Completion
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This is what I want.
And so it continued for a year and a half. He would try to dump Ellie. They would have a fight. He would warn her that he was going to sleep with someone else, he would go sleep with someone else, he would tell her that he slept with someone else – and Ellie would still beg him to stay. It was insane. What an insane, fucked up relationship.
He would come to learn that he specialized in those kinds of relationships.
But outside pressure from his father, from her parents, from Ellie herself, kept him with her. Deep down, Jameson admitted he was weak. He would rather take the path of least resistance, then just dump the bitch and deal with his father's wrath. So Jameson stayed. Slept around, explored his darker proclivities with other women.
And as she got older, he could admit, he would occasionally fantasize about Tate. She was sexy as fuck, and forbidden fruit. She was nice as could be, always polite, a “please and thank you” kind of girl; which just seemed to spur him on more. The nicer and politer she was around him, the more he wanted to do …, something. Shake her out of her pastel existence. Scare her. Wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze.
But only a little.
It was all a fantasy, though. He also thought pop singer Katy Perry was sexy, but he was most likely never going to sleep with her. He would never actually touch Tate; wasn't actually, literally, attracted to her. Too young, too immature, too inexperienced, too off-limits.
No, there would never be anything between him and Tatum O'Shea.
~4~
“Hello?” Tate called out, creeping around the penthouse. She kind of remembered Jameson saying he had to run an errand, but she'd been in a post-coital fog. Not a whole lot can get through that kind of fog.
The boys had been gone for a long time. Once again, Tate was suspicious. Where were they sneaking off to? And she wasn't necessarily surprised by Jameson behaving that way, but it was a surprise coming from Sanders. He wasn't a fan of surprises either, and certainly didn't like taking part in them.
Oh god, this is all an elaborate plan to sell me in to sex slavery. Took him two years, but he finally found a buyer.
Tate meandered around the rooms. Ate some grapes. Danced naked on the balcony. Then she finally got dressed and laid down. Took a nap. She woke up to the sound of the door opening. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes.
“Tate?” Jameson's voice rang through the room.
“In here,” she yawned out.
“Well, be out here.”
Feisty.
Tate crawled out of the bed, dragging her feet as she made her way into the living room area. Jameson looked her over and burst out laughing. She blinked at him.
“What? What!?” she asked.
“Were you sleeping?” he ignored her question, walking up till he was right in front of her.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your hair, you slept on it while it was wet.”
He was still laughing as he lifted his hands to her head. She could feel him patting down her hair, so she reached up and felt it, as well. She cringed. Yeah, not good. She was basically rocking a giant rat's-nest-poof on the back of her head.
“Guess another shower is in order,” she teased, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around him.
“Okay, but this time, you get to spend the whole time on your knees,” he warned her.
“Hey, no one made you do that for me, and I would have been happy to reciprocate, but you ran away. Where have you guys been all this time? Where's Sanders?” Tate asked, realizing for the first time that he wasn't there. She glanced around, but didn't see him anywhere in the room.
“Look, I know you don't like surprises, but I think you'll -,” Jameson started.
He was interrupted by a banging noise, though. Something banged into the hotel room's door, and then it opened a little. There were voices in the hall – Tate recognized Sanders speaking softly, though she couldn't make out what he was saying. Then someone else started to talk, and they weren't being soft at all.
“I didn't fly all this way on a moment's notice just so you and Satan can tell me what I can and can't do.”
Tate let out a shriek and started running for the door, just as it began to swing open. Sanders walked in first, but she ran right past him, throwing herself at the other voice.
It's been too long.
Angier Hollingsworth hadn't changed much over the years – she often joked that he was a vampire. The man didn't seem to age. He was still lanky, his hair still messy, his smile still naughty. The only difference was now he was semi-famous and pretty wealthy. Tate hadn't seen him in quite a while, because both their schedules were so busy. She couldn't get time away to see him as often as she used to, and he couldn't get any time at all, period. The porn industry was very demanding, and Ang was sitting at the top of it.
Well, more like laying down, really.
“What are you doing here!?” she yelled, leaping on him. Ang stumbled backwards with her weight, dropping his luggage as he fell against the wall in the hallway.
“I was invited!” he told her, wrapping his arms around her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I've missed you, Angie-wangy,” she sighed, pressing her head into his neck. Ang always felt a little like home to her. Warm, familiar, comforting.
“I always miss you, Tater tot,” he countered, hugging her tightly.
“God, I think I'm going to be sick,” Jameson's voice came from behind them.
