Degradation

by Stylo Fantome

  “Oh, c’mon, I just -,” he started, when Sanders cleared his throat.

  “I believe you’ll find Mr. Kane in the conservatory, with the rest of the guests,” he interrupted.

  “Oh, was he asking for me?” Dunn asked.

  “No, but I assumed since you’re soliciting services from a woman who has been staying in his home, you would want to discuss it with him first,” Sanders told Dunn, his voice like ice cycles. Dunn’s face got hard, and Tate smiled. Apparently Jameson was not “okay with” this little proposition – based on Dunn’s face, she would guess that Jameson didn’t know anything about it at all.

  “We could go together,” Tate offered. “Tell the whole story, do a reenactment. He’d love it. What do you guys think?”

  “Whatever you say, Ms. O’Shea,” Sanders replied. Dunn huffed and stomped out of the room. Tate laughed.

  “God, did you see his face? What a dick,” she chuckled. Sanders nodded, turning and leading her across the hall, in to the kitchen.

  “Clearly. Would you care for a drink, Ms. O’Shea?” he asked. She nodded, and without even having to tell him, he went and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from a cupboard.

  “You treat me so good, Sandy,” she sighed as he sat the bottle on the huge island in the center of the kitchen. He gestured towards the glasses but she shook her head.

  “Are you alright, Ms. O’Shea?” he asked in his careful tone. She shrugged, moving around to the other side of the island so she could face him.

  “I don’t know. I will be,” she replied.

  “Did he touch you?”

  She lifted her eyes to Sanders, and for once, he was looking back at her. He almost never made direct eye contact with anyone, except for Jameson. His question surprised her. His voice lacked any emotion, like normal, but there was something in his eyes. He was worried about her, concerned. Tate was shocked.

  “No, he didn’t,” she assured him. He nodded.

  “Would you like me to get Mr. Kane?” Sanders offered. She shook her head and twisted the cap off the bottle.

  “No,” she laughed, taking a drink.

  “I think he should know about this. He would be very upset,” he told her. Tate laughed some more.

  “You really think he’d be upset? I don’t,” she replied, taking an even bigger swig.

  “You’re wrong. He cares about you, Ms. O’Shea,” Sanders assured her. She almost spit the liquor out.

  “Jameson Kane doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” she snorted. She had to say things like that; she had to remind herself.

  “I have seen a lot of women come through his life,” Sanders’ voice was quiet, almost soft. She stared at him. “But he has never treated anyone the way he treats you. He used to talk about you, you know. A long time ago, when he would drink. He would mention your name, mention that he wondered what you were doing, where you were. He cares.”

  He stressed the last words, and Tate almost felt like tearing up. Who knew Sanders could be so passionate? And about her, of all people. For him to tell her these things, these obvious secrets, it meant a lot, on so many different levels. He really wanted her to know, Jameson cared about her.

  She had told herself so many times that it wasn’t a possibility, Jameson Kane would never truly care about her. Would never feel anything for her beyond desire. Maybe there was hope …, no. She didn’t want to believe it. Satan didn’t have feelings, and if she began to think he did, he would eat her soul – what little she had left to give.

  “You’re very sweet, Sandy,” she chuckled in a low voice, “but I think we both know that’s not true.”

  “What’s not true?”

  Jameson’s voice boomed in the doorway. He strode in to the room, not looking very happy. He glared at both of them, crossing his arms over his chest as he came to a stop at the front of the island. Tate toasted him with her bottle before taking another drink. Sanders stood up straighter.

  “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “No. You can leave,” Jameson told him. Sanders nodded.

  “I’ll be in the guest house. Ms. O’Shea,” he said, and both Jameson and Tate looked at Sanders. “Please think about what I said, very seriously.”

  “What the fuck is he going on about?” Jameson demanded while Sanders walked out of the room. Tate shrugged.

  “Sandy is an old soul in a young body, his riddles are too deep for us to understand,” she joked. Jameson glared at her.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What were you two talking about in here?” he asked. She laughed.

  “Your friend, Dunn,” she replied.

  “Dunn? What about Dunn?”

  “He seems to have gotten the impression that I’m a prostitute,” Tate said. Jameson got very still, his eyes turning to ice.

  Sanders must have learned that trick from him.

  “What are you talking about?” Jameson asked in a low voice.

  “He cornered me in the library, was being a super creep, hitting on me, telling me he could afford whatever you were paying, blah blah blah. Sandy came in and saved me,” Tate explained.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Yup. Great friends, Jameson. Maybe keep our little game more on the down low, though. Unless you want me to sleep with your friends, which in that case, we could set up -,”

  Jameson slammed his hand down on the island, causing her to jump.

  “Fuck no, I don’t want you sleeping with my friends. I can’t fucking believe he did that, in my own house. I’m going to go in there and rip his fucking head off,” Jameson swore. She laid her hand on his arm, before he could move.

  “It’s over, it’s done with, not a big deal. Sandy gave him some of that magical freezer burn treatment, and the guy nearly pissed himself when we told him we were gonna tell on him, so it’s cool. We’re good,” she assured him.

