“Something's got you all riled up. Did your day with Angier get you all excited?” he asked, burying his middle finger in her. She squirmed around.
“No.”
“You're awfully wet.”
“I usually am.”
“Not without reason. What set you off, hmmm?”
“You. Just you.”
“Good answer.”
His hand was on her breast bone then, pressing her down into the couch. Forcing her down. He propped one of her legs along the back of the couch, and then he was slamming into her. No hesitation, just hips meeting hips in an instant. She shrieked, her hands flying to her breasts, squeezing.
“Oh my ... fuck,” she groaned as he immediately began pounding into her.
“Fucking slut. Spent all day with him. Tried to fuck him in our bed. Probably tried to fuck him in my condo. Who the fuck do you think you are!?” Jameson demanded. She had her other foot touching the floor and he grabbed that leg, held it out away from her body by the knee, forcing himself so deep inside of her, it felt like he was interfering with the rhythm of her heart.
Like that's anything new. Remember the first time you saw him? Heart attack.
“Originally, I wanted to fuck him in here,” she taunted, and the hand on her chest moved to her throat. He wasn't playing around, no butterfly kisses with this hand – he practically squeezed her neck in half.
“You wouldn't fucking dare,” he hissed.
“Didn't have enough time.”
“Stupid whore, didn't have enough balls. Fuck. Fuck you, Tate. Fucking always making me do things I don't want to do,” Jameson growled, his grip on her neck loosening.
“I think you always want to do these things,” she cried out.
“Always,” he moaned.
“I couldn't do it, though,” she whispered.
Why is it that sex always makes an honest girl out of you? Why can't you just fake it, like everyone else?
“Of course you fucking couldn't. I own this pussy, you stupid cunt. You thought you could use it without my permission? Wrong,” he informed her.
“I know, I know,” she breathed. The hand on her throat finally released her, and she gasped in air, only to moan again when his fingers moved to her nipple, pinching it hard.
“I made this pussy. It has belonged to me for the last seven years,” he whispered, letting go of her leg and leaning down on top of her.
“Yes, yes,” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. She felt him press his forehead against her temple, his teeth bared against her cheek.
“Mine,” he growled.
“Yours,” she