Reparation
Page 15
“Yes, it would bother me if you had sex with your secretary,” she stated. His eyebrows went up.
“I already know that, though I'm surprised you admitted it out loud,” he replied. She crossed her eyes at him.
“It is one thing for you to sex up some random chick in a far away place. It is another thing for you to find some new fantastic lover that's better than me right here at home. As you once said, I'm not done playing with you yet,” she explained.
“I'm flattered.”
“So. Now you admit something, too,” she urged.
“Like what?” he asked. She took off her scarf, threw it into the backseat.
“Like the idea of me having sex with someone else makes your blood boil,” she filled in for him. Jameson snorted.
“Tatum, I couldn't care -,”
“He almost kissed me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ang. In the bedroom. He almost kissed me. I was kneeling on your bed. He had his arms around me,” she painted a picture. Rage rippled across Jameson's features.
“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded.
“To point out how mad you are right now,” she replied.
“That's because I don't like Angier. A stranger is completely different,” he snapped.
“Oh really? So another man, some stranger, touching me, doesn't bother you,” she clarified, and slowly shrugged off her jacket.
“Not in the least,” he replied. She smiled.
“Another man fucking me doesn't bother you. So if I were to go downtown, and rent a hotel room for a weekend, and just sow some wild oats, you would be cool with that?” she clarified, putting her jacket into the backseat.
“Completely.”
“Ooohhh, I know what I'm doing next weekend. I'm going to get a room, and then I'm going to put on the tiniest skirt I own, and then I'm going to go bar hopping. I am going to find some devastatingly sexy guy. Fuck it, maybe I won't even need him to take me back to the room,” Tate said, shivering as she described it.
“You do love a good alley-fuck.”
“Don't I, though? Or a car. Cars are good. If he has a car, I'll just climb into the backseat and let him bend me over the console. Been a long time since I've had good car sex,” she sighed.
“You could be having it right now.”
“And ruin the fantasy? No, I'll wait. I'm very glad to know you're okay with all this, it's so exciting! If it's really good, then maybe I'll take him back to the hotel room, and let him touch every inch of my body, put his dick in any orifice he wants. Maybe, if I'm very lucky, I'll get some new bruises to bring home,” Tate said. Jameson's hand went into her hair and pulled, yanking her towards him.
“Sex is one thing. If I see a bruise, we have a problem,” he hissed.
“That's stupid. So I can have sex, just not good sex?” she asked. He glared at her.
“You can have perfectly good sex without someone leaving a mark on you. I get to leave marks – not other men,” he told her.
“Maybe you can have good sex that way, but not me. No, if I'm gonna go out and get nailed, then I'm gonna get fucking hammered by some guy. Like, can't walk right the next day,” she laughed.
“I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up,” Jameson informed her. She shook her head.
“But it's just getting good, and not like you care, right? I hope whoever it is isn't shy, cause I love going down on a guy in public. Just right there in some dark night club. I'll just slip onto my knees – men seem to love that, don't they? – and press him against a wall, then take every inch of his -,” her voice got softer and softer, all while his fist pulled harder and harder.
“Tatum,” Jameson interrupted, his voice sharp.
“Hmmm?” she purred, trailing a finger up his chest.
“You are not getting a hotel room this weekend.”
“I'm not?”
“And you are not going bar hopping.”
“Boring.”
“And you are most certainly not making every 'orifice' available to some random guy.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Because,” Jameson answered, his free hand undoing his belt buckle.
“Because why?”
“Because. If another man ever touches you, I will fucking kill him,” he replied simply. Tate smiled broadly.
“I win,” she whispered.
“It's going to be awfully hard to gloat with your mouth full of dick.”
“I'll manage.”
“Bitch.”
She was about to make a witty remark, but then he was forcing her head into his lap and she was a little busy.
If he doesn't want you fucking anyone else, that means he's jealous. And if he's jealous, that means he cares. And if he cares, then maybe he really never lied. And if he never lied, then you don't have to ruin everything. And if you don't have to ruin everything, then maybe you can admit out loud that you have most definitely, certainly, positively, absolutely, irrevocably sold your soul to Satan.
~4~
Tate could handle angry Jameson. She could handle mean Jameson. She could handle funny, smart, sexy, witty, foul mouthed Jameson. But there were two versions she had had trouble with, sadistic Jameson, and nice Jameson. Sadistic Jameson had only ever truly come out twice – when he had tricked her into visiting her parents, and big time when he had brought Petrushka home. He could push her around and call her all the names he wanted, but fucking with her mind or her heart, that was not okay.