  “It is not cool, and we are not good,” Jameson growled.

  “If you don’t want your friends treating me like a whore, maybe don’t mention that you offered to pay me,” she suggested.

  “I didn’t, I made a joke,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, and men are retarded assholes. You make a joke like that and he looks at my tits, and it’s one-plus-one equals whore,” she explained, and Jameson finally laughed.

  “I wish I had gone to that school,” he chuckled, running his hand through his hair.

  “It’s really not a big deal, Jameson. Don’t go freaking out. He’s business. I’m pleasure. We’ll keep it separate from now on,” Tate suggested. He nodded.

  “Looks like neither of our little games worked out. Our worlds don’t seem to mesh so well,” he pointed out. She nodded.

  “We seem to have assholes for friends.”

  “God, what does that say about us?”

  “We’re asshole royalty.”

  “King and Queen of the Assholes?”

  “Totally.”

  They both cracked up after that – it was too far in to the realm of ridiculous for Jameson, and the fact that he had kept it going made her laugh, as well. He pulled the Jack Daniel’s bottle close and took a drink as well. He made a face as he passed it back to her.

  “How you drink that shit, I’ll never know,” he grumbled.

  “When you’re just poor, white, trash, you don’t exactly go straight for the Johnny Walker Blue Label,” Tate laughed.

  “I have some, we could be drinking that instead,” he offered.

  “Nah, I like to stay true to my roots,” she joked, taking a healthy swig of the whiskey. He was silent for a moment, staring across the room. Sounds from the party drifted in to the kitchen. Jameson scowled.

  “I can’t fucking believe Dunn did that,” he grumbled, staring out the kitchen door.

  “He said you’ve shared girls before,” she told him. He glanced at her.

  “Not like that, not like what we are,” he replied, gesturing between himself and Tate.

  “Like
how, then?”

  “Like the same girl from an escort service. I’ve never let him sleep with a girl I was actively sleeping with on a regular basis. I don’t do that. I would never be okay with you sleeping with him, or any of my other colleagues. Not now, or at any point in time in the future,” Jameson told her. She nodded.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You had fucking better.”

  “Hey, don’t get mad at me – I’m the one who was solicited. I deserve like restitution, or something,” she joked. Jameson laughed.

  “Restitution? Like what?” he asked.

  “A $50,000 pearl necklace,” Tate replied without hesitation. He snorted.

  “Just go ahead and start holding your breath, I’ll get right on that,” he told her. She made a face at him.

  “I missed you, you know,” she blurted out. His eyebrows shot up.

  “Really? The succubus missed her lord and master, Lucifer?” he joked, and she almost choked. It was basically the same joke she made about them in her head.

  He’s psychic, I knew it.

  “Maybe ‘miss’ is too strong of a word,” she corrected herself. He laughed.

  “Shut up, you couldn’t have missed me that much. You were too busy getting stoned with Angier,” he taunted.

  “One night. It was a peace offering, he came over to apologize. I would never turn down good weed,” she told him. Jameson laughed again.

  “Are you sure that’s all that happened? I don’t know if I trust you,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

  “I solemnly swear that I did not sleep with Angier while you were in Los Angeles,” Tate held a hand over her heart while she promised. He nodded.

  “Good. So, what did you miss about me, baby girl?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the island. She thought for a second.

  “Your penis.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  “I already knew that. What else?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes you’re almost funny. You let me run around in my underwear all the time – Rus hates it when I do that at home. And sometimes you’re almost halfway sweet to me,” she tried to explain.

  “Jesus, I sound like if Stalin owned the Playboy Mansion,” he pointed out. She nodded.

  “Yes. Exactly like that,” Tate agreed.

  “Shut up. What else?” Jameson pressed. She was thoughtful again.

  “The way you treat me. Sometimes, and don’t get me wrong, I love him, but just sometimes …, Ang kind of babies me. Coddles me. Tries to take care of me too much. Like he’s afraid I’m gonna fall on my face if I’m out of his sight. You, on the other hand, practically push me down the stairs and just tell me to move my feet,” she laughed.

  “You make me sound abusive,” he remarked. She shrugged.

  “I meant it as a compliment. And you kinda are, in a way. I just happen to like it,” she told him. He glared at her playfully.

  “I’m not abusive. I’m …, aggressively sexual,” Jameson explained. She rolled her eyes.

  “More like a sexual aggressor,” she teased.

  “You flatter me too much. And I might have missed you, too, just a little bit,” he confessed. She pressed a hand to her chest.

  “See? There it is – sweetness. Be still, my beating heart.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Tate got up and wandered across the kitchen, grabbed some crackers and then leaned back against the cupboards. While she munched away, she watched him. He had turned to watch her, as well.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” she started, “how much did you miss me?”

  “I don’t have a basis for comparison.”

  “One - you didn’t think about me once, ten – you cut your trip short because you couldn’t live without me,” she suggested. He thought for a second.

  “A two?”

  She threw a cracker at him.

  “God, you’re such a dick. Sweetness, gone. You probably didn’t miss me because you were too busy plowing some starlet,” she joked. Jameson was silent, just stared at her, and she gasped. “Oh my god. You did, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t think you really want to have this conversation right now,” he said, moving away from the island and heading towards the kitchen door.

