Separation
Page 44
But she was a horrible liar, even when it was to herself.
Tatum fucking hated the idea of Jameson sleeping with that girl.
She pressed her whole body to his door, straining to hear what was going on; living in a marina was similar to living in a city. There was always some kind of noise. Boats rocking, bouys squeaking, engines rumbling. Even inside an expensive, hand tailored yacht, noise managed to get in, and she had trouble hearing exactly what was being said.
But Tate could definitely hear voices, muffled as they were. The woman was definitely in his room. They were talking. There was giggling. Possibly a groan from him. Definitely a moan from her. More giggling. Tate wanted to puke. She pushed away from the door, hurried back to her room. Paced up and down the hallway. Took deep breaths through her nose. Tried to remember a happier time, a time when she would've been excited for him to sleep with someone else.
“... I want to know everything.”
“Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down ..., things like that?”
“Exactly like that.”
She had no control over her body. Tate stormed down the hallway and burst through his door, before she'd even coherently thought about it. His room was large, a huge bed in black sheets taking up most of it. Jameson was standing next to it, and the maid was standing in front of him. Both had turned towards the doorway when Tate made her dramatic entrance. Jameson cocked up an eyebrow.
“Yes?” he asked. Tate clenched her hand around the door knob. Took a deep breath.
“I'm bored,” she spit out.
Oh, good one. Very good. Very cool. Breezy, even.
“Hmmm. So hearing about it isn't enough anymore, you want to watch?” Jameson clarified, peeling his shirt off and throwing it to the floor. The maid was asking something in Spanish, but he ignored her, just wrapped an arm around her waist. Tate shrugged.
“There's no TV in my room. You threw my phone overboard. You made Sandy leave. I need something to entertain me,” she replied. He chuckled, his voice low and evil sounding, and moved to kneel on the bed, pulling the maid along.
He grabbed the other girl by the back of the head, pulling her close. He said something softly to her, all in Spanish. She laughed, giving Tate a sideways look, before pressing herself against Jameson. Her hands ran up his sides, her lips pressed to his chest. Tate took another deep breath. Willed away the bile in her throat.
He lowered the other lady to the bed, propped himself up over her, but Jameson's eyes stayed locked on Tate's, a curious sort of detachment sitting in his blue depths. A woman was rubbing her body and her tongue against his bare skin, but he didn't seem to really care. He was entirely focused on Tate.
Maid-lady didn't care one bit. She seemed excited just to be there. She moaned, hissed things in Spanish, put her hands all over his body, ignored the fact that anyone else was even in the room. It made Tate angry. That was her property the woman was touching. In a previous life, Tate could have happily imagined herself sitting on the sidelines, watching Jameson fuck somebody else. But not right now, not when she hadn't had a chance to reclaim what was rightfully hers.
God, I am so fucked up. Ang is right, I should seek therapy.
Tate slowly walked forward, keeping her eyes on Jameson's. Of course, he knew what she wanted. He always knew. He didn't say a word, just crawled over and off of the maid, till he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. When Tatum reached him, he didn't even pause to see what her intentions were, he just wrapped one arm around her waist and yanked her close. His other hand went in to her hair, pinning her in place while he kissed her.
Tate raked her fingers through his hair, digging her nails into his scalp, dragging them all the way down to his back. She felt like she was starving for that moment. She was well aware of the fact that the maid was now pressed against his back, licking her way across his shoulders. Tate couldn't decide whether it was a turn on, or just a nuisance.
She pulled him forward, pulling him off the bed. He took over, moving her backwards, and they fell across the room, her back landing hard against a wall. She gasped against his mouth, slid her leg up and down his, tickled her fingers down his sides. The maid reappeared then, and stepped up to his side. Tried to become part of the act. Wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed at his ear.
But when the maid's free hand slid onto Tate's hip, fun time was over. If she was going to be stupid enough to have sex with Jameson, it was not going to be in a threesome, not after having been denied his body for the last three months. She wanted him to herself. This was not an all-you-can-eat buffet. This was dinner for two. And it was suddenly over-crowded.
I'm so much worse than him. He knows what he's doing – I pretend to be ignorant. Poor girl. Shouldn't have been eye-fucking him in front of me. Tacky.
“She leaves,” Tate breathed against his mouth.
She didn't have to say anything else. Jameson pulled away and grabbed the woman by the arm, forcing her away from him. The maid seemed surprised, and she started speaking rapid fire Spanish, her hand sliding up Jameson's chest. He grabbed it, held it away from himself. Tate stepped away from the mix.
“Vayasé, venga mañana y le pagare el doble de su salario,” he told her. Tate understood “salary” and “tomorrow”, but that was it.
Maid-lady understood it all, and didn't like it, apparently. She gestured violently at Tate, her voice loud and rough sounding. She stomped back to the bed, grumbling and glaring, grabbing her jacket and slipping on her shoes.
