Before she could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. She didn't move, kept her eyes locked to his, her hand an inch away from his crotch. He stared back, a smile spreading across his face. He looked like the devil.
She suddenly got nervous.
Oh no.
“Who is that?” she asked when there was another knock.
“I forgot, a business associate is stopping by, just to go over some stuff,” Jameson explained. His voice was too soft, too easy going. Tate leaned back, sitting on her heels.
“Oh. Okay. Want me to leave?” she offered, confused. He shook his head.
“No, you can stay in here. In fact, I have a wonderful idea,” he started.
Now she was really nervous.
“Oh god. What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the door.
“You have to prove to me that you're worth my time,” he said.
“I thought we were doing that,” she pointed out.
“Too easy! Now you've got me worried. A hand job in my library? Don't I even get Arby's?” he joked. She smacked him on the chest.
“Shut up,” she growled. He lurched forward in his chair, his face a couple inches away from her own.
“Mr. Greene is going to walk in here, in about two minutes. We are going to go over some property info – he's buying my farm in Vermont. If you can make me come, before he leaves the room, I will agree to anything you want,” Jameson offered.
She stared at him. A little shocked. A little surprised. A lot intrigued. Make him come? While another man was in the room? How was she going to do that? How had they gone from drinks and light banter, to acts of sexual indecency in front of a virtual stranger?
“You want me to jack you off in front of some dude,” Tate clarified. Jameson roared with laughter.
“God, no, I have long since out grown any sort of voyeuristic phase. You have about one minute,” he warned her just as there was another knock at the door.
Her breathing picked up. The look on his face said he thought she couldn't do it. She wanted to wipe it off his face. She smirked at him and moved, swinging her legs towards him. He had to roll his chair away as she scooted to the edge of the desk and hopped off, standing in the V of his legs. Jameson raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as she lowered herself to her knees. She backed herself under the desk – it was huge, with enough space for her to almost fully kneel under it. She grabbed his knees, dug her fingernails in, and urged him forward. He rolled towards her.
“There has to be rules. You can't purposefully stop me, no hair pulling,” she stated, staring up at him while she undid his belt buckle.
“You'd like it if I pulled your hair,” he retorted. Tate rolled her eyes, wiggling her hand through the zipper of his pants.
“You know what I mean.”
There was a loud knock, then she heard the door sweep open. Jameson rolled forward, and she was left in the dark, just a little glow from the fire making its way under the desk. She yanked and pulled at the waist of his jeans, listening as another man came in the room, greeted Jameson, and sat down across from the desk.
Their only time together had been so long ago, and Tate hadn't gotten to see, or even really feel, his dick. It had just been inside of her. So much inside of her. He was larger than she remembered. She had slept with quite a few men since him, and he still managed to be the most impressive, in almost every way.
She ran her hand up and down his shaft, resting her other hand against his thigh. She was hoping to feel tense skin, maybe a muscle tick. Something to show he was struggling. But his legs were relaxed, and even though she was jerking him off, his voice sounded completely normal as he spoke. Almost bored sounding.
We can change that.
Tate hadn't been lying, blowjobs were a kind of specialty of hers. She loved the act. Having so much power over a man, but at the same time, being completely subjugated by him. An illusion of control. She loved it, and doing it in public? If Jameson didn't wanna have sex after she was done, she was going to take care of herself, right on his desk.
She licked him from top to bottom, taking her time at first. When she wrapped her lips around his head, she finally felt a muscle in his thigh tense. She almost smiled, bobbing her head up and down a little. Getting a feel for him. She removed her hand from his leg, wrapped it around the base of his dick, then worked it up and down to cover the distance. She didn't know how long his meeting would last. It almost sounded more like a social call, with a smattering of property talk. She would love to draw it out for him, have him panting and sweating, but she didn't want to lose the game.
Taking a deep breath through her nose, she went for gold and lowered her mouth all the way down on him. When his tip hit the back of her mouth and started to slide down her throat, she finally heard his voice hitch. Victory. She slowly worked her mouth off of him, then plunged right back again. He coughed to cover up a stutter. With him fully sheathed in her mouth, she ran one hand up between his legs, rolling her fingers around his sack. He coughed again and she backed off.
Finish this.
She began pumping away, working her hand and mouth up and down his dick. Every up sweep, she swirled her tongue around his head. Every down sweep, she squeezed his testicles. Then she would switch it up. Take a couple deep throats. Then back to bobbing and sucking.
Tate could hear it in his voice, he was having trouble. She felt a hand on the back of her head, and his fingers worked their way into her hair. Twisted and pulled. Not enough to pull her away, but enough for her to feel him. She let out a small, breathy moan, dug her fingernails into his thighs.
“Well, John, it's kinda late, and I have some work I need to do upstairs,” she heard Jameson say in a loud voice.
Cheating! He can't ask him to leave! Cheater!
Tate redoubled her efforts, pulled all her tricks out of the bag. Unsheathed her teeth, skimmed them against his skin. She heard him hiss at that one. Took him on the inside of her cheek, running the sensitive tip against the sides of her molars. He gave a full body shudder then. Then she ran her tongue over every inch of his nuts.