  “Was it your ex?” she called out, and he stopped. Turned back towards her.

  “No. She’s not an actress, and she doesn’t live in L.A.,” he assured her.

  “Then who was it? Has she been on tv? Please tell me I’ve seen her in a show or something,” Tate laughed. He leaned against the doorway, shoving his hands in to his pockets.

  “You’re really okay with this?” he asked. She moved back to the island and pulled herself up so she was sitting on top of it, facing him.

  “I want all the gory details. Was she prettier than me?” Tate asked.

  “I don’t know how to answer that question,” he replied. She laughed.

  “You’re shy, Jameson?” she teased. He shook his head.

  “I can’t say if she was prettier than you because there were two women.”

  “You slept with two women, in L.A., in one week?” Tate tried to lay everything out. He shook his head again.

  “In one night.”

  “Impressive. Smooth operator. Did they pass each other going through the front door?”

  “They walked through it together, at the same time.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Oh wow, Jameson had been a naughty boy while he was gone. She was touched that he was worried it would bother her, but it didn’t really. She wasn’t threatened by some random chicks in Los Angeles.

  “Hot. So, were either of them prettier than me?” Tate asked again.

  “They were twins, and they were very sexy, but not as sexy as you,” Jameson assured her. She smiled big.

  “I’m choosing to believe you on that. Were they better in bed?” she continued. He thought for a second.

  “Well, that’s hard to answer. Twice the anatomy to play with, kind of gives them an advantage,” he said. Tate pouted her lower lip out at him, trying to hide her laughter. “But they weren’t better. No. No, definitely not. No one takes care of me quite like you.”

  “That’s good to hear, seeing as how it’s usually you doing all the taking care of – have you ever slept with them before?” she asked, munching on a cracker. He shook his head.

  “No, I just met them that week. Kind of a spur of the moment thing. They asked me to dinner, one thing led to another,” he nodded his head for emphasis. Tate laughed.

  “The ol’ one-thing-led-to-another-suddenly-I’m-fucking-twins kind of night. I have that same problem all the time. Bitches just be falling for you in pairs, man,” she teased. He rolled his eyes.

  “God, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I want to know everything,” she urged, pushing the box of crackers away. His face became hard, serious. Almost angry.

  “Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down and had her watch while I fucked the other? Or how they took turns sucking my dick? Things like that?” Jameson’s voice was serious as well. The temperature in the kitchen suddenly cranked up about a hundred degrees. She licked her lips and nodded.

  “Exactly like that,” Tate replied, her voice breathy. He stared at her for a second, and then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, pushed a button.

  “Sanders,” he barked in to the phone, still staring at her. “Party’s over. I want everyone out of my house in five minutes.”

  “Ooohhh, finally, alone time,” Tate chuckled.

  He didn’t say anything in response, and they watched each other in silence. When they heard the sound of feet clomping through the house, he winked at her and slid out the door, closing it behind him.

  She let out a breath, bowing her head forward. The mental image of Jameson, having sex, with two women. She rubbed her legs together. When she was having sex with him, she was too caught up in the moment, m
ost of the time, to really pay attention. The idea of sitting back and watching him, seeing him in all his perfect kind of action; it turned her on. With two women? Wow.

  The goodbyes seemed to take forever. She could hear voices murmuring, picked out Jameson’s voice among them. She laid back flat on the island, propped her feet up on the edge. Two women. Did he talk with other women the way he talked with her? She imagined him tying a woman’s wrists to a bed post, calling her names. Tracing his tongue down her prone body. Tate’s hand crept onto her stomach. Fiddled with the edge of her bikini bottoms. She took a deep breath through her nose, forcing her hand to stay still.

  It had been a long week without him.

  “Getting started without me? Bad girl,” Jameson’s voice was soft as he walked back in to the kitchen.

  “No, but I thought about it,” she replied, not lifting her head but holding up her hands for him to see.

  “That’s bad enough. I’ve barely told you anything, and you’re already turned on?” he asked, moving so he was standing in front of her. She sat up, letting her legs fall back down against the drawers beneath her. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs so he could stand between them.

  “I’ve got a very good imagination, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He placed a hand against the crotch of her bikini bottoms, gently tracing his middle finger up and down. She sucked air through her teeth, trying not to moan.

  “Apparently. You’re soaking wet, Tatum,” he informed her. She nodded.

  “You have that effect on me, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “You sure it wasn’t all those men you were flirting with? Laying it on pretty thick out there,” he told her, his fingers from his other hand digging in to her knee.

  “I thought you liked it when I was slutty,” she pointed out. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Hmmm, sometimes,” was all he said in response, the pressure from his fingers getting harder. She sucked in another gasp of air and grabbed onto his wrist.

  “No fair. I want to hear your story,” she told him, stopping his movements.

  “You are an amazing woman, Tatum O’Shea,” Jameson chuckled, stepping back away from her.

  “You have no idea. Now make it juicy. Lie if you have to,” she told him, and he laughed, going back to his position by the door, leaning against the wall.