“I already know that, though I'm surprised you admitted it out loud,” he replied. She crossed her eyes at him.
“It is one thing for you to sex up some random chick in a far away place. It is another thing for you to find some new fantastic lover that's better than me right here at home. As you once said, I'm not done playing with you yet,” she explained.
“I'm flattered.”
“So. Now you admit something, too,” she urged.
“Like what?” he asked. She took off her scarf, threw it into the backseat.
“Like the idea of me having sex with someone else makes your blood boil,” she filled in for him. Jameson snorted.
“Tatum, I couldn't care -,”
“He almost kissed me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ang. In the bedroom. He almost kissed me. I was kneeling on your bed. He had his arms around me,” she painted a picture. Rage rippled across Jameson's features.
“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded.
“To point out how mad you are right now,” she replied.
“That's because I don't like Angier. A stranger is completely different,” he snapped.
“Oh really? So another man, some stranger, touching me, doesn't bother you,” she clarified, and slowly shrugged off her jacket.
“Not in the least,” he replied. She smiled.
“Another man fucking me doesn't bother you. So if I were to go downtown, and rent a hotel room for a weekend, and just sow some wild oats, you would be cool with that?” she clarified, putting her jacket into the backseat.
“Completely.”
“Ooohhh, I know what I'm doing next weekend. I'm going to get a room, and then I'm going to put on the tiniest skirt I own, and then I'm going to go bar hopping. I am going to find some devastatingly sexy guy. Fuck it, maybe I won't even need him to take me back to the room,” Tate said, shivering as she described it.
“You do love a good alley-fuck.”
“Don't I, though? Or a car. Cars are good. If he has a car, I'll just climb into the backseat and let him bend me over the console. Been a long time since I've had good car sex,” she sighed.
“You could be having it right now.”
“And ruin the fantasy? No, I'll wait. I'm very glad to know you're okay with all this, it's so exciting! If it's really good, then maybe I'll take him back to the hotel room, and let him touch every inch of my body, put his dick in any orifice he wants. Maybe, if I'm very lucky, I'll get some new bruises to bring home,” Tate said. Jameson's hand went into her hair and pulled, yanking her towards him.
“Sex is one thing. If I see a bruise, we have a problem,” he hissed.
“That's stupid. So I can have sex, just not good sex?” she asked. He glared at her.
“You can have perfectly good sex without someone leaving a mark on you. I get to leave marks – not other men,” he told her.
“Maybe you can have good sex that way, but not me. No, if I'm gonna go out and get nailed, then I'm gonna get fucking hammered by some guy. Like, can't walk right the next day,” she laughed.
“I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up,” Jameson informed her. She shook her head.
“But it's just getting good, and not like you care, right? I hope whoever it is isn't shy, cause I love going down on a guy in public. Just right there in some dark night club. I'll just slip onto my knees – men seem to love that, don't they? – and press him against a wall, then take every inch of his -,” her voice got softer and softer, all while his fist pulled harder and harder.
“Tatum,” Jameson interrupted, his voice sharp.
“Hmmm?” she purred, trailing a finger up his chest.
“You are not getting a hotel room this weekend.”
“I'm not?”
“And you are not going bar hopping.”
“Boring.”
“And you are most certainly not making every 'orifice' available to some random guy.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Because,” Jameson answered, his free hand undoing his belt buckle.
“Because why?”
“Because. If another man ever touches you, I will fucking kill him,” he replied simply. Tate smiled broadly.
“I win,” she whispered.
“It's going to be awfully hard to gloat with your mouth full of dick.”
“I'll manage.”
“Bitch.”
She was about to make a witty remark, but then he was forcing her head into his lap and she was a little busy.
If he doesn't want you fucking anyone else, that means he's jealous. And if he's jealous, that means he cares. And if he cares, then maybe he really never lied. And if he never lied, then you don't have to ruin everything. And if you don't have to ruin everything, then maybe you can admit out loud that you have most definitely, certainly, positively, absolutely, irrevocably sold your soul to Satan.
~4~
Tate could handle angry Jameson. She could handle mean Jameson. She could handle funny, smart, sexy, witty, foul mouthed Jameson. But there were two versions she had had trouble with, sadistic Jameson, and nice Jameson. Sadistic Jameson had only ever truly come out twice – when he had tricked her into visiting her parents, and big time when he had brought Petrushka home. He could push her around and call her all the names he wanted, but fucking with her mind or her heart, that was not okay.
