This shouldn't be turning me on. Why is this turning me on!?
“Yes, for you, Jameson. Just for you,” she moaned. His movements were so slow. He would almost pull all the way out of her, then he would plunge back inside, to the hilt, so slow. It made it hard to breathe.
“Whenever I want,” he repeated his earlier statement. She rubbed her lips together and nodded again.
“Of course,” she sighed, and he let go of her throat.
It was almost like he was massaging her, on the inside. Only instead of relaxing her, it was causing her to tense up every muscle in her body. She was going to burst apart, completely explode, and no one would ever find Tatum again.
“Goddamn, you're so fucking sexy, Tate,” Jameson groaned, dragging his fingers up the insides of her thighs. She took a deep breath.
“Are we together?” she blurted out.
He stopped moving.
Uh oh.
“What?” he asked, his voice like steel. She let her head roll to the side and she opened her eyes, staring at the wall across from her.
“You're dumping Ellie. Does this mean we'll be together?” she asked.
He barked out a cruel laugh and then he was slamming into her again. She cried out, her hands going to his chest, hooking her nails into his muscles. He leaned down close, forcing her legs as wide apart as they could go, his chest pressed against hers.
“I don't date sluts, Tatum,” he told her.
“But I'm -,”
“A good fuck, yes. But Ellie is my girlfriend. I never said I was dumping her. And even if I did, I wouldn't date her sister. Wouldn't date some eighteen year old,” Jameson laughed in her ear.
“We have to stop, we have to stop, we have to stop,” she started moaning. Her brain was telling her one thing – get out, now, you stupid bitch! - but her body was going a completely different route – holy fuck, this is amazing, don't ever stop doing this, why didn't you do this sooner, if you stop him now, you will never feel this way again!
“I don't think so,” he whispered, then his hand was sliding between their bodies, his fingers pinching at the part of her that was aching the most.
She screamed. Her body felt like it was ripping up the middle. She had never had an orgasm like that before, not with Drew, not even with herself. She jerked forward off the bed and clamped her teeth onto his shoulder. He let out a roar and she could feel him coming as well. Every muscle he had tensed and pressed down onto her. Her orgasm intensified and she let out a sob. It took a moment for the tremors to subside, for both of their bodies to become still again.
“Holy shit,” Tate breathed, collapsing back onto the bed.
“Fuck. Fuck,” Jameson whispered, his breath hot against her skin as he rested his forehead on her chest.
They laid like that for a while, coming down from the high of good sex. Tate had never experienced it before – Drew wasn't good enough to induce it. Jameson had just blasted her into the stratosphere. She didn't think she'd ever come down. She took deep breaths, trying to find herself in space. She rested her hand against his back, feeling his steamy slick skin.
“Did you -,” she started to ask in a thick voice, but he pulled away. He lurched off the bed, yanking his pants up as he went. She was a little shocked, and sat up, putting her bra to rights as she did so.
“Shut up. Don't say a fucking thing. Just get dressed,” he ordered, picking up the silk blouse from the other side of the bed and throwing it at her. She caught it as it landed over her face.
“How can you -,” she started when she was interrupted by a buzzing sound. They both froze for a second, then Jameson made his way into the living room. She heard him walk over to the door, assumed he was pressing the button for the intercom to the downstairs.
“What?” he asked, his voice rough and agitated sounding.
“I'm locked out down here, I forgot my keys. Buzz me in,” Ellie's voice filled the apartment.
Tate dropped her face into her hands, the gravity of the situation falling down on her. She had just had sex with her sister's boyfriend. It was all fine and dandy to be caught up in the kink and sex of the moment – but the afterwards was horrible. She was a horrible person. Ellie was a mean sister, but Tatum was officially the worst.
“What are you doing? I suggest you get dressed,” Jameson's voice floated to her. She lifted her head to watch him walk across the bedroom and into the bathroom.
“How can you be so calm!? After what we just did!?” she demanded. There was the sound of running water, then a toilet flushing, and then he reappeared, his pants done up.