And so it continued for a year and a half. He would try to dump Ellie. They would have a fight. He would warn her that he was going to sleep with someone else, he would go sleep with someone else, he would tell her that he slept with someone else – and Ellie would still beg him to stay. It was insane. What an insane, fucked up relationship.
He would come to learn that he specialized in those kinds of relationships.
But outside pressure from his father, from her parents, from Ellie herself, kept him with her. Deep down, Jameson admitted he was weak. He would rather take the path of least resistance, then just dump the bitch and deal with his father's wrath. So Jameson stayed. Slept around, explored his darker proclivities with other women.
And as she got older, he could admit, he would occasionally fantasize about Tate. She was sexy as fuck, and forbidden fruit. She was nice as could be, always polite, a “please and thank you” kind of girl; which just seemed to spur him on more. The nicer and politer she was around him, the more he wanted to do …, something. Shake her out of her pastel existence. Scare her. Wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze.
But only a little.
It was all a fantasy, though. He also thought pop singer Katy Perry was sexy, but he was most likely never going to sleep with her. He would never actually touch Tate; wasn't actually, literally, attracted to her. Too young, too immature, too inexperienced, too off-limits.
No, there would never be anything between him and Tatum O'Shea.
~4~
“Hello?” Tate called out, creeping around the penthouse. She kind of remembered Jameson saying he had to run an errand, but she'd been in a post-coital fog. Not a whole lot can get through that kind of fog.
The boys had been gone for a long time. Once again, Tate was suspicious. Where were they sneaking off to? And she wasn't necessarily surprised by Jameson behaving that way, but it was a surprise coming from Sanders. He wasn't a fan of surprises either, and certainly didn't like taking part in them.
Oh god, this is all an elaborate plan to sell me in to sex slavery. Took him two years, but he finally found a buyer.
Tate meandered around the rooms. Ate some grapes. Danced naked on the balcony. Then she finally got dressed and laid down. Took a nap. She woke up to the sound of the door opening. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes.
“Tate?” Jameson's voice rang through the room.
“In here,” she yawned out.
“Well, be out here.”
Feisty.
Tate crawled out of the bed, dragging her feet as she made her way into the living room area. Jameson looked her over and burst out laughing. She blinked at him.
“What? What!?” she asked.
“Were you sleeping?” he ignored her question, walking up till he was right in front of her.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your hair, you slept on it while it was wet.”
He was still laughing as he lifted his hands to her head. She could feel him patting down her hair, so she reached up and felt it, as well. She cringed. Yeah, not good. She was basically rocking a giant rat's-nest-poof on the back of her head.
“Guess another shower is in order,” she teased, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around him.
“Okay, but this time, you get to spend the whole time on your knees,” he warned her.
“Hey, no one made you do that for me, and I would have been happy to reciprocate, but you ran away. Where have you guys been all this time? Where's Sanders?” Tate asked, realizing for the first time that he wasn't there. She glanced around, but didn't see him anywhere in the room.
“Look, I know you don't like surprises, but I think you'll -,” Jameson started.
He was interrupted by a banging noise, though. Something banged into the hotel room's door, and then it opened a little. There were voices in the hall – Tate recognized Sanders speaking softly, though she couldn't make out what he was saying. Then someone else started to talk, and they weren't being soft at all.
“I didn't fly all this way on a moment's notice just so you and Satan can tell me what I can and can't do.”
Tate let out a shriek and started running for the door, just as it began to swing open. Sanders walked in first, but she ran right past him, throwing herself at the other voice.
It's been too long.
Angier Hollingsworth hadn't changed much over the years – she often joked that he was a vampire. The man didn't seem to age. He was still lanky, his hair still messy, his smile still naughty. The only difference was now he was semi-famous and pretty wealthy. Tate hadn't seen him in quite a while, because both their schedules were so busy. She couldn't get time away to see him as often as she used to, and he couldn't get any time at all, period. The porn industry was very demanding, and Ang was sitting at the top of it.
Well, more like laying down, really.
“What are you doing here!?” she yelled, leaping on him. Ang stumbled backwards with her weight, dropping his luggage as he fell against the wall in the hallway.
“I was invited!” he told her, wrapping his arms around her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I've missed you, Angie-wangy,” she sighed, pressing her head into his neck. Ang always felt a little like home to her. Warm, familiar, comforting.
“I always miss you, Tater tot,” he countered, hugging her tightly.
“God, I think I'm going to be sick,” Jameson's voice came from behind them.
