Reparation
Page 12
“I thought you'd at least give me a chance to relax when I first got home. That's not a short flight,” he told her. She snorted and wiggled around, trying to scoot out of the sweater she was wearing.
“It's been five days,” she reminded him. He let his shirt fall backwards to the ground and then peeled off his undershirt.
“Five days, huh,” he mumbled, leaning down close to chew on the side of her neck. “Guess that means you didn't fuck Angier.”
“Not for lack of trying,” she laughed. He believed it was a joke.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate. It's only good for one thing, anyway.”
“Thank you. I had a very good teacher.”
He propped himself up over her, stared at her for a moment. It was dark in the bedroom, but she could see light from the closet glinting off his eyes, giving him a cold, steely look. Not much different than usual. She had expected her comment to make him mad. She was wrong.
“If it upsets you that much that they're together,” he started, his voice quiet, “then just ask him to stop. He would, for you.”
Busted.
“I wasn't -,” she started to cover up when he pressed his hand down flat on her chest.
“Don't lie. All you do is lie anymore, baby girl. It gets tiring. You want to break them up – the question is, why are you trying to do it in a way you know would piss me off?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath. Apparently she wasn't as unobvious as she liked to think.
“Would it really piss you off?” she asked back.
“If you fucked Angier in our bed? Yes, it would piss me off,” he assured her.
“So what, if I fuck him, you're gonna kick me out?” she pressed, her breathing getting fast. He chuckled.
“Tate, you can lie to yourself all you like – I have already accepted the fact that there is very little you could do to make me stop wanting you,” he told her, pressing down harder on her breast bone before dragging his hand down her body. Her eyelids fluttered shut.
Wanting. Not caring. Big difference, baby girl.
“Leaves me a lot of scope, Mr. Kane. I haven't slept with Ang in a long time, could be kind of fun,” she whispered.
“Only if you like seeing me mad,” he whispered back. She finally chuckled as well, squirming as he started undoing the button on her shorts.
“I love seeing you mad.”
“Tatum. You have never seen me really mad.”
Scary fucking thought.
His hand dived under her shorts then, and she forgot what they were talking about; his fingers always had the ability to make her forget everything. Scratching her, squeezing her, choking her, inside of her. Very talented, those fingers.
“Ooohhh, wow,” she breathed out, her shoulders lifting off the mattress.
“Tell me why you're trying to break them up,” Jameson demanded, pressing two fingers inside of her.
“Because,” Tate panted. “I'm angry at them.”
“Why? Why do you care who Angier fucks?”
“I don't care. I care that she's fucking him,” she replied, her head tossing from side to side as his fingers worked quicker.
“Why?”
“She stole my life away from me, my future. She doesn't get to steal my best friend, too,” Tate replied, a little surprised at herself for blurting it out so plainly. Those damn fingers. He stopped moving and she groaned.
“Seems to me the life you have now isn't so bad. Maybe she did you a favor,” he pointed out, dragging sticky wet fingers up her body. She managed a laugh.
“You would see it that way. I see it as more of a burden,” she teased him. Jameson glared, then pressed his two fingers into her mouth. She moaned, leaning her head forward to work her lips all the way to his knuckles.
“Fucking Tatum. Didn't I tell you? No more games,” he growled at her, pulling his hand away and then yanking her shorts down.
“Jameson, you and I have never stopped playing games,” she pointed out, hurrying to pull off her bra.
“Such a bitch.”
“You bring it out of me.
“Shut up.”
He yanked her legs up, hooking her knees over his shoulders. Her hands went into his hair. Once upon a time, he had treated going down on her like it was some monumental thing, some amazing gift he was bestowing upon her. It was pretty goddamn amazing, but he wasn't so stingy anymore.
She wouldn't say it out loud, would barely even whisper it inside her own head, but she had actually realized, he was a pretty giving man.
Even scarier fucking thought.
When she'd had a big enough orgasm that she thought she was going to pass out, he finally let her go. While her head was spinning, he crawled back up her body, kissing his way to her throat.
“You're very good at that,” she panted. She felt his smile against her pulse, his fangs against her skin.
“I know.”
“Did Petrushka teach you how to use your mouth?” she asked bluntly. Jameson snorted.
“No. By the time I got with Pet, I had learned all my tricks,” he replied, leaning away from her enough to unbuckle his pants. Tate helped, using her feet to work them down his legs.
“All of them, hmmm? So I guess there's nothing new to learn from me,” she sighed. He laid all of his weight on her.