“It's not a big deal unless you make it a big deal, Tate. Get dressed, or you're going to have a lot of explaining to do to your sister,” he said, pulling a shirt out of his closet and yanking it on. Tate struggled to push herself to her feet and pushed her skirt back into place.
“I just had sex with you! We just had sex! We have to tell her!” she shouted at him.
Jameson finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and her breath caught in her throat. He was a massive asshole, but holy shit, he was good looking. And she now knew what he looked like while having sex. She would never be able to look at him the same way again. She swallowed and looked away.
“Alright. You want to start that conversation? Once I'm gone, it's over, I never have to see her again. But you, you're her sister. Much worse for you,” he pointed out.
Tate struggled with her conscience, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. She was going to cry again. He was so cold. He had always been so cold, how could she have thought he'd be different? Sex didn't change things. But he was right. Telling Ellie would just upset the whole family, and he would escape unscathed. He had said he didn't want to date her, so it wasn't like she would gain anything by telling her sister.
“You're an absolutely horrible person,” she hissed at him, blinking through her tears. He laughed, his voice loud in the large apartment.
“No shit, but you just fucked your sister's boyfriend, so what kind of a person does that make you? Now get your goddamn clothes on, and get out,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through the bedroom door.
They stopped just long enough for Tate to button up the silk shirt while he grabbed her cardigan off the floor. She refused to look at him while she tried to make herself look presentable, finger combing her hair as best she could, praying she looked semi-decent. Or at the very least not like someone who had just had a steamy affair with their sister's boyfriend.
Oh god.
“I'm going to forget tonight ever happened,” she informed him as they strode towards the front door. Jameson laughed again.
“Baby girl, you couldn't forget if you tried,” he told her in a low voice, pressing himself against her from behind. She shivered and had to force herself not to press back into him.
“You had better break up with her. If you stay with her, you're ... you're sick,” she informed him, her hand on the door knob. He shrugged, not moving his weight away from her. His body was so warm, like a furnace. She wanted to curl up in him.
“I can live with that. See you around, Tate,” he said. She yanked open the door.
“No, you won't.”
His laughter followed her into the hallway. It sounded demonic. Like Satan was laughing at her.
“I will if I want to.”
She stomped down the hallway, tears streaming down her face. How could she have let that happen!? She was a goody-two-shoes. Tate never acted wild, never did anything bad, never did anything wrong. Sure, she had always secretly kind of wanted to – but maybe something more along the lines of sneaking her dad's brandy, or staying out past curfew. Not fucking her sister's boyfriend. That was a little beyond wild.
Speak of the devil – her sister was getting off the antiquated freight elevator at the end of the hall. Tate let out a deep breath, wiping at her face. She didn't know if she could handle this moment. Jameson had just ripped her in half. Ellie would mop the floor with her r
emains.
“Kane didn't tell me you were still here,” Ellie clipped out in a brisk tone, striding down the hall in her expensive ballet flats.
I would never call him Kane, I hate that. He has a first name, I just screamed it about twenty times.
“I was just on my way out, I dropped off your stuff,” Tate said, her voice low and her head ducked, hoping they could just pass each other. No such luck.
“Are you wearing my shirt!?” Ellie suddenly demanded, grabbing Tate by the arm.
“Yeah, uh, I spilled something on myself. Jameson told me to grab something, so I just grabbed something,” Tate mumbled.
“Jesus, Tate, you're such a child. Kane doesn't know anything about clothing, do you have any idea how much this cost? Take it off, right now,” Ellie demanded. Tate gasped.
Can this day get any worse?
“Ellie! I don't have anything else! You want me to drive home naked?” she asked. Ellie rolled her eyes.
“You're so over-dramatic. You have your sweater.”
“It doesn't close! Ellie, c'mon, I can have your shirt sent back tomorrow. I'll even dry clean it,” Tate offered.
