with her cardigan. He almost thought he was going to see tears, and deep in the recesses of his mind, the thought turned him on.
But then she opened her mouth and surprised him once again.
“Then you're an awfully easy mark,” she sneered. “I almost had you. Geez, what a great story that would've been to tell Ellie when she came home, 'hey, tricked your boyfriend into having sex with me – BTW, he's going to dump you'. Sounds awesome, maybe I'll just call her and tell her right now.”
Alright, fun time was over. Watching her ignite and become passionate was cute and all, but he didn't tolerate anyone fucking threatening him.
“Don't play with me, baby girl.”
“You're the one playing games, and you lost. Move,” she ordered, trying to shoo him away from the door.
Games, she'd said. Well, well, what an interesting concept. They were playing a game, weren't they? How stunning to realize he was engaging in a battle of wills with Tatum O'Shea of all people.
And even more stunning that she's holding her own. Time to correct that.
“I don't lose,” he warned her.
“God! Whatever! You tried to seduce me, it didn't work ...”
She was angry and she was babbling and he was so fucking turned on, he just didn't care anymore. He wanted her. On her knees. Bent over the nearest object. Turned inside out for him.
But most of all – most of all – he wanted her to shut the fuck up.
Jameson was kissing her, finally tasting the lips he'd been fantasizing about all night. She struggled for a moment, or half a moment, and he gripped her head between his hands, not giving one little shit about how she felt. He just needed this one moment.
One moment to start everything.
She was moaning into his mouth, her hands finding their way under his shirt. Nails scratching at his abs and chest. He quickly pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor before kissing her again. She moaned again, and he smiled against her lips as he realized she was enjoying herself.
We can't have that, now, can we?
“Doesn't feel like I'm losing now,” he taunted her before biting down on her bottom lip. The sharp sting of pain didn't seem to scare her, though; she pressed herself harder against him.
“Shut up, or I'll still leave,” she threatened, which was downright laughable. He worked his hands between their bodies and squeezed her breasts.
“I don't think so,” he breathed, then smoothed one hand down her body and over her skirt, his fingers brushing at the inside of her thighs.
“I can do whatever I -”
Jameson had never taken kindly to any kind of authority – warranted or not. And he didn't care for her tone of voice at all. He shoved his hand under her skirt and smoothly slid inside her panties.
“You'll do whatever I say,” he amended her statement.
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes squeezing shut tight. “Yes.”
God, had anything ever been hotter? She was cute when she was feisty.
But she was goddamn fucking sex incarnate when she was submissive.
“You wanted this – from the moment you got here tonight, you wanted this,” he informed her, all while he slid a finger in and out of her. She started panting.
“No, I didn't. I didn't want this,” she insisted, her handing gripping onto his wrist, feeling his movements.
“You're awfully wet for someone who doesn't want to do this,” he pointed out, and she moaned once more.
“Oh god.”
Fuck, he couldn't stand it. She had no idea what she was doing – she was offering herself up like a Christmas present to him. Like everything he had ever wanted.
He was going to devour her.
“Turn around.”
But he didn't bother waiting for her to move – Jameson pulled his hand free of her underwear and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her away from him. While she struggled to keep her balance, he shoved and pushed at her skirt until it was up over her ass.
Even better than I imagined, and covered in black lace.
“Are we really doing this?” she gasped, incredulous sounding as she planted her hands on the back of his couch.
“Unless you walk away right now, yes,” he replied, yanking those lacy black panties down her tone thighs and letting them drop to her taut calves.
When she didn't make a move to leave, Jameson planted a hand in the middle of her back and forced her to bend over the couch at a right angle. And of course she bent in half, because it was becoming very apparent to him that despite all her sassy comebacks, Tate wanted this as much as he did.
Tate maybe wanted it even more, and Tate seemed willing to do anything he wanted in order to make it happen.
Part of him wanted to draw the moment out, enjoy her. He'd been waiting so long to see her ass – he smoothed his hands over her flesh, kneading and squeezing. Then he dropped one hand lower, this time thrusting two fingers inside of her.
“Oh my god!”
Hmmm, the boyfriend must be a lot more tentative.
But there was no time to play with her. Electricity and magic was happening, he didn't want to lose it. Didn't want Ellie to walk in the door and break the spell.
So Jameson removed his fingers and gripped onto the base of his cock, and gave her the courtesy of moving slowly as he shoved his entire length inside of her. By the time his hips were flush with her ass, she'd lost her grip on the couch, her face buried in the cushions. She was gasping for air and her whole body was shaking – he could feel it from the inside out.
Tentative as fuck, apparently.
“Goddamn, Tate,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You're so fucking tight.”
He didn't wait for a response, just slowly pulled out of her. Then thrust back in. Gradually picked up speed. When it was apparent that she wasn't going to ask him to slow down or stop, he really lost himself to the moment, fucking her hard and fast. She took it all, moaning and grunting and groaning, struggling to push herself up above the cushions.
“This is wrong, Jameson,” she finally spoke, sounding completely out of breath. “So wrong.”
And that's why it feels so good, baby girl.
He wrapped a hand around her throat and yanked her upright, forcing her to arch her back so their heads could meet.
“Then tell me to stop,” he dared her, his teeth bared against her cheek.
“I can't,” she cried, shaking her head. “I can't.”
He laughed and let go of her throat, but only so he could ful
fill another fantasy. He wrapped her ponytail around his fist and yanked hard.
“You love this. You've probably fantasized about this ...”
He spoke dirty to her, admitted to fantasizing in the past about fucking her. The revelation seemed to come as a surprise to her, but he could tell it was turning her on – she was clenching his dick harder with each word he spoke, bouncing her ass back against him.
“... you're Ellie's ... I'm her ... this is so wrong.”
Enough.
Jameson stepped back from her, then yanked her around to face him. He gripped her tightly by her arms, and briefly wondered if he'd leave bruises.
God, I hope so.
“Don't fucking say her name again.”
“But it's wrong, Ellie could be -”
“If you say her name one more time, I'm warning you, I will fuck your mouth.”
Please, please say it one more time.
But he didn't give Tate the chance – if her mouth was in front of him, he had to be attached to it. He shoved his tongue between her lips, forced her backwards into the back of the couch. His words and his aggression didn't seem to scare her at all. If anything, she was getting hotter and hotter.
“I won't say it again,” she finally promised. He yanked her up against him and they kept kissing, all the way into the bedroom.
“You're goddamn right you won't,” he finally replied, then he shoved her roughly onto his bed.
He was on top of her in an instant, his hands everywhere. He pulled the cups of her bra down and lavished attention on her breasts, teasing her nipples with his teeth. Her legs and ass were outstanding, and her mouth was something special, but her breasts weren't to be ignored. They were the perfect size for her frame, the nipples tightening and budding under his pinches and touches.
His hand was back between her legs, as well, his fingers gliding through her wetness. She moaned and thrashed around beneath him, her fingernails raking across his shoulders. He hissed and brought his mouth back to hers.
“Jameson,” she breathed against his lips.
“What?” he snapped.
“Are we -” she started to ask, but then he was plunging inside of her. No hesitation, no accomodating her – just full, hard, length, driving as deep as he could go. She screamed his name, her legs moving to wrap around his waist.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 106