Completion
Page 34
“Did you like it?” he demanded. She barked out a laugh.
“What kind of question is that? It was a kiss, of course I liked it. Kissing is fun,” she replied. He glared at her.
“Stop being a smart ass.”
“I didn't ask him to kiss me, I didn't want him to, I tried to get him to stop. Jesus, when did you become Mr. Insecurity?” Tate questioned.
“Right around when I caught my girlfriend deep throating another man's tongue,” he snapped back.
“Oh, for fuck's sake. You know, I was actually having a good time, so if you're gonna keep acting like a bitch, then I'd rather finish the night somewhere else,” she warned him.
“Watch it,” he countered.
“No. I didn't do anything wrong, and you're throwing a hissy fit!”
“A what?”
“A hissy fit, you know – that thing little girls do when they don't get their way.”
When his hand wrapped around her throat, Tate wondered if maybe she'd pushed him too far.
Or not far enough …
“Does this feel like something a little girl does?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. She took a deep breath through her nose.
“Feels like something a bitch does,” she replied.
His fingernails dug in as he squeezed and air became difficult to come by.
“How come Angier gets to maul you in an elevator, but I try to have a conversation, and I get back talk and arguments?” Jameson growled. She smiled.
“Because it's so much funner,” she teased, her voice little more than a breath.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Alright.”
Angier may have gotten to maul her in an elevator, but Jameson got to strip her bare on a balcony. Ate her out like he was starving for her. Then bent her over that railing and fucked her so hard, security came to the door to investigate all the screaming and cursing.
Best night ever.
~10~
Sometimes Jameson tried to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Tate. Sure, from the first moment he'd seen her, she'd managed to steal a small piece of his heart. But when he'd been unequivocally in love with Tatum O'Shea, that was harder to peg down.
When he'd hurt her feelings by calling her stupid, back when they'd first started sleeping together, that's when he'd first realized he cared about her. Thought of her as more than just sex. Then at her parent's house, when Robert had hit her. That was the first moment when he thought of her as truly belonging to him, as something no one else was worthy of touching. Only him.
When he was in Berlin and he had seen newspapers proclaiming that she was dating Nick Castille, the first baseman for the Boston Red Sox. That's when he knew he had a problem. He'd been hurt. He'd forgotten what that felt like; Tatum O'Shea had reminded him.
Seeing her in the hospital, that had hurt his soul. Her yelling at him that she wished he didn't exist, that had killed him inside. Her not trusting him, not believing him while they were in Spain, that had hurt his heart.
But the pearls.
She had kept it together for a lot of Spain. Sure, they fought, she yelled at him. But she didn't ask him why. Never really questioned why he'd done what he'd done. Jameson was a selfish, self-centered asshole, he knew this, so he never thought to question her lack of questioning.
But the pearls.
She had a melt down in an alley in Paris. Crying in a way he'd never seen before; not from Tate. No, Tatum O'Shea was too strong for tears, real tears. But there they were, as she sobbed and screamed. Demanded to know how he could do something like that to her, why did he do something like that to her?
How could I have done that to her?
Jameson would later tell Tate that was the moment when he realized she was in love with him.
What he never told her was that was the moment he fully realized that he was in love with her, too.
~11~
“I can't see you,” Tate whined.
“How about now?”
“I see nostrils and chin.”
“At least they're sexy nostrils.”
“No such thing.”
“Okay, how about now?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, there's that beautiful smile.”
Nick Castille laughed, raking his hand through his hair. It was midnight in Tucson, Arizona. Which equaled ten in the morning in Hong Kong. Nick had texted her, asking her to make some time to Skype with him. He wanted to see her, he said. It had been a long time. So he agreed to stay up late if she got up early.
They had kept in touch. She would always have a special place in her heart for Nick. Sure, in a way, he had tried to subtly come between her and Jameson – as Jameson was fond of pointing out. But Nick had also been ridiculously understanding, beyond forgiving, and he'd always allowed her to do her thing, with no questions and no judgement. When she had picked Jameson over him, Nick hadn't even gotten that upset. He had wished them well.
Over the course of the last two years, they had managed to see each other. When he was in Boston for the baseball season, sometimes they would all go out for lunch. When Sanders had lived at home, she would drag him to baseball games. Jameson wasn't exactly in love with Nick, but he wasn't threatened by him, either. Still, the devil didn't take kindly to men who had tried to steal his succubus, so it would be a long time before Nick was welcome in the Weston house. Most of Tate's interactions with Nick were limited to online.