His voice was getting strained, his muscles were all tensing. He wasn't going to last much longer. She could hear Jameson trying to get the guy to leave. She ran her free hand up his leg, over his waist, and started up his stomach. When her fingertips were visible over the desk, his hand let go of her hair and grabbed at her fingers. Pressed his hand flat over them, against his stomach. She dug her claws in and raked the hand back down. More tension in his legs. He was breathing heavy, and through his t-shirt, she could feel sweat.
I'm going to win. I'm going to win. I'm going to -,
“It's almost eleven o'clock at night, John. Go the fuck home so I can go to bed,” Jameson suddenly barked out.
She was enraged. The cheating bastard. Tate went to pull away, but his hand was back in her hair, forcing her head down on him. She moaned, loudly this time, then both his hands were in her hair, holding her in place. She braced her hands against either side of the dresser, taking shaky breaths through her nose.
When the door to the library banged shut, he let go of her. She all but spit him out, pushing at his knees and forcing him backwards. She quickly climbed to her feet and glared down at him, but he just grinned up at her.
“Goddamn, Tate, you weren't fucking around. You do that like it's your job,” Jameson laughed, sounding proud of her. She put her hands on her hips.
“You cheated!” she snapped at him. He ignored her and climbed to his feet, tucking his hard on back into his pants.
“It wasn't ever actually your job, was it? Walking tours with a happy ending?” he joked.
“You cheated. You made him leave. I had you, and you cheated,” Tate repeated herself. He stepped up close to her.
“I said you had to do it before he left the room. I didn't say when or how that was going to happen. Should've worked harder for it,” he told her.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she g
rowled. He ran a finger down her cheek.
“Think of how much better it will be when I'm an active participant,” he said. She shook her head.
“You'll be lucky if there ever is a next time,” she spat out.
“So let's see. How does ... one-thousand, five hundred a week sound,” Jameson said it out loud, but sounded more like he was talking to himself as he reached around her, sifting through some papers.
“Oh no. The price just went up to four thousand,” Tate informed him. He laughed, long and loud.
“Now that's a fucking joke. I wouldn't give you four thousand dollars a week if you needed it for a kidney transplant. You suck cock like a champion, but no mouth is worth four thousand,” he assured at her. Tate got so close, her chest was brushing against his own.
“My mouth is. You can agree, or I can walk out the door,” she told him, her voice low and angry.
It wasn't about the money. Tate would be there even if he hadn't offered to pay. It was about winning. Beating him at his own game. Getting him to admit that she was an equal, that she could turn him inside out, the same way he did to her.
“You're not going anywhere, baby girl. We have unfinished business.”
Baby girl.
“That's not my fault,” she replied.
“Seems to me it is, if you were better at your job,” Jameson said.
“Doesn't matter how good I am, if what I have to work with, doesn't work right,” she taunted.
His hand was in her hair in a second, pulling at the base of her skull. She was yanked forward and was completely flush against him, her chin almost resting on his clavicle. His other hand went to her waist, his fingers hooking into her dress and her flesh. Her hands flew to his chest, to brace herself.
“You better watch what you say to me,” he warned her in a soft voice. She chuckled, her eyes watering a little from the sting of her hair being pulled.
“Or what, Kane?” she pushed him. His lips tilted up in a soft, sly smile.
“You're so fucking stupid, Tate. You still think we're playing a game. Stupid bitch. What did I say about calling me Kane? You've said it thirteen times. I said I would punish you,” Jameson threatened.
This is what I've been waiting for.
“You keep saying that, but I've yet to see anything happen. I think you're all talk, Kane.”
He spun her around and bent her over, slamming her down on the desk. She let out a grunt – that might leave a bruise. She reached back, pulling at the hand he had in her hair. He let go, but only to grab her wrist. He pinned it down on her back, then grabbed her other wrist, joining it with the first. He held them together with one hand, pressing down on her so hard, it was uncomfortable to breathe. She tried to turn her head, and her chin dug into the wood of the desk.
“Such a fucking child, Tate. Fucking games. Do I look like the kind of guy who plays games?” he was hissing behind her, his free hand raking up her thigh and pushing her dress up over her ass.
“You're the one who keeps playing them. You're the one who -,” she started when his hand crashed down across her ass. She gasped.
“This is not a game. You would do well to remember the difference,” Jameson growled. She laughed again, and was almost amazed by her own bravado.
“Maybe you should write me out a game plan, so I can know when you are, and when you aren't, playing around and -,”
His hand was so heavy, she knew he was going to leave a mark. Six slaps. She was crying out by the end, writhing under his grip. She didn't want to play the game anymore. She wanted him inside of her.
He knew what she needed, just like before; just like always, probably. He let go of her wrists and she gripped onto the edge of the desk, next to her head. He was rough as he yanked her underwear down, not even bothering to push them past her knees. He kicked her feet wider apart and she could feel the material pull. Wondered if they'd rip.
Then he was pushing inside of her. She let out a long moan, raising up onto her tip toes, trying to accommodate all of him in one go. She wiggled her hips against him, then he was pressed completely against her. Solid, warm flesh, inside and out. She let out a deep breath, her whole body starting to shake. He leaned down against her.
