Reception
Page 12
Perfection.
“Such a bitch,” he growled, shifting up onto his knees so he could thrust harder. “Flirting when I asked you not to. Opening your mouth when I tell you to shut up. When the fuck are you ever going to learn?”
“Never,” she whispered, as a burning sensation started in the center of her chest and quickly started racing towards her extremities. “Never.”
“Never is fucking right. God, why are you always so difficult?” he demanded, his thrusts turning brutal.
“Because,” she was gasping for air in earnest. “It's the only way to get your attention.”
His grip on her throat got even tighter.
“Mission fucking accomplished.”
She couldn't hold it back anymore. She came hard, shouting out his name as her hands flew to her hair. She gasped and shook and cried out, pulling at her roots. When he leaned down and kissed her, his teeth nipping sharply at her bottom lip, the orgasm doubled back and regrouped, pulsing across every nerve ended. Her back arched and he finally let go of her throat, dragging his fingers down her chest and squeezing her breast.
“So perfect,” he groaned before slamming his hips home one last time, coming in a series of jerks and swear words.
“Oh my god,” she gasped for air after he'd collapsed on top of her. “Holy shit. Oh my god.”
“Language, Mrs. Kane,” he was panting as well, his voice muffled by her chest.
“I can't believe we just did that while there's a party going on outside,” she finally laughed, pressing her hand against her forehead.
“Better than doing it with a party going on in here,” he pointed. She wiggled her feet, which were sticking up above the table still and in full sight of anyone who might happen to look in the windows.
“Not much of a difference. This is gonna be more awkward than that time you fucked me in Hong Kong, when all those investors were in the next room,” she sighed.
“Good,” he replied. “I like making people nervous.”
“And jealous,” she added, smiling to herself. He snorted.
“Everyone is already jealous of me. What I wanted was to fuck you in front of him so as to leave him in no doubt of who you belong to.”
“Possessive words, Mr. Kane.”
“Goddamn right they are.”
“Rich Klimas isn't any kind of threat to you,” she promised, combing her fingers through his hair.
“Of course he fucking isn't. He's offensive, and that's worse. Now any time he comes sniffing around you, he'll have this moment in the back of his head. Like I said, mission fucking accomplished.”
Tate laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close for a second. Then she started pushing him away.
“Get off, you weigh a million tons.”
Tate wiggled around on the floor, getting her bra back in place and putting her dress to rights. Jameson really had no shame and simply stood up, pulling on his pants as he moved. Then he stooped to retrieve his shirt and put that on, as well. She held out her hand and he pulled her to her feet.
“We look insane,” Tate commented, glancing at his hair and wondering how bad hers looked.
“I look fine,” he replied, running his fingers through his dark locks and calming it down. “You, on the other hand, look like you just got fucked.”
“Ah, my fave look.”
She attempted to pull her hair into a ponytail. Jameson laughed and smoothed out some wild strands around the crown of her head. Then he straightened out the zipper on the back of her dress and smoothed out her skirt before pulling her close.
“I want you to know something,” he murmured, trailing his lips along the line of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him.
“What?”
“It wasn't about him.”
“Huh?”
“I would've fucked you in here regardless of whether or not Klimas had shown up tonight.”
“Really?” Tate asked, not entirely surprised – Jameson generally always wanted to have sex – but curious about his reasons.
“This dress,” he sighed, his hands running down the sides of her body. “Your body. You knew what you were doing when you picked it out.”
“Maybe,” she replied coyly. Of course she had. Jameson could never resist a cheap looking slut.
They finally pulled apart for good. Jameson looked none the worse for wear in his polo shirt and jeans. Tate's dress was wrinkled in odd places and stretched in others, her hair was mussy, and her voice was hoarse. All her old faves. She held his hand as he lead her back outside.
“Proud of yourself?” she asked as they moved along. All around them, people were snickering and grinning. A few were even blushing, averting their eyes as their boss stalked past them.
“Always, Tatum,” he said in a clipped tone, but his hand squeezed hers while they moved.
Summer barbecues might be my new favorite thing ever.
6
“I still can't believe it.” “What?”
“A barbecue.”
“You can't believe we had a barbecue?”
“No.”
“But the grill is still right over there.”
“Sanders, be quiet.”
“Of course.”
Tate sighed and put her hands on her hips. It was the next morning. The party had run late into the night, with several of the junior brokers getting sloppy drunk. Jameson had told the catering people to just go ahead and go home, and they could come pack everything up the next day.
She'd gone outside to look at the devastation in the morning, and Sanders had gone with her. Jameson had gone to work hours before, but he was heading home so they could all go to lunch and then the airport together.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked, glancing at Sanders before reaching over and rubbing his back.
“Yes. I was very surprised to discover that I enjoy hush puppies,” he replied. She laughed.
“They're pretty good. And there was corn on the cob! I missed Jameson eating it. Can you imagine?” she kept chuckling. Sanders cleared his throat.
“No, I cannot.”
There was a noise behind them and when they turned around, it was to find Rich Klimas gingerly stepping into the backyard. He had been one of the sloppy drunks. It had gotten bad enough that Jameson had ordered some of the men to carry Klimas upstairs and leave him in a guest room. He must have just woken up. He had some sort of reddish stain on his chin – probably barbecue sauce from the night before – and he wore a dark pair of sunglasses.
