"If you are very good, when we get home, I will let you finish this," he told her, smoothing his hands over her hair.
"Huh?" she asked, dumbfounded. He smirked down at her.
"That's all you get, baby girl. You'll learn not to push me," he whispered, before leaning down and kissing her.
Tate moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist, held him to her. She loved the way Jameson kissed. For an aggressive guy, sometimes he could be very gentle with his mouth. His lips moved over hers, his tongue against hers, quiet and soft. It made her heart flutter. She sighed and ran her hands down to his pants, ran her fingers along his belt, began pulling at the buckle. But then he pulled away, so fast she actually stumbled. He patted her cheek and then strode out of the room.
What. The. Fuck.
She was so close to coming, it was uncomfortable to walk. Her underwear was still around her knees. She thought she might have spontaneously developed asthma, it was so difficult to breathe right, and her heart was pounding out of her chest. Worst of all, she still had a room full of friends to get through before she could leave. She probably had her "well fucked whore" look on her face; Ang would take one look at her and know exactly what had happened. Fuck.
Well played, Mr. Kane. Well played.
She went in to Rachel's bathroom and cleaned herself up. Patted her cheeks with cold water to calm down the serious flush she had going on. Seriously considered just getting herself off right then and there. But Jameson's words came back to her, about letting her finish at home, and she was never one to spoil her appetite.
She finished up, humming to herself as she left the bedroom. Weston was so far away, she wondered if she could convince him to disrespect Sanders enough to get it on in the car. She didn't know why, but she loved trying to make Sanders uncomfortable – mostly because she was pretty sure it wasn't possible. She walked down the hall, smoothing her hands down her skirt, thinking of some other possibilities, when someone hissed at her.
"What are you doing!?"
She turned to see Ang standing in a bedroom doorway. She smiled and opened her mouth to respond, when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to him. She was wearing a pair of absurdly tall cork wedges – she was practically as tall as Jameson – and she stumbled in them, falling in to Ang's chest. She tried to push herself away, but he had a death grip on her arm.
"What's going on? I told you, no more hanky panky for a while," Tate laughed, but when she looked up, he wasn't smiling.
"What is wrong with you? One second, you're all over me, the next, you're letting him talk to you like you're some sort of insect while he violates you," Ang growled. She winced.
"Oh god. You saw?" she groaned. He nodded.
"Yeah, I fucking saw. He had his hand so far up inside of you, I thought he was checking your tonsils. What the fuck, Tate? You're at a dinner party with your friends, and you didn't even have the goddamn decency to close the fucking door?" Ang snapped at her. She was a little blown away.
"Um, forgive me, but half an hour ago, didn't you grab my breasts and proclaim to everyone within hearing that I had the best tits you've ever seen?" she pointed out.
"It was a fucking joke, Tate, with people who know us and know how we are. If I'd known how okay you are with really being a slut, I wouldn't have bothered with your tits; I would've just fucked you on the dining room table," he spat out. She gasped.
"Ang! What is wrong with you!?" she demanded.
"What's the big deal? You let him do it. When is it my turn?" he asked.
"What the fuck! Where is this coming from!? You have never had a problem with me sleeping with other guys," she pointed out, yanking her arm free from him. He ran a hand through his hair.
"Because. You let some guy you've only known for like two weeks give you a pap smear at your friend's dinner party, in an open room, with an open door. You don't even really know him," Ang told her. She shook her head.
"I knew him for two years, and everything else is none of your goddamn business," she hissed.
"Maybe if I treat you like a piece of shit, just fuck you whenever and wherever I want, you'd fucking listen to me once in a while," he hissed back. She slapped him.
"Enough."
They both whipped their heads to the side. Jameson was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, that perfect, bored, detached expression on his face. Tate was embarrassed to be caught fighting about him. Ang didn't look embarrassed – he looked pissed. When Jameson started to walk in to the room, Ang surged forward. Tate was quick to get between them.
"He's right, enough! Just stop!" she said loudly, hoping no one in the living room would hear. How embarrassing.
And this is why we don't engage in sexual activity at our friends' polite social gatherings.
"You know," Jameson started, clearing his throat. "It seems that you really have something to say to me. I've been here, waiting all night for this – I knew it was coming. But instead, you took it out on the person that you knew wouldn't really fight back."
She watched the anger roll over Ang's face. Watched his whole body tense up, a flush creeping up his neck. Her reaction was automatic, she lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest, rubbing gently. It never failed to calm him down. Both men cut their eyes to her, and she winced.
"No one is fighting. Ang, you're being a dick. If you want to talk, we can talk, later. If you want to keep being a dick, well, then we can talk about that later, too. But for now, this is over," she stated. He looked down at her for a long while, and then nodded, taking a step back. Jameson laughed.
"It may be over with her, but not with me. If you ever treat her like that again, you and I will be having a talk. Understood?" Jameson demanded, his eyes like ice cycles as he stared at Ang.
"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Ang all but yelled. Tate put her hands on Jameson's chest and began pushing him out of the room.
"We're leaving," she growled, forcing him in to the hallway.
To her surprise, he didn't fight her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, making a beeline for the door. As they gathered their coats, Tate managed to smile and act halfway normal. Jameson didn't say a word, just walked out the door. Tate said goodbye, made up some excuse about him having a work emergency. As she stepped out onto the stoop, she saw Ang emerge from the bedroom. She glared at him and then turned away, hurrying down the steps.
"Well, that went better than expected," Jameson commented in a dry voice, once they were in the car. She let out a frustrated yell.
"I can't believe he did that!"
"He's jealous."
"But why!? I have literally fucked guys in front of him. He has been there during boyfriends and break ups and quickies and coyote-uglies ...," her voice trailed off.
"Because I'm the first guy that's actually threatened him," Jameson explained. She turned to face him.
"Is that why you're not more upset? He said you treated me like shit," she pointed out. Jameson laughed.
"I do treat you like shit, about half the time. I'm not upset because you're in the car with me, and he's in that apartment, alone. Winning," he said, running his fingers through her hair.
"You're winning all kinds of things tonight," Tate said. He pulled her close.
"I told you, I always win."
She pressed him back in to the seat and straddled his lap. It was like she was suddenly starving for him. She kissed and licked at his mouth, made fast work of getting his jacket off. But when she started to undo his belt, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands behind her back. She mewled in protest.
"I don't want to wait till Weston," she breathed, leaning against him and running her teeth down his neck.
"Ms. O'Shea's apartment, Sanders," he said in a loud voice.
She was surprised. He never wanted to go to her apartment. He hated where she lived, hated that part of town. She almost thought he was going to just drop her off, prolong her punishment. When they got there, though, he climbed out of the car with her and followed her up the stairs.
"Are you staying the night?" she asked, feeling giddy as she undid all the locks on the door.
"For as long as I want," was all he replied, pushing the door open and brushing past her.
He moved ahead of her in to the room. Her apartment was tiny, two bedrooms and one bathroom – no tub, even. The kitchen was big enough for maybe one person to comfortably cook in; a small person. But it was clean, and it was cute, and she could afford her share.
Sometimes.
"I don't usually bring people here," Tate said, running her tongue across her bottom lip as she shut the door. She felt like she had cotton mouth. Even after all the time they'd spent together, he still had the ability to make her nervous.