“Still feel like a game?” Jameson whispered, his voice full of disdain. Tate laughed and laid her cheek against the desk.
I'm such a glutton ...
“I don't know. Can't really feel much of anything at all,” she said back in a raspy voice.
He fucked her like she offended him. Like he was angry at her. Pulled her hair, forcing her to raise up off the desk. Slammed into her so hard from behind, she was pretty sure she was going to have bruises where her legs were pressed against the desk. His dick was brushing against something inside of her. She couldn't tell if it was her cervix, or maybe a G-spot she didn't know about – whatever it was, it made her see spots and little flashes of paradise.
He let go of her hair and while one hand gripped her hip, the other worked the zipper down on the back of her dress. He pushed the material off her shoulders and she managed to lift her arms enough to slide it off. His hand was instantly at her breast, twisting and scratching through the material of her bra. She propped herself up, locking her elbows.
“Holy fucking shit, Tate, you feel even better than I remembered,” Jameson groaned, a hand sliding up to her neck, his fingers wrapping around it and squeezing tight. She managed a nod, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Yes, yes, better. Much better,” she managed to whisper.
He suddenly pulled away and then he was yanking her back with him. She wasn't sure if she could stand on her own. Her panties slid off onto the floor. He turned her and forced her to sit on the desk, pushed her onto her back. He yanked her legs apart, then was plunging back inside her.
His hands were on her knees, forcing her legs apart. Her own hands were at her breasts, at his command. He told her where, and how, to touch herself. Called her filthy names. Told her that this was all she was good for, and that was why he had found her again. Because even if this was the only thing she was good for, she was so good, he was the only one worthy of sharing it with her.
For once, she didn't argue with him.
“C'mon, Tate,” he growled, peeling his t-shirt off over his head. “I would've thought you'd be done by now, crying like a girl, coming all over my dick.” She pushed herself upright, hooked an arm around his back to anchor herself in place.
“You'll find ... it's a little harder ... to make me cry now,” she told him, running her tongue up the center of his chest. His hands slid down her legs, moved around to grip onto her ass, forcing her even harder against his thrusts. She shrieked, letting her head fall back.
“Hmmm, we'll have to try for it another day,” Jameson groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. She felt his teeth against her skin, fangs to her jugular, claws to her heart. He bit down, once. Twice. A third time, so hard, she thought he was going to take out a piece of her.
He already did that, a long time ago, baby girl.
She came, hard. She clenched her thighs against his waist, pressed her face to his chest, her hand to his jaw. Her fingers dug into his cheek. He held completely still while she shook and moaned, his heart beat the only thing keeping her grounded to earth. She felt like she had just been shot out of a cannon.
“So easy,” he murmured.
He shoved her away and Tate collapsed against the desk, taking deep breaths. He started pounding away again, lifting her legs high, resting her calves on his shoulders. Then his hands were on her breasts, covering them, pressing down on them. She completely let go, relaxed every muscle, just let him do whatever he wanted to her. The desk began to jolt around and move forward; she couldn't even imagine how much the oak monstrosity weighed, that's how hard he was pushing into her.
Jameson came so hard, she could feel it. Felt his shaft tighten, swell. Felt the muscles in his shoulders strain and cord up underneath her calves. She let her legs fall to the sid
e and he collapsed on top of her. All of his weight. He obviously wasn't worried about crushing her.
Just like last time.
Tate wondered what else would be like last time. She loved her some dirty, rough, sex – but getting kicked out of bed was never a fun experience. She didn't even mind if a guy hustled her out, but that was really the only part of her experience with Jameson that she didn't recall with pleasure. The way he had treated her afterwards. Not so much his words, but his indifference. Like she hadn't just rocked his world off its axis, the way he had done to hers.
“Scared, baby girl?” he suddenly breathed against her chest. She laughed.
“Not the word I would use,” she replied, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead.
“And what word would Tatum O'Shea use?”
“Fucked.”
Jameson laughed and pushed himself off of her. She waited for it, the indifference, but it didn't come. He pulled his pants up, left them undone, then grabbed her arm, pulling her so she was sitting upright. She felt like her body was made of jell-o. He cocked up an eyebrow and fixed her bra for her, then slid her dress back over her arms. He looked at her for a second, traced his finger along her jaw, then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her off the desk.
“No tears,” he mumbled, looking down into her eyes. She laughed.
“Nope.”
He turned her around and zipped up her dress. While she slipped her underwear back on, he grabbed her forgotten drink and refilled it. She chugged it down in a couple gulps and he made her another. She did the same thing to it, watching him over the rim of the glass.
“If that's how you fuck sober, it'll be very interesting to see what you're like drunk,” Jameson laughed, pulling his shirt back on.
“You couldn't handle it.”
“I can handle anything you've got.”
Tate thought maybe he would tell her to go home, order up a cab, or a car, or something. But he didn't. He made her another drink and then grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him. She followed him out of the library and into the entry way. A light was on in the sitting room. There hadn't been any on when she'd come into the house.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 10
