She moved her leg and pushed the back of his head with her foot.
“Push,” she laughed. He batted at her foot.
“I am not above fucking you in a garage.”
“Promises, promises,” she sang, and pushed him in the head again.
“I'm serious, Tate. I'm still mad at you, for this whole little escapade. I haven't even begun to get back at you for your little fling,” he warned her.
“Ooohhh, 'get back at me', he says. Game?” she asked, and pushed his head again.
“No, no games. Stop it,” he growled. She went to push him again and his hand grabbed her ankle.
“Make me,” she pursed her lips at him, blowing a kiss. He sighed and let go of her leg. Began pulling off his jacket.
“I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a small man,” he told her. She laughed, stretching her legs back out.
“Yes, I have noticed,” she replied. He lifted his hips and undid his pants.
“I have to fold myself into a piece of origami to fuck you in these cars,” he complained, clumsily crawling between the two front seats and falling on top of her.
“Get bigger cars,” she suggested, then choked on her words when his fingers ended up between her legs.
“Are you telling me what to do, Tate?” he asked, roughly yanking her legs around, rearranging her so he was kneeling between them.
“I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Kane,” she breathed
“I like that, you know. Mr. Kane. Makes me feel like you've finally learned your place. Say it again,” he ordered.
“Fuck me, Mr. Kane,” she begged, biting back a laugh.
“And why should I do that? You have been a very, very bad girl,” he told her, pulling her shorts away from her hips.
“Then you should fuck me very, very hard,” she suggested. He leaned foward, pressing his weight against her.
“Hmm, still sounds like you're getting rewarded. I was thinking more along the lines of a punishment,” he whispered.
“Whichever, whatever, just get on with it,” she growled, wiggling her hips around underneath him.
“Commanding me?” he asked, pushing himself up so he hovered over her.
“Begging you,” she whispered. He smiled, then moved his hand across her forehead, brushing hair away.
“I like that, too. Maybe do that some more,” he suggested. She laughed.
“You're only allowed so much begging. You've reached your quota for the week,” she joked, but his hand moved into her hair and pulled sharply.
“I tell you what you're allowed to do, not vice versa. Now fucking beg,” he snapped at her.
“Please, Jameson. Please, I'm begging you. Please, do whatever you want to me. Do anything. Do everything,” she begged in a sexy, breathy voice.
“God, that sounds good. You're so good at that,” he said with a groan.
“Really? I thought I was getting better at it,” she agreed in a serious voice that cut the mood. Jameson laughed and playfully slapped her on the cheek. A mockery. An inside joke. A promise.
“You could stand to get better.”
“Only for you, Jameson.”
“Only for me.”
“I do love you, you know,” she said softly. He nodded.
“I know, baby girl. I know,” he assured her.
“That doesn't scare you?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. He still had the ability to make her so nervous. She figured she should just get used to it – she wasn't going anywhere.
“No,” he shook his head. “That doesn't scare me at all, not anymore.”
“What changed?” she asked, looking away from his soul-stealing stare and smoothing her hands across his chest.
“The game. You, me. Everything,” he told her. She cleared her throat.
“Jameson,” she started, then lost her nerve. She had been working up the courage to ask him something since their first night back together.
“Hmmm?” he replied, one of his fingers tracing along her bottom lip.
“What does the necklace mean, to you?” she squeaked out, feeling all of two inches tall.
“Excuse me?”
“The necklace. I mean, I know what it means. To me, I mean. But what does it mean, you know, to you,” she stammered.
“I'm not even sure what you just said, let alone what you're asking me,” he teased her. She rolled her eyes.
“It's okay, you know. You said you were willing to try, and that's all I'm asking for. I promise, this time. I really promise. It's more than I could have hoped for, really. We're together, and you don't need to -,” she babbled.
“Tatum. Are you asking me if I'm in love with you?” he asked, his voice serious. She swallowed thickly, staring at the collar of his shirt like it was hypnotizing her.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“Don't be fucking stupid,” he snapped. She finally looked up at him, snorting.
“You're fucking stupid! I'm trying to be nice and tell you it's okay that you don't, that you don't have to feel bad, and you're such a dick, you always have to -,” she started telling him off, trying to wiggle out from underneath him. He put his hand over her mouth.
“Tatum.”
She blinked her eyes up at him.
“Hmmfff?” she mumbled.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ho hmuck hurr helf,” she tried to swear through his palm.
“I have loved you since you were eighteen, you idiot.”
Her eyeballs nearly fell out of her head.
“Hreary!?”
“I can't understand what you're saying.”
She slapped at his chest. By the time he moved his hand, she had started crying.
“You're shitting me,” she sniffled.
“I never lie, Tatum,” he assured her. She pressed her hands against her face.
“You can't. You haven't ..., everything. So much time. Why didn't you say anything?” she cried. He pulled at her wrists.
“Because I didn't know,” he replied.
“How could you not know something like that!?” she demanded.
“Hey, look who's talking. You've probably been in love with me for even longer, and you still don't realize it,” he pointed out, finally peeling a hand away. She kept her eyes shut tight.