“So how are you?” he asked, sipping at something in a coffee mug.
“What kind of question is that? It was a kiss, of course I liked it. Kissing is fun,” she replied. He glared at her.
“Stop being a smart ass.”
“I didn't ask him to kiss me, I didn't want him to, I tried to get him to stop. Jesus, when did you become Mr. Insecurity?” Tate questioned.
“Right around when I caught my girlfriend deep throating another man's tongue,” he snapped back.
“Oh, for fuck's sake. You know, I was actually having a good time, so if you're gonna keep acting like a bitch, then I'd rather finish the night somewhere else,” she warned him.
“Watch it,” he countered.
“No. I didn't do anything wrong, and you're throwing a hissy fit!”
“A what?”
“A hissy fit, you know – that thing little girls do when they don't get their way.”
When his hand wrapped around her throat, Tate wondered if maybe she'd pushed him too far.
Or not far enough …
“Does this feel like something a little girl does?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. She took a deep breath through her nose.
“Feels like something a bitch does,” she replied.
His fingernails dug in as he squeezed and air became difficult to come by.
“How come Angier gets to maul you in an elevator, but I try to have a conversation, and I get back talk and arguments?” Jameson growled. She smiled.
“Because it's so much funner,” she teased, her voice little more than a breath.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Alright.”
Angier may have gotten to maul her in an elevator, but Jameson got to strip her bare on a balcony. Ate her out like he was starving for her. Then bent her over that railing and fucked her so hard, security came to the door to investigate all the screaming and cursing.
Best night ever.
~10~
Sometimes Jameson tried to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Tate. Sure, from the first moment he'd seen her, she'd managed to steal a small piece of his heart. But when he'd been unequivocally in love with Tatum O'Shea, that was harder to peg down.
When he'd hurt her feelings by calling her stupid, back when they'd first started sleeping together, that's when he'd first realized he cared about her. Thought of her as more than just sex. Then at her parent's house, when Robert had hit her. That was the first moment when he thought of her as truly belonging to him, as something no one else was worthy of touching. Only him.
When he was in Berlin and he had seen newspapers proclaiming that she was dating Nick Castille, the first baseman for the Boston Red Sox. That's when he knew he had a problem. He'd been hurt. He'd forgotten what that felt like; Tatum O'Shea had reminded him.
Seeing her in the hospital, that had hurt his soul. Her yelling at him that she wished he didn't exist, that had killed him inside. Her not trusting him, not believing him while they were in Spain, that had hurt his heart.
But the pearls.
She had kept it together for a lot of Spain. Sure, they fought, she yelled at him. But she didn't ask him why. Never really questioned why he'd done what he'd done. Jameson was a selfish, self-centered asshole, he knew this, so he never thought to question her lack of questioning.
But the pearls.
She had a melt down in an alley in Paris. Crying in a way he'd never seen before; not from Tate. No, Tatum O'Shea was too strong for tears, real tears. But there they were, as she sobbed and screamed. Demanded to know how he could do something like that to her, why did he do something like that to her?
How could I have done that to her?
Jameson would later tell Tate that was the moment when he realized she was in love with him.
What he never told her was that was the moment he fully realized that he was in love with her, too.
~11~
“I can't see you,” Tate whined.
“How about now?”
“I see nostrils and chin.”
“At least they're sexy nostrils.”
“No such thing.”
“Okay, how about now?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, there's that beautiful smile.”
Nick Castille laughed, raking his hand through his hair. It was midnight in Tucson, Arizona. Which equaled ten in the morning in Hong Kong. Nick had texted her, asking her to make some time to Skype with him. He wanted to see her, he said. It had been a long time. So he agreed to stay up late if she got up early.
They had kept in touch. She would always have a special place in her heart for Nick. Sure, in a way, he had tried to subtly come between her and Jameson – as Jameson was fond of pointing out. But Nick had also been ridiculously understanding, beyond forgiving, and he'd always allowed her to do her thing, with no questions and no judgement. When she had picked Jameson over him, Nick hadn't even gotten that upset. He had wished them well.
Over the course of the last two years, they had managed to see each other. When he was in Boston for the baseball season, sometimes they would all go out for lunch. When Sanders had lived at home, she would drag him to baseball games. Jameson wasn't exactly in love with Nick, but he wasn't threatened by him, either. Still, the devil didn't take kindly to men who had tried to steal his succubus, so it would be a long time before Nick was welcome in the Weston house. Most of Tate's interactions with Nick were limited to online.
“So how are you?” he asked, sipping at something in a coffee mug.