“No. You'll ruin it. Take it off, now,” Ellie ordered her.
Something snapped in Tate.
“Fuck you, Eloise. It's a goddamn shirt, and I'm going to wear this goddamn shirt, all the goddamn way home,” she snarled, then stomped into the elevator.
She leaned against the wall as the old contraption clanked and rattled its way to the ground floor. She couldn't believe she had spoken like that to Ellie. She had never talked that way, to anyone. Jameson had loosened something in her, shaken her up. She now knew that he was Satan in a male model's body, but he had done something to her, there was no denying it.
She dragged her feet as she made her way outside. She didn't want to think of the repercussions of her actions. It was safe to assume that Ellie was already calling their father. That never ended well for Tate, under the best of circumstances, and these circumstances were complete shit.
Snow was coming down, adding to the layer that was already on the ground. She got to the back of her car, but then couldn't resist looking up. Jameson's apartment had huge floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out over the parking lot and street. Gorgeous on a sunny day.
She had a clear view of the inside of the loft. Ellie looked like she was throwing a temper tantrum, shaking her arms and head at a very still Jameson. He had his arms crossed, and almost looked bored. At first Tate couldn't figure it out – if Ellie was freaking out over the shirt, then she was totally overreacting. Usually, she was sugary-sweet to Jameson. Fake. But she looked like she was screaming. She was holding something in her hand, and it clicked into place in Tate's mind.
She's shaking my panties in her boyfriend's face. Apparently, this night can get worse.
Tate knew she should be scared. That she should feel bad, or guilty, or some kind of upset. But she didn't. Her sister was a bitch, and Tate just didn't care any more. About anything. She let out a shaky breath, and it was like she was breathing for the first time ever.
I really, truly, honestly, completely, just don't give a fuck.
Ellie's form turned to look out the window, and saw Tate standing down there. She fumbled with a latch, then a huge section of the window was swinging open. A black scrap of lace was thrown outside, and Tate watched her underwear float to the ground.
“You stupid whore! I'm telling Daddy! I'm telling him everything!” Ellie was shrieking, leaning halfway out the window.
Tate smiled.
“You know what, Ellie!?” she called back, her fingers working at the buttons on the front of the blouse. She slipped it off her shoulders. “I don't give a shit!” She let the shirt fall to the snow covered pavement, and then she stepped on it, grinding her heel into the fabric.
“No! You bitch! You stupid bitch!” Ellie screamed, then ran from the window. Tate could just picture her tearing down the hall. She laughed to herself.
“Good for you, baby girl!” Jameson laughed down at her.
Tate stared up at him, shivering as snow sprinkled down on her bare shoulders. She was standing in a parking lot, at eight o'clock at night, and it was freezing out, and she was only wearing her bra and a nerdy skirt. She had gone crazy.
And she absolutely loved it.
She raised her arm and gave Jameson the middle finger. He laughed again, then blew her a kiss before walking away from the window. Tate scowled and hustled into her car. As she pulled out of her spot, she saw Ellie running into the parking lot, waving her arms like a crazy person. She scooped up the shirt from the ground, screaming something at Tatum's car as it drove away.
I don't care. I don't think I ever did.
~1~
“Alright, who wants to get fucked up tonight!?”
Tate grabbed a guy by the back of the head and forced him to lean backwards over the bar. He smiled up at her and she winked at him, right before pouring straight tequila down his throat. She then clamped her hand over his mouth and shook his head back and forth. He stumbled when he stood up, but managed to turn around.
“That one's on me, honey,” she said, her voice flirty while she spun the tequila bottle in her hand. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out some bills.
“You're the best bartender ever!” he shouted, slapping the money on the bar.
“That's what they all say!” she laughed, sweeping the money off the bar top. She eyeballed it quickly before shoving it into a jar behind her. Two twenties. Not a bad tip at all.
“You are the best, Tatey! We goin' out after this!?” her fellow bartender, and roommate, Rusty Dobber shouted at her. As loud as the music always was in their bar, a person had to shout to be heard at any given time.