“God, sometimes I hate you,” she cried. He laughed.
“I finally say the words, and this is the response I get,” he chuckled, pulling at her other hand.
“Well you can't just spring it on me like this!” she yelled at him, finally looking up at him. He looked down at her like she was nuts.
“You asked me, you crazy bitch,” he laughed.
“Well, I didn't expect that answer, you crazy bitch!” she yelled back.
“Would you like me to take it back?” he offered.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and yanked him close. She needed him to breathe. To exist. So much. She struggled with him, wrestled around till she was able to roll him underneath her, then she straddled his hips, pulling him to sit upright with her.
“I never want you take it back,” she whispered, pulling her shirt over her head.
“Good. Because I'm not in the habit of taking things back,” he replied, unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it into the front seat.
“I want you to say it again,” she breathed, leaning forward and kissing his jaw. His ear. His shoulder.
“Hmmm, can't have you getting accustomed to such things. You have to work for praise, baby girl,” he teased.
“Please,” she pleaded.
“Begging again. I'm on a roll today.”
“Please.”
“I don't know. I am Satan. Saying those sweet words actually burns me,” he warned her. She shook her head.
“You love to burn. You've already burned me. Do it again,” she whispered. He pushed her away. Smoothed his hands over her hair, then rested them against the sides of her neck. Looked at her. Really looked at her.
“Tatum O'She
a, there is a very distinct possibility that I have been in love with you since the first time I saw you,” he told her, his voice quiet. She laughed, wiped at her nose, and then laughed again.
“God, how awkward for Ellie. Better leave that out of the wedding vows,” she joked. He groaned.
“Jesus. I'm just getting used to the L-word, don't go throwing around the M-word,” he warned her. She leaned close, tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue.
“Hmmm, I think when you say “M-word', we both have two very different words in mind,” she whispered huskily, siding her hand down his chest.
“I'm thinking the marriage-word. What the fuck are you thinking?” he demanded.
“Menage.”
He burst out laughing.
“Fuck, Tatum, I think I will marry you.”
“You're so easy.”
“Not as easy as you.”
“No, probably not.”
“Tatum?”
“Hmmm?”
“Will you please shut the fuck up now?” he groaned. She thought about it for a second.
“Maybe. If you say it just one more time,” she told him. He growled, and suddenly her panties were ripped away.
“Prove to me how bad you can be, then maybe I'll say it again,” he snapped. She sighed, scratching her nails down his arms.
“Anything for you, Satan.”
“Good answer.”
Acknowledgments
Hmmm. Where do I start? I'm going to make this quick, stop it before the tears start. As always, for Sue. If you read the book, and you're reading this part, and you enjoyed that last chapter, you have Sue to thank – it didn't exist before her feedback.
Thank you to all the blogs, to EVERY blog that read, that reviewed, that posted, that showed promos. Big and small, interactive or not. You have changed my life.
To everyone who loves to read so much, they take time out of their day to seek out authors and reach out to them. I don't know about other authors, but I appreciate it immensely and I always ALWAYS welcome it.
Thank you to my husband. You put up with me. You support me. You allow me to be me.
Thank you to Becs, formerly of Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews. Despite stepping away from the blogging world, you were still willing to read and review.
Thank you to SueBee, Goodreads reviewer extraordinaire, who took a chance on an ARC and then read the whole series – the following Epilogue would never have seen the light of day without your encouragement.
To a naughty, dirty website that shall remain nameless, for inspiring me to write what was in me to write, and to not be afraid of it.
To Najla Qamber, the best graphic designer in the business, as far as I'm concerned. You have done all my covers, and all have been great. You deal with my changing mind and millions of e-mails. You make sense out of my non-sense. You translate my vision when I can't even figure out how to spell it. People, need a cover? Need a logo? Need something pretty? http://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com - you won't be sorry. She is amazing.
To the person reading this right now. When I wrote Jameson's story, I really didn't imagine it ever finding you, but I'm very glad it did.
There, and I didn't even cry.
Well, not too much.
Soundtrack
Songs that I listened to while writing, songs that just made me think of the story,
and a couple that inspired actual scenes. Listen to entire playlist at:
http://grooveshark.com/playlist/Reparation/101722684
Iggy Azalea ft. Rita Ora – Black Widow
Santana – She's Not There
Joan Jett – I Hate Myself for Loving You
Britney Spears - Toxic
Christina Perri – Human Being
Lady Gaga – Bad Romance (first one was for Tate, this one is for Jameson)
Darren Hayes – Insatiable
Maroon 5 – This Love
Adam Lambert – Better Than I Know Myself
Bastille – Flaws
Eminem ft. Rihanna – Love the Way You Lie
Madonna – The Power of Good-Bye
Chris Isaak – Wicked Games
Rolling Stones – Beast of Burden
Passenger – Let Her Go
Natalia Kills – Wonderland
Lifehouse – You and Me
COMING 02/13/15
COMPLETION:
Epilogue to The Kane Trilogy
~Prologue~
“Stop. Stop, I'm begging you.”
