"No?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the living room. She shook her head, dropping her purse onto a chair.
"No. It's like ..., my space. Me. I've never slept with a guy here. Not even Ang," she blurted out.
"That's a surprise."
"We did it in the hallway once, outside the door. He threw -,"
"Jesus, Tate, as often as you talk about this guy, I'm beginning to think maybe I should fuck him, see what the big goddamn deal is," Jameson snapped. She laughed.
"Maybe you should. He'd probably like it," she told him.
"Oh, I'm sure he would."
"Can I watch?"
"Tatum. Come here."
It was a command and she heeded it. When she got to his side, he ran his hand up her arm, past her neck, in to her hair. When he got to the back of her head, he made a fist, bunching up her hair. But he didn't pull. She stared at him.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked.
"If I hear his name, one more time tonight, I swear to god, I will make you regret it," Jameson told her in a quiet voice.
Looks like someone else is jealous. New game?
"What if I don't say his name, and just refer to him?" Tate asked. The grip on her hair tightened, pulling a little.
"Tate."
"You said 'hear his name', so technically, I could just -,"
He used the fist in her hair to shove her forward. She stumbled in to the hall and didn't need anymore prompting. She pushed open her bedroom door, barely sliding her skirt off before he grabbed her from behind. They crashed in to her dresser and she threw her arms out, catching their weight.
"Why do you like to push me?" he groaned, lifting her hair so he could bite at the back of her neck.
"Because I like it when you push back," she whispered.
He turned her around and yanked her tank top over her head. It was all push and pull after that. She unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants to the floor. He shrugged out of his shirt and she pushed him back, onto the bed. She quickly slid her panties off and then straddled his lap, letting her shoes fall to the floor. She didn't waste any time, just grabbed the base of his dick and sat down on it. She let out a shriek, holding herself still on him.
"Sometimes I think you don't even need me to be mean to you – you do a good job all on your own," Jameson chuckled in her ear. She reached for the back of his head and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling.
"Shut. Up."
"I get what you're doing, you know. I know when you're baiting me," he informed her. She rocked her hips against his, and was rewarded with a fluttering of his eyelids.
"Really? Then why do you usually take it?" she asked, her voice a little breathless as she moved her hips faster.
"Because this is all on my terms, and sometimes I like to indulge you," he replied.
She couldn't respond. When she was on top with him, he hit spots inside of her that might have actually been portals to other dimensions. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Just gasped and pushed and pulled. But after a couple minutes, something wasn't right. She was perilously close to coming, but he was still sitting very still. Hands on her hips, silent. Jameson was never silent.
"What are you waiting for?" she gasped against his mouth.
"You're upset. I'm angry. It's too easy," he replied, trailing his lips down her shoulder. She laughed.
"You're too easy, Mr. Kane."
He playfully glared at her.
"That fucking mouth. Sometimes, I swear, you're just seeing if I'll ever actually hit you," he chuckled.
"Do it."
She didn't know who was more surprised, him or her. But she had said it. She stopped moving, looking in to his eyes. He had said it as a joke. Did she really want him to hit her? It was like another challenge to her. He didn't think she could handle him, didn't think she could take it. She didn't think he'd ever actually go for it, ever stop restraining himself.
"Baby girl, I don't want to hit you," Jameson murmured.
Tate slapped him.
Once again, shock on both their faces. She hadn't hit him hard, it was more noise than anything else. But his eyes were like fire when they came back to hers. She would have laughed, if she hadn't been so nervous.
What is wrong with me?
"At least one of us isn't scared," she tried to cover up her nerves. He gave an evil, dark laugh. Satan was in the room.
"Now that is a fucking lie," he hissed.
She slapped him again.
I'm suicidal.
"It feels good to be the one in charge for once, Kane. At least one of us isn't a pussy," she snapped at him.
"Tatum, I'm not fucking around, don't -,"
She slapped him hard, and without hesitation he slapped her back. Before her head could even fully snap to the side, he had a hand cupping her jaw, pulling her back to stare at him. His eyes blazed in to hers. He hadn't slapped her hard, not really. But still. Her heart rate doubled.
"Do not ever fucking hit me again, got it?" he said in a slow, even voice. She looked down at him, her eyes hooded. She felt high.
"I can't make any promises."
He swung her around, slamming her in to her mattress. She cried out as he pushed in to her, one of his hands immediately holding her down by the throat, the other grabbing onto her thigh. She gasped in time to his thrusts.
"Fucking Tatum. Goddamn. Fuck you. Fucking tried to hit me in the car. Fucking hit me in here. Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you're dealing with?" Jameson demanded.
"You. Only you," she moaned, raking her nails across her breasts.
"Stupid fucking bitch, I can't believe you made me hit you," he hissed.
If she would have been able to comprehend what he was saying, she probably would have slapped him right then. Just for emphasis. But she couldn't comprehend anything – she was being pounded in to one of those other dimensions she had thought about earlier.
"I think ..., you liked it," she breathed, arching her back away from the bed. His hand moved from her throat to her breast bone, pressing her down hard in to the mattress.
"No shit. Fuck. Fucking kissed him. I couldn't fucking believe it. I almost dragged you in to the car, fucked you right in front of him – you'd probably like that, wouldn't you? Fucking kissed him in front of me, what were you thinking? Stupid fucking slut," he growled.
Ah. It all came back to Ang. She was angry at Ang and angry at herself – so she wanted to be treated badly. Jameson was angry at Ang and angry at her – he wanted to treat someone badly.
We are a match made in Hell. He may be Satan, but I'm Lillith.
He pulled away and spun her around, forcing her onto her stomach. She didn't have a chance to move before he hiked her hips in to the air and slammed in to her, his dick bottoming out on the first push. She screamed, pounding a hand against the wall across from her. It was pain. It was sexy. It was aggressive. She loved it. She tried to prop herself up, and he pushed her back down, a hand on the back of her head. She reached a hand back to touch him, and he grabbed it, pressing her hand against her face. She couldn't see anything. Could only feel.
All she felt was him.
"I want you to come, Tate. Are you going to come for me?" he snapped from behind her, letting go of her head and dragging his nails down the length of her back.
"Yes, yes," she cried out.
"You always come for me." He kept dragging his nails down the exact same path, over and over.
"Yes."
"It's more than you deserve, whore."
"Yes."
"You're so good to me," he murmured. She let out a sob.
"Oh my god!"
She came, all those Kegel exercises she had told him about kicking in and locking his dick in to place. He went as deep as he could and then stopped, one hand holding onto her hip. She screamed and panted, pounding one hand on the mattress. The orgasm lasted forever, shredding her. Making her ache. The whole time, he raked his nails down that path on her back. Peeling away a layer of skin, exposing a piece of her soul. Stealing it from her. Or just taking it back.
Houston, we have a problem.
While she was still trembling and trying to figure out what the hell she was feeling, he pulled out of her. She didn't have the energy to ask what he was doing; she just collapsed, sucking in air. After about a minute, she felt a hand on her ankle and she was suddenly yanked off the bed. She clawed at her bedding, taking a sheet down with her. She landed in a heap on the floor, the blanket falling over her shoulder. By the time she got her bearings, she saw Jameson sitting down in a chair in the corner of her room.
"Now that that's done," he said in a calm, soft voice, planting his feet widely apart and putting his hands on his knees. His erection jutted straight up and she had trouble not staring at it.
"Um ..., what?" Tate managed, her voice hoarse.