“We'll see, Rus. I'm working on something,” Tate replied, nodding her head. Rus glanced over her shoulder. A sexy guy sat at the end of the bar, eyeing Tatum up and down. Brad, one of Tate's regulars.
In more ways than one.
“Oh pooh, you're so boring!” Rusty laughed before dancing away, heading to a group of guys who were clamoring for a drink.
Tate loved being a bartender. She had never gone back to Harvard. After Eloise had tattle-taled on her, her “free ride” had been stopped. But Tate would have quit anyway. She knew that before she even got home that fateful night. She hated going to college. She had hated high school. She hated studying. Hated her pastel colored wardrobe. Her pastel colored life. She got home, packed her bags, and ran. Didn't stop till she got to Boston – a seven hour drive.
Once there, it wasn't long before she got the phone call from Daddy. Her parents were beyond strict. They had their daughters' lives all mapped out. Ellie was a paralegal, on her way to becoming a lawyer – someday a supreme court judge. Tatum was going to become a political adviser, and someday a senator, or a governor.
But Tate didn't want those things. She had loved to paint, but had never been allowed to. She loved to sing, and dance, and be silly. All against the rules in the O'Shea house. So was sleeping with a sister's boyfriend – even if said boyfriend didn't even like the sister. The Kane family was very wealthy, very well connected. The O'Sheas wanted that connection. In their minds, Tatum had ruined that, had ruined everything. Worst. Christmas. Ever.
She wasn't invited back for Easter.
Her apartment had been paid up till the summer, nothing Daddy could do about that, and Tate certainly wasn't lazy. Going against her own nature for years had been hard work. She went out and found a job. Found two jobs. Made friends. Real friends, for the first time ever. Had a social life. Dated. Screwed around. Acted her age. She didn't talk to her family at all, but that was okay, because she didn't like them anymore than they liked her.
So now all these years later, life was better than ever – in her opinion. She realized that sure, maybe some of that was thanks to a certain blue eyed he-demon, but she didn't think about him too much. Jameson had awakened something in her, brought about her change,
but she was responsible for her life. She had taken control. She had grown up. And he hadn't been there for that. He wasn't anything to her. Nothing at all. He didn't exist anymore.
And she was perfectly fine with that.
TATUM CAME TO WITH a start the next morning, not quite sure where she was, at first. She squinted in the bright sunlight, held up a hand. There was an open window across from her. She moaned and almost pulled the covers up over her head, but a snort came from the pillow next to hers, and she stopped moving.
“Oh, jesus,” she groaned, bringing a hand to her head. Brad was snoring next to her.
She kind of remembered now. She had gone to an after-hours club with Rus and Brad. More drinks had flowed between them. Shots were taken. Tate was a pretty solid party girl. Under normal circumstances, she could handle her liquor and controlled substances very well, but last night had gotten a little wild, even for her. She could sort of remember stumbling up to Brad's apartment. Doing something naughty in the hallway outside his door.
There was something about going down on a guy in public that just drove her wild.
But it hadn't gotten a whole lot better from there on – a couple drinks, and Brad was pretty much done for the night. He'd passed out on the bed, right in the middle of Tate's striptease. Not confidence inspiring. But since she was already half naked, she just crawled into the bed next to him and passed out, as well.
She was regretting that now. Brad tended to get clingy when she stayed the night. He wasn't her boyfriend. More of a stress reliever, really. She liked that, and wanted it to stay that way. But it had become more and more obvious that he didn't want it to stay that way.
Tate managed to slide out of the bed without waking him up. She tip toed around the room, collecting the clothing she'd tossed everywhere. She shimmied into her tight white t-shirt and then hopped around, struggling more with the tight leather leggings.
“Now that's a sight I could get used to,” she heard Brad say from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. She was bent over, struggling to get her foot through the pant leg. Her thong-clad ass was pointed straight at Brad.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 3