“Begging, huh. I must be doing something right.”
“I can't take anymore.”
“You'll take everything I have to give.”
“God, stop.”
“I don't think so.”
“Please.”
“Are you finished?”
“Um …,”
“Then neither am I.”
“Please!”
Jameson leaned back on his heels. Tate gasped for air underneath him, one of her hands resting against her chest, the other pushing her hair out of her face.
“If you don't like to be punished,” he started in a low voice, “then maybe you shouldn't be so bad.”
“I'm sorry. I can't help it,” she panted, licking her lips.
“Are you finished?” he asked again. She finally opened her eyes, looked up at him.
“This isn't fair, you know,” she pointed out. He snorted.
“Since when have I ever given a fuck about what's fair?”
“This goes beyond that.”
“I'm sorry, am I still needed?”
Both of them craned their heads around towards the voice. Sanders stood upright and dusted off his pant legs. Adjusted his tie. Tate chuckled and Jameson turned back towards her.
“I'm not sure. Tatum, are you going to behave?” he asked. She smiled big.
“Baby, I always behave myself.”
“Now that's a fucking lie.”
“But all I asked was -,”
“Tate.”
“If you would just -,”
“I'm warning you.”
“Just tell me when -,”
“Tatum.”
“Are we leaving soon!?” Tate couldn't hold back, asking for the millionth time. Jameson sighed and leaned back over her, trying to grab on to her wrists.
“This time, Sanders, hold her arms down,” he instructed.
“No! No! I'm sorry! Two against one isn't fair!” Tate yelled. Sanders grabbed onto her wrists and held them against the floor while Jameson scooted down her body.
“You asked for this,” was all he said before he lowered his head.
“No!” she shrieked, but then his lips were against her.
“I can't believe I came all the way home just to witness this,” Sanders complained, looking away. Jameson lifted his head.
“Shut up, you love it.”
And then he went back to blowing raspberries on Tate's stomach.
~1~
A lot can happen in two years.
Tate drove back to Boston with Jameson and Sanders. She stayed with Jameson, lived with him in Weston. It was home, after all.
He was home.
Jameson was the devil. Sometimes he was cruel, sometimes he was sadistic, sometimes he made her want to tear her hair out. But always, always, he made her love him even more. Underneath everything, was his love. His trust. His adoration.
Sure, they weren't perfect, and she was pretty sure they had turned fighting into an art form. One time she threw a dinner plate at his head and called him retarded. Then he held her down in the shower, calling her a hot-head. But it worked for them, and afterwards she let him “punish” her by tying her wrists together and then fucking her in the hallway. She loved it.
Every single second.
When they got through the summer without anymore hiccups, she decided to take his and Sanders' advice, and she went back to school. Sanders had been right, Tate was a smart girl, and she excelled at her classes. She was going to work towards a business degree
so she could open her own bar, and Jameson informed her that if she finished the year strong, he would help facilitate that dream.
But then a bomb was dropped. That next spring, Sanders decided it was time to leave the nest. Tate took it a lot harder than she would have thought; they had grown ridiculously close. He was her best friend, they went everywhere together. He taught her how to drive a stick shift, she taught him how to play beer pong. What would she do without him!?
She wasn't sure how to deal with it. Jameson was of no help at first, wouldn't even tell her the reason why – neither of them would. She pouted. She gave everyone the silent treatment. But finally, she gave in and told him if he had to go, then he had to go, and wished him well.
Though she did make sure to give him a going away party he would never forget.
By the time June rolled around, Tate had a lot of freedom. Ang had moved to Los Angeles – his porn career finally took off, no more B-rate for him. Sanders was in Moscow. Her old roommate Rusty had moved away, and even Tate's sister, Ellie, was settled down with a new boyfriend, way out in the country side. And Tate loved Jameson, she really did, but she couldn't spend all her time with him. They would kill each other if they didn't come up for air once and a while.
Jameson solved the problem by making good on his promise – he bought her a bar. Just came home one day and gave her the keys. At first she was angry. If it was going to be hers, she wanted to be the one to pick it out, to scout the location, to see if it worked for her. She wanted to yell at him, get mad. But somehow it evolved into crazy sex in the conservatory, and suddenly she was making a midnight phone call to Sanders, explaining to him that his geraniums wouldn't be there when he came home.
Jameson had actually picked the perfect location. It shouldn't have been a shock, really. Tate had learned to expect perfection to come out of most of his decisions. The man didn't do things by halves. And it also turned out that the bar Tate used to work in had closed down, and she was able to hire most of the old staff, people she trusted and knew worked well. She was very confident that her first foray into business would be a success.
Turned out “success” wasn't a strong enough word – business was booming. It took off like a rocket. She managed the place as well as worked the bar for the first six months. It completely killed her college career, and almost caused Jameson to kill her. He didn't like her being gone so much. She eventually dropped out of school altogether, figuring she was doing well enough on her own, anyway. And after one too many late nights, she decided to back off of working on the floor. Set some hours for herself. Took a vacation even, visited Sanders.
Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3) Page 26