“Such a bitch,” he growled, shifting up onto his knees so he could thrust harder. “Flirting when I asked you not to. Opening your mouth when I tell you to shut up. When the fuck are you ever going to learn?”
“Never,” she whispered, as a burning sensation started in the center of her chest and quickly started racing towards her extremities. “Never.”
“Never is fucking right. God, why are you always so difficult?” he demanded, his thrusts turning brutal.
“Because,” she was gasping for air in earnest. “It's the only way to get your attention.”
His grip on her throat got even tighter.
“Mission fucking accomplished.”
She couldn't hold it back anymore. She came hard, shouting out his name as her hands flew to her hair. She gasped and shook and cried out, pulling at her roots. When he leaned down and kissed her, his teeth nipping sharply at her bottom lip, the orgasm doubled back and regrouped, pulsing across every nerve ended. Her back arched and he finally let go of her throat, dragging his fingers down her chest and squeezing her breast.
“So perfect,” he groaned before slamming his hips home one last time, coming in a series of jerks and swear words.
“Oh my god,” she gasped for air after he'd collapsed on top of her. “Holy shit. Oh my god.”
“Language, Mrs. Kane,” he was panting as well, his voice muffled by her chest.
“I can't believe we just did that while there's a party going on outside,” she finally laughed, pressing her hand against her forehead.
“Better than doing it with a party going on in here,” he pointed. She wiggled her feet, which were sticking up above the table still and in full sight of anyone who might happen to look in the windows.
“Not much of a difference. This is gonna be more awkward than that time you fucked me in Hong Kong, when all those investors were in the next room,” she sighed.
“Good,” he replied. “I like making people nervous.”
“And jealous,” she added, smiling to herself. He snorted.
“Everyone is already jealous of me. What I wanted was to fuck you in front of him so as to leave him in no doubt of who you belong to.”
“Possessive words, Mr. Kane.”
“Goddamn right they are.”
“Rich Klimas isn't any kind of threat to you,” she promised, combing her fingers through his hair.
“Of course he fucking isn't. He's offensive, and that's worse. Now any time he comes sniffing around you, he'll have this moment in the back of his head. Like I said, mission fucking accomplished.”
Tate laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close for a second. Then she started pushing him away.
“Get off, you weigh a million tons.”
Tate wiggled around on the floor, getting her bra back in place and putting her dress to rights. Jameson really had no shame and simply stood up, pulling on his pants as he moved. Then he stooped to retrieve his shirt and put that on, as well. She held out her hand and he pulled her to her feet.
“We look insane,” Tate commented, glancing at his hair and wondering how bad hers looked.
“I look fine,” he replied, running his fingers through his dark locks and calming it down. “You, on the other hand, look like you just got fucked.”
“Ah, my fave look.”
She attempted to pull her hair into a ponytail. Jameson laughed and smoothed out some wild strands around the crown of her head. Then he straightened out the zipper on the back of her dress and smoothed out her skirt before pulling her close.
“I want you to know something,” he murmured, trailing his lips along the line of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him.
“What?”
“It wasn't about him.”
“Huh?”
“I would've fucked you in here regardless of whether or not Klimas had shown up tonight.”
“Really?” Tate asked, not entirely surprised – Jameson generally always wanted to have sex – but curious about his reasons.
“This dress,” he sighed, his hands running down the sides of her body. “Your body. You knew what you were doing when you picked it out.”
“Maybe,” she replied coyly. Of course she had. Jameson could never resist a cheap looking slut.
They finally pulled apart for good. Jameson looked none the worse for wear in his polo shirt and jeans. Tate's dress was wrinkled in odd places and stretched in others, her hair was mussy, and her voice was hoarse. All her old faves. She held his hand as he lead her back outside.
“Proud of yourself?” she asked as they moved along. All around them, people were snickering and grinning. A few were even blushing, averting their eyes as their boss stalked past them.
“Always, Tatum,” he said in a clipped tone, but his hand squeezed hers while they moved.
Summer barbecues might be my new favorite thing ever.
6
“I still can't believe it.” “What?”
“A barbecue.”
“You can't believe we had a barbecue?”
“No.”
“But the grill is still right over there.”
“Sanders, be quiet.”
“Of course.”
Tate sighed and put her hands on her hips. It was the next morning. The party had run late into the night, with several of the junior brokers getting sloppy drunk. Jameson had told the catering people to just go ahead and go home, and they could come pack everything up the next day.
She'd gone outside to look at the devastation in the morning, and Sanders had gone with her. Jameson had gone to work hours before, but he was heading home so they could all go to lunch and then the airport together.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked, glancing at Sanders before reaching over and rubbing his back.
“Yes. I was very surprised to discover that I enjoy hush puppies,” he replied. She laughed.
“They're pretty good. And there was corn on the cob! I missed Jameson eating it. Can you imagine?” she kept chuckling. Sanders cleared his throat.
“No, I cannot.”
There was a noise behind them and when they turned around, it was to find Rich Klimas gingerly stepping into the backyard. He had been one of the sloppy drunks. It had gotten bad enough that Jameson had ordered some of the men to carry Klimas upstairs and leave him in a guest room. He must have just woken up. He had some sort of reddish stain on his chin – probably barbecue sauce from the night before – and he wore a dark pair of sunglasses.
