"You're very different from Ellie," he told her in a quiet voice. She rubbed her lips together and nodded.
"I know," she replied.
Tate knew she should move, should grab her shirt, do something to cover herself. Run for the bathroom. She should not be standing in front of her sister's boyfriend, only wearing a black lace bra. He dropped her shirt as his eyes wandered down her body, and she found that she was frozen to the spot, unable to move a single muscle.
"Family heirloom?" he asked, and then reached out, tracing a finger down her chest. He ran it down her cleavage and she thought she might faint. But then he held his hand up, and he had a pearl pinched between his fingers.
"Present. From Drew," her voice was just above a whisper. He examined the pearl.
"He's cheap. It's not real," he commented. She almost laughed.
"What?"
Jameson let the pearl drop and his attention went back to her. Tate still couldn't move. Had even stopped breathing. He was looking at her like she was dinner. She couldn't believe it. Twenty-three year old Jameson Kane was looking at her, really seeing her, for the first time ever. It was wrong, so wrong. She tried to think of Ellie, but couldn't make herself. She could only see his eyes.
"You should leave this room," Jameson told her, his hands gliding onto her hips. Her skin jumped at his touch and she could feel an electrical current pass between them. She gave a full body shiver and nodded.
"I know," she breathed. His fingers spread as his hands moved to her back, up to her shoulder blades.
"Ellie's my girlfriend," he reminded her. As if she needed it.
"I know." Apparently her impressive vocabulary had deserted her. His hands slid back down, all the way to her butt. She put her hands on the dresser behind her, bracing herself.
"This isn't just me." He'd said it as a statement, but she knew it was a question. She was feeling it, too.
"I know," she whispered.
"If you want to run, I suggest you do it now," he told her.
"Why?" she asked, and he leaned in close.
"Because I eat girls like you for breakfast," he hissed in her ear. She shivered again.
"Then stop holding onto me," she challenged, shocking herself.
Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was him – Tate wasn't ever that bold, not in real life. Maybe that was it, she felt like she was in a dream. Jameson Kane, looking at her, not Ellie. Touching her, not Ellie. It couldn't be real. He was too ..., much. Everything. Too much for her. He couldn't want her, not in real life.
"Baby girl, this is nothing. If I didn't want you to get away, you wouldn't be able to," he chuckled. She took a deep breath, preparing to tell him off, to tell him to let her go.
"Maybe I don't want to get away," she whispered.
She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't even thought it. But it was out there, she coudn't take it back. Jameson groaned and his mouth dipped to her neck. She gasped when his lips touched her skin, and then moaned when his lips were followed by his teeth. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back.
This is wrong. WRONG. He belongs to your sister. You're the devil. Evil incarnate.
"Tatum, if you don't get the fuck out of here, I'm going to rip your clothes off, bend you over this dresser, and fuck you like you've never been fucked before," he growled at her, his voice angry and sharp. His words shocked her. She pushed him away.
"You act like this is my fault!" she snapped at him. His eyebrows went up, but he kept his hands on her hips.
"You're the one who was getting drunk in my kitchen, babbling on and on about hating her sister. You're the one who's half naked in my bedroom," he pointed out. She gasped.
"I never said I hated her! And you got me drunk! What does that say about you!?" she yelled. He laughed.
"I don't need to get girls drunk to fuck them, Tate," he told her, his voice low. She snorted.
"You are such an egotist, I wasn't going to ..., do ..., that with you," she replied, stuttering a little. Jameson threw his head back and laughed, taking a few steps away from her.
"'That'? God, I forget, you are just a little girl," he laughed at her. Flames raced across her face.
"And you're just a pathetic excuse for a man, trolling his girlfriend's little sister, cause he can't get anyone else to fuck him!" she yelled, shoving him in the chest before storming out of the room.
God, she was so embarrassed. What had she been thinking!? She had been playing with fire. Really, Tate was lucky. If he hadn't growled at her, she didn't know how far she would have let him go. Drew had never spoken to her, or touched her, the way Jameson had – it set her on fire. But the things he had said to her. She did feel like a little girl. She felt stupid. She swiped at the tears that were starting to fall down her cheeks. She grabbed her cardigan out of the kitchen and rushed back towards the front door. Jameson was strolling out of the bedroom.
"I wasn't trolling for you. I didn't even know you were coming over tonight. Like I said, you were the one bitching about how no one likes you, how everyone likes Ellie, asking about our relationship. Sounds like you were trolling for me," he commented, looking down at her. She sniffled, struggling to right the sleeves on her sweater.
"Then you're an awfully easy mark, I almost had you. Geez, what a great story that would've been to tell Ellie when she came home, 'hey, tricked your boyfriend in to having sex with me – BTW, he's going to dump you.' Sounds awesome, maybe I'll just call her and say it right now," Tate threatened. His eyes narrowed.
"Don't play with me, baby girl," he warned her. She glared right back at him.
"You're the one playing games, and you lost. Move," she ordered, waving her hand at him. He was blocking the door. He folded his arm across his chest and stood his ground.
"I don't lose," he replied. She rolled her eyes.
"God! Whatever! You tried to seduce me, it didn't work, get over yourself! I just want to -,"
She was shocked when he suddenly grabbed her by the back of the neck, yanking her forward so he could slam his mouth down onto hers. She gave a muffled shriek, pushing against his chest. He moved both of his hands to the back of her head, his tongue forcing its way in to her mouth as he started walking them backwards.
She struggled at first, but it was half hearted at best. Tate knew he was an asshole. She knew it was just a game to him. Just sex. She knew she was doing something very wrong with her sister's boyfriend. She was doing something very wrong with a guy who was not her own boyfriend. She was going to burn in a special place in hell.
And she didn't care.
Tatum O'Shea was a good girl. She did the right things. Not because she wanted to, but because people were always telling her she had to, that she must. She dated Drew because her parents had set them up. She started having sex with Drew because he told her that's what couples do. She was going to an Ivy League school, because that's what O'Sheas did. They did not engage in illicit affairs with their relatives' significant others.
She still didn't care.
She moaned in to his mouth, running her hands under his shirt, pushing it up. He broke away from her long enough for it to go over his head, and then his mouth was back on her own. He was demanding, almost punishing, with his kiss. Rough and aggressive. Drew had never been that way with her.
She loved it.
"Doesn't feel like I'm losing now," Jameson growled against her mouth, his teeth biting in to her bottom lip as they backed in to the couch.
"Shut up, or I'll still leave," she threatened, and then gasped when his hands covered her breasts. He chuckled.
"I don't think so," he replied, one of his hands sliding down her stomach and over skirt. His fingertips brushed against her thigh.
"I can do whatever I -," she ended in a gasp as his hand suddenly yanked her skirt up, diving in to her underwear.
"You'll do whatever I say," he amended her statement. Her eyes squeezed shut and she pressed her lips together, nodding.
"Yes, yes," she finally breathed, standing on her toes.
"You wanted this – from the moment you got here tonight, you wanted this," he said, his fingers plucking and playing with her like she was an instrument.
"No, I didn't. I didn't want this," Tate managed to pant, one of her hands moving to grab onto his wrist. Not to stop him, but to ground herself. To feel him. He chuckled.
"You're awfully wet for someone who doesn't want to do this," he laughed at her.
"Oh god."
It was the truth, she knew. She was always like that around him, for as long as she could remember. She had touched herself to many fantasies about him. With Drew, it took a lot of foreplay to get her in the mood. But sometimes just thinking about Jameson was enough that she would have to change her panties.