Tatum fucking hated the idea of Jameson sleeping with that girl.
She pressed her whole body to his door, straining to hear what was going on; living in a marina was similar to living in a city. There was always some kind of noise. Boats rocking, bouys squeaking, engines rumbling. Even inside an expensive, hand tailored yacht, noise managed to get in, and she had trouble hearing exactly what was being said.
But Tate could definitely hear voices, muffled as they were. The woman was definitely in his room. They were talking. There was giggling. Possibly a groan from him. Definitely a moan from her. More giggling. Tate wanted to puke. She pushed away from the door, hurried back to her room. Paced up and down the hallway. Took deep breaths through her nose. Tried to remember a happier time, a time when she would've been excited for him to sleep with someone else.
“... I want to know everything.”
“Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down ..., things like that?”
“Exactly like that.”
She had no control over her body. Tate stormed down the hallway and burst through his door, before she'd even coherently thought about it. His room was large, a huge bed in black sheets taking up most of it. Jameson was standing next to it, and the maid was standing in front of him. Both had turned towards the doorway when Tate made her dramatic entrance. Jameson cocked up an eyebrow.
“Yes?” he asked. Tate clenched her hand around the door knob. Took a deep breath.
“I'm bored,” she spit out.
Oh, good one. Very good. Very cool. Breezy, even.
“Hmmm. So hearing about it isn't enough anymore, you want to watch?” Jameson clarified, peeling his shirt off and throwing it to the floor. The maid was asking something in Spanish, but he ignored her, just wrapped an arm around her waist. Tate shrugged.
“There's no TV in my room. You threw my phone overboard. You made Sandy leave. I need something to entertain me,” she replied. He chuckled, his voice low and evil sounding, and moved to kneel on the bed, pulling the maid along.
He grabbed the other girl by the back of the head, pulling her close. He said something softly to her, all in Spanish. She laughed, giving Tate a sideways look, before pressing herself against Jameson. Her hands ran up his sides, her lips pressed to his chest. Tate took another deep breath. Willed away the bile in her throat.
He lowered the other lady to the bed, propped himself up over her, but Jameson's eyes stayed locked on Tate's, a curious sort of detachment sitting in his blue depths. A woman was rubbing her body and her tongue against his bare skin, but he didn't seem to really care. He was entirely focused on Tate.
Maid-lady didn't care one bit. She seemed excited just to be there. She moaned, hissed things in Spanish, put her hands all over his body, ignored the fact that anyone else was even in the room. It made Tate angry. That was her property the woman was touching. In a previous life, Tate could have happily imagined herself sitting on the sidelines, watching Jameson fuck somebody else. But not right now, not when she hadn't had a chance to reclaim what was rightfully hers.
God, I am so fucked up. Ang is right, I should seek therapy.
Tate slowly walked forward, keeping her eyes on Jameson's. Of course, he knew what she wanted. He always knew. He didn't say a word, just crawled over and off of the maid, till he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. When Tatum reached him, he didn't even pause to see what her intentions were, he just wrapped one arm around her waist and yanked her close. His other hand went in to her hair, pinning her in place while he kissed her.
Tate raked her fingers through his hair, digging her nails into his scalp, dragging them all the way down to his back. She felt like she was starving for that moment. She was well aware of the fact that the maid was now pressed against his back, licking her way across his shoulders. Tate couldn't decide whether it was a turn on, or just a nuisance.
She pulled him forward, pulling him off the bed. He took over, moving her backwards, and they fell across the room, her back landing hard against a wall. She gasped against his mouth, slid her leg up and down his, tickled her fingers down his sides. The maid reappeared then, and stepped up to his side. Tried to become part of the act. Wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed at his ear.
But when the maid's free hand slid onto Tate's hip, fun time was over. If she was going to be stupid enough to have sex with Jameson, it was not going to be in a threesome, not after having been denied his body for the last three months. She wanted him to herself. This was not an all-you-can-eat buffet. This was dinner for two. And it was suddenly over-crowded.
I'm so much worse than him. He knows what he's doing – I pretend to be ignorant. Poor girl. Shouldn't have been eye-fucking him in front of me. Tacky.
“She leaves,” Tate breathed against his mouth.
She didn't have to say anything else. Jameson pulled away and grabbed the woman by the arm, forcing her away from him. The maid seemed surprised, and she started speaking rapid fire Spanish, her hand sliding up Jameson's chest. He grabbed it, held it away from himself. Tate stepped away from the mix.
“Vayasé, venga mañana y le pagare el doble de su salario,” he told her. Tate understood “salary” and “tomorrow”, but that was it.
Maid-lady understood it all, and didn't like it, apparently. She gestured violently at Tate, her voice loud and rough sounding. She stomped back to the bed, grumbling and glaring, grabbing her jacket and slipping on her shoes.
