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Degradation(12)



"Hmmm, not really my tastes. I'm hungering for something a little darker," he replied. Tate narrowed her eyes.

"Well, that 'something' isn't on the menu," she informed him. He stood upright and faced her.

"We'll see about that."

"Seriously. What the fuck do you want?" she snapped at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Attitude. I like it. Where's all that shit you normally have around  your eyes?" he asked, walking towards her. She started to back up but  then stopped, holding her ground.

"I was just about to put all that shit back on when I was interrupted by a conceited asshole," she replied.

"Look. I want to talk to you. We haven't seen each other in a long time.  You ..., intrigue me. Not much does anymore," he explained a little.

"Intrigue?"

"You're so different, but still kind of the same. It's interesting. I'm curious to see how deep both go," he added. She sighed.

"Look, Kane, you don't just get to decide -,"

"Jameson," he corrected her. She blinked at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Jameson. That's my name. Call me by my name," he instructed her.

"But everyone calls you Kane. All those lawyers today, my sister,  everyone," Tate replied, a little lost in the conversation. He shook his  head.

"I don't care. You always called me Jameson. Say it again," he ordered. She laughed.

"Okay, play time is over. Get out of my apartment. I'm very flattered  that you think you want to know something about me, but I don't really  give two fucks. I don't want anything to do with you. You are nothing to  me. So thank you, and goodbye," she stated, gesturing towards her door.

Jameson watched her for a second and then walked towards her, his steps  slow and deliberate. She refused to back away, so they wound up almost  chest to chest. Not quite touching, but close enough that he sucked all  the oxygen out of her. She stared up at him, rubbing her lips together  so she wouldn't blurt out the thoughts in her head.

"It hasn't escaped my attention that you growing a massive set of balls  seems to have happened right after I fucked you. I think I deserve some  credit, and therefore, you owe me," he broke it down for her. She burst  out laughing.         

     



 

"You're an amazing piece of work! Just because we had sex, doesn't mean -,"

"I fucked you. There is a big difference."

"It was seven years ago!" Tate was suddenly shrieking. "Seven fucking  years! Who gives a fuck!? I've fucked a lot of people since then! I'm  sure you have, too! So big fucking deal!"

Nothing rattled him. He stood still, continuing to smirk down at her. It  drove her insane. She wanted to slap him. Claw her nails across his  face. Knock him to the ground. And then possibly fuck his brains out  ...,

"I think it was a very big deal, and we can discuss that another time.  For now, let me take you to work. Let me see this shit hole bar you work  at, and then maybe we can set up a time to chat," Jameson offered.

Her mind was spinning. It had been a big deal to him? Not possible. Not.  Fucking. Possible. He'd barely even looked at her after it had  happened, and she had been a puddle on the floor. Jameson Kane wasn't  that kind of guy, she couldn't imagine anything being that big of a deal  to him. She had always assumed he had forgotten about it.

That's why she was so stunned.

"I ..., you ..., what?" she asked. He laughed.

"I'll be waiting downstairs. Your apartment scares me. Be down in  fifteen minutes. Do not make me come back up here," he ordered, pointing  a finger at her before walking towards the door.

"You can't tell me -,"

"Oh, and Tate, you forgot these," he said, digging in his pocket. He  pulled her panties out and tossed them onto the floor. "You always seem  to be dropping these around me."

Mother fucker.



*



Jameson was a little shocked that she came down within the fifteen  minutes. She eyed him sideways for a minute, and it was obvious she was  considering just walking off, but something made her think twice. She  must have figured out that he would just follow after her. She sighed  and stepped around him, letting herself in to the passenger side of his  car.

Tate didn't talk to him, other than to give directions. Her voice had  gotten just a touch lower than it had been when she was eighteen. A  huskiness had been added to it, or something. Something sexy. Everything  about her was sexy. Seven years ago, she had been sexy as a clueless,  naive, young woman. Now, as a confident, forward, twenty-five year old,  she stopped his heart. Made it hard to think straight.

She had put makeup on. She seemed to favor a smudgy, smoky eye. It  looked good on her. A little trashy, but in a very sexy way. Her pert  mouth was coated in a pale, pink gloss, that really emphasized the fact  that she most definitely had CSL - cock-sucking-lips. Seven years ago,  he wouldn't have ever been able to imagine Tatum O'Shea sucking dick.  Now he couldn't stop.

Jameson wouldn't let himself think about her body, or he'd have to pull  over the car and ease the tension between them, right then and there.

She was fighting against him, and it just turned him on even more. When  she had started pulling down her panties, in the middle of that room,  with all those people ..., it had taken every bit of restraint he had  not to dismiss everyone and fuck her right then. The old Tatum had been  fun to play with, cute. This Tatum, he wanted to own. He wanted to break  her down, bend her to him. She seemed a worthy adversary, and Jameson  loved a good fight.

"Do you always start work this late?" he questioned, pulling up in front of a kind of dive looking bar. She shook her head.

"No, I'm filling in for someone, I normally work weekends. Thanks for  the ride," she said before leaping out of the car. He got out right  behind her.

"Oh, I've gotta see this place. I'm fascinated by your life. Good girl  goes bad. Is there piss on the floor?" he asked, holding the door to the  bar open. She gave him a smile full of sweetness.

"You have such a sexy way with words."

Then she elbowed him and strode through the door.

She made a beeline to the bar, ducking under the partition and heading  in to a back room. Jameson planted himself on a bar stool and ordered a  bourbon. Neat. The woman serving him was wearing a pair of tight leather  pants and a string-bikini top, and wore them well. It made him curious  as to what Tate would be wearing, wondered if it would be as slutty.

He wasn't disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, at ten o'clock on the  dot, she reappeared. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. She  was wearing a tiny pair of jean cut-offs. He had wanted to see her ass,  and now his wish was pretty much granted. When she leaned over the back  of the bar to grab something, he could see the bottom swell of her ass  cheeks.

On top she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of baseball logo on it,  but she had ripped off the bottom half of it. It stopped just beneath  her breasts, and when she lifted her arms, he could see a gray, lacy  bra. The shirt also show-cased her stomach, with was tone and flat. The  girl took care of her body. She had leather boots on her feet, almost  combat like, but with the tops folded down. They should have looked at  odds with her sexy outfit, but they worked some how.         

     



 

"Is this how you normally dress for work?" Jameson asked when she made  her way towards his end of the bar. She glanced down at herself.

"No. Sometimes I wear less," she replied, and he laughed.

"Less? So if I come in here on the weekend, you might be serving people  in a bikini?" he had to shout to be heard over the music and the rowdy  patrons. It had been pretty full when they'd walked in  –  now it was  standing room only.

"Only if it's a game day."

"Hot. But those shorts, I think they have to go. Sometimes less is more, you know," he teased. Tate raised an eyebrow.

"You think they're too short?"

"Yes."

She whirled away from him and took long strides to the other end of the  bar. She picked something up and then headed back towards him. It took  him a second before he realized it was a blow horn. She smirked at him  and then lifted it to her lips.

"Everybody! Hey!" she shouted. There was a roar of cheers and the music  was turned down. "This man here thinks my shorts are too short! What do  you all think!?" She pulled the blow horn away, lifting her arms up in a  questioning gesture.

The place went nuts. The crowd had to be seventy-five percent male, and  all of them were hooting and hollering at her. Tate smiled, and winked,  biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth. It was clear that she  knew what she was doing, knew how to work the crowd. She turned around  and bent at the waist, shaking her ass a little. The roar grew to a  deafening level. She finally stood up and turned back around, waving  everyone away. Then she turned to Jameson.