Degradation(11)

Are those ..., his fingers!?

Tate froze for a second. His touch was light as he ran his fingers up  and down between her legs. She glanced down at her knees and then  glanced over at him. He was still looking down, but she could see him  smirking. She tried to ignore him, tried to go back to setting up his  food, but his hand went higher. Daring to brush up past her knees, well  underneath her skirt. He couldn't get any farther, not unless he pushed  up her skirt, or sunk down in his chair. She dumped the rest of the  cheese on his plate and started to scoot away. She had just gotten back  to her station when she heard a thunking noise, followed by groans.

"No worries. Ms. O'Shea! So sorry, could you get this?" Jameson's voice was bored sounding.

She turned around and saw that he had knocked over his water glass. He  was blotting at the liquid as it spread across the table. The lawyers  were all holding their papers aloft, grumbling back and forth.

Tate groaned and grabbed a towel before striding back to the table. She  glared at him the whole way, but he still refused to look at her. She  started as far away from him as she could get, mopping everything up,  but eventually she had to almost lean across him to reach the mess. She  stood on her toes, stretching across the table top.

As she had assumed it would, his hand found its way back to her legs.  Only this time he wasn't shy, and her position allowed for a lot of  access. His hand shot straight up the back of her skirt, his fingertips  brushing against the lace of her panties.         

     



 

She swallowed a squeak and glanced around. If any of the other gentlemen  lifted their heads, they would have been able to see their client with  half of his arm up his assistant's skirt, plain as day. He managed to  run his finger under the hem of her underwear, down the left side of her  butt cheek, before she pulled away. She stomped back to the food  station, throwing the towel down with such violence, she knocked over a  stack of sugar cubes.

When she turned around, Jameson was finally looking at her. She plunked  her fists on her hips, staring straight back. His smirk was in place  –   as she had expected it would be  –  and he held up a finger, pointing it  straight up. One. Then he pointed at himself. One point. Tied. He  thought they were playing a game. She hadn't wanted to play games with  him, but she hated to lose at anything, and she never wanted to lose to a  man like Jameson Kane.

An idea flitted across her mind. Tate wanted to make him as  uncomfortable as he had just made her feel. She coolly raised an eyebrow  and then took her time looking around the room. The lawyers all still  had their backs to her  –  not one of them had turned around the entire  time she'd been there. Blinds had been drawn over every window, no one  could see in the office, but she knew the door wasn't locked. Anyone  could walk in to the room. She took a deep breath. It didn't matter  anyway, what was the worst that could happen? She would get fired? It  was a temp job, that Jameson had requested her for  –  he didn't even work  there. Did she really care what happened?

She dragged her stare back to meet his and then ran her hands down the  sides of her skirt. He raised an eyebrow as well, his eyes following her  hands. When she got to the hem of the skirt, she pressed her palms flat  and began to slowly, achingly, slide the material up her legs. Now both  his eyebrows were raised. He flicked his gaze to her face, and then  went right back to her skirt. Higher, up past her knees. To the middle  of her thighs. Higher still. If anyone turned around, they would be very  surprised at what they saw. One more inch, and her skirt would be moot.  Jameson's stare was practically burning holes through her.

Taking short, quick, breaths through her nose, Tate slid her hands  around to her butt. She wiggled the material up higher back there,  careful to keep the front low enough to hide her whole business, and was  able to hook her fingers in to her underwear. She didn't even think  about what she was doing, couldn't take her eyes off of Jameson, as she  slid her underwear over her butt and down her hips. As the lace slid to  her ankles, she pushed her skirt back in to place. Then she stepped out  of the panties and bent over, picking them up. When she stood upright,  she let the lace dangle from her hand while she held up one finger.  Point.

Winning.

Jameson nodded his head at her, obviously conceding to her victory, and  then returned his attention to the papers in front of him. Tate let out a  breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding, and turned  around, bracing her hands against the table. She leaned forward and took  deep breaths. She had just started to gain some ground on slowing her  heart rate, when a throat cleared.

"What is that, Ms. O'Shea?" Jameson called out from behind her. She spun around, balling up her underwear in her fist.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked.

"That," he continued, gesturing with his pen at her. "In your hands. You have something for me. Bring it here."

Now everyone turned towards her. Tate held herself as still as possible,  her hands clasped together in front of her legs, hiding the underwear  between her fingers. All eyes were on her. Jameson smirked at her and  leaned back in his chair. She took a shaky breath.

"I don't know what -,"

"Bring it here, Ms. O'Shea, now," he ordered, tapping the table top with his pen. She glared at him.

Fuck this.

She turned around and pulled one of the silver trays in front of her.  She laid her panties out neatly on top, making sure the material was  smooth and flat. She was very thankful that she had gone all out and  worn her good, expensive, "I'm-successful-and-career-oriented!",  underwear. She balanced the tray on top of her fingertips and spun  around, striding towards their table, a big smile on her face.

"For you, Mr. Kane," she said in a breathy voice, and then dropped the  tray in front of him. It clattered loudly and spun around a little  before coming to a rest, the panties sliding off to one side.

As she walked away, she could hear some gasps. A couple laughs. A very  familiar chuckle. When she got to the door, she pulled it open and then  turned back to the room. A couple of the lawyers were gawking at her,  and the rest were laughing, gesturing to the display she had just put  on; Jameson was looking straight at her, his smirk in place. She blew  him a kiss and then stomped out the door.         

     



 



*



A couple hours later, Tate sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her  closet. She should have been getting ready for work. She had promised to  do a shift at the bar for one of the other girls, Tuesday was usually  her day off. She had taken a shower, tried to motivate herself to get  dressed, but after the afternoon she'd had, she really didn't want to  get sexy-ed up and go sling drinks. She sighed.

Get over it. Rent is due.

She began yanking out clothing, not paying attention to what she picked  out. Her mind kept wandering back to the conference room. Tate had grown  pretty bold over the years, very confident in herself and her  sexuality, but she had never done something like that before; had never  stripped in a room full of people.

How was it possible that he still had that kind of power over her? One  time. They had been together only one time, it wasn't fair. And weirder  still  –  why did it seem like he was pursuing her? Jameson Kane didn't  pursue anybody, not even seven years ago. Ellie had asked him out. He  had certainly never pursued Tate. She had all but fallen on his dick  that night, she'd been so eager for him. She shook her head back and  forth, trying to clear her thoughts.

Never again. I am never going to think of Jameson Kane, never -,

"Tate!" Rusty's voice squealed through her door.

"What? It's open," Tate called out, dropping the towel she had been  wearing and shimmying in to a pair of sweat pants. Her door cracked open  and Rus peaked her head around the corner.

"There is some guy here to see you," she said in an excited voice. Tate scrunched her eyebrows together. Some guy?

"Who? What does he want?" she asked, pulling on a t-shirt and then yanking her damp hair up in to a ponytail.

"I don't know who he is, but he is so good looking, I can't believe he's  real life. He's wearing some expensive looking suit," Rus described.  Tate groaned, rubbing her hands over her face.

"Jesus! What, is he stalking me now!?" she moaned.

"No," a deep voice came from her doorway. She looked up.

Jameson Kane is in my piece of shit apartment.

"Make yourself at home," she sighed, gesturing for him to come in to her  room. Rus giggled and turned bright red, making room for him and then  scurrying out the door.

"She's cute," Jameson commented as he wandered around the tiny room, inspecting things.

"Oh really? Want to eat her for breakfast, too?" Tate asked. Jameson laughed, leaning close to a photo.