“Tatum, I think I learn something new from you every single day.”
Nice words scar so bad.
~3~
“It's been five days,” she reminded him. He let his shirt fall backwards to the ground and then peeled off his undershirt.
“Five days, huh,” he mumbled, leaning down close to chew on the side of her neck. “Guess that means you didn't fuck Angier.”
“Not for lack of trying,” she laughed. He believed it was a joke.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate. It's only good for one thing, anyway.”
“Thank you. I had a very good teacher.”
He propped himself up over her, stared at her for a moment. It was dark in the bedroom, but she could see light from the closet glinting off his eyes, giving him a cold, steely look. Not much different than usual. She had expected her comment to make him mad. She was wrong.
“If it upsets you that much that they're together,” he started, his voice quiet, “then just ask him to stop. He would, for you.”
Busted.
“I wasn't -,” she started to cover up when he pressed his hand down flat on her chest.
“Don't lie. All you do is lie anymore, baby girl. It gets tiring. You want to break them up – the question is, why are you trying to do it in a way you know would piss me off?” Jameson asked. Tate held her breath. Apparently she wasn't as unobvious as she liked to think.
“Would it really piss you off?” she asked back.
“If you fucked Angier in our bed? Yes, it would piss me off,” he assured her.
“So what, if I fuck him, you're gonna kick me out?” she pressed, her breathing getting fast. He chuckled.
“Tate, you can lie to yourself all you like – I have already accepted the fact that there is very little you could do to make me stop wanting you,” he told her, pressing down harder on her breast bone before dragging his hand down her body. Her eyelids fluttered shut.
Wanting. Not caring. Big difference, baby girl.
“Leaves me a lot of scope, Mr. Kane. I haven't slept with Ang in a long time, could be kind of fun,” she whispered.
“Only if you like seeing me mad,” he whispered back. She finally chuckled as well, squirming as he started undoing the button on her shorts.
“I love seeing you mad.”
“Tatum. You have never seen me really mad.”
Scary fucking thought.
His hand dived under her shorts then, and she forgot what they were talking about; his fingers always had the ability to make her forget everything. Scratching her, squeezing her, choking her, inside of her. Very talented, those fingers.
“Ooohhh, wow,” she breathed out, her shoulders lifting off the mattress.
“Tell me why you're trying to break them up,” Jameson demanded, pressing two fingers inside of her.
“Because,” Tate panted. “I'm angry at them.”
“Why? Why do you care who Angier fucks?”
“I don't care. I care that she's fucking him,” she replied, her head tossing from side to side as his fingers worked quicker.
“Why?”
“She stole my life away from me, my future. She doesn't get to steal my best friend, too,” Tate replied, a little surprised at herself for blurting it out so plainly. Those damn fingers. He stopped moving and she groaned.
“Seems to me the life you have now isn't so bad. Maybe she did you a favor,” he pointed out, dragging sticky wet fingers up her body. She managed a laugh.
“You would see it that way. I see it as more of a burden,” she teased him. Jameson glared, then pressed his two fingers into her mouth. She moaned, leaning her head forward to work her lips all the way to his knuckles.
“Fucking Tatum. Didn't I tell you? No more games,” he growled at her, pulling his hand away and then yanking her shorts down.
“Jameson, you and I have never stopped playing games,” she pointed out, hurrying to pull off her bra.
“Such a bitch.”
“You bring it out of me.
“Shut up.”
He yanked her legs up, hooking her knees over his shoulders. Her hands went into his hair. Once upon a time, he had treated going down on her like it was some monumental thing, some amazing gift he was bestowing upon her. It was pretty goddamn amazing, but he wasn't so stingy anymore.
She wouldn't say it out loud, would barely even whisper it inside her own head, but she had actually realized, he was a pretty giving man.
Even scarier fucking thought.
When she'd had a big enough orgasm that she thought she was going to pass out, he finally let her go. While her head was spinning, he crawled back up her body, kissing his way to her throat.
“You're very good at that,” she panted. She felt his smile against her pulse, his fangs against her skin.
“I know.”
“Did Petrushka teach you how to use your mouth?” she asked bluntly. Jameson snorted.
“No. By the time I got with Pet, I had learned all my tricks,” he replied, leaning away from her enough to unbuckle his pants. Tate helped, using her feet to work them down his legs.
“All of them, hmmm? So I guess there's nothing new to learn from me,” she sighed. He laid all of his weight on her.
“Tatum, I think I learn something new from you every single day.”
Nice words scar so bad.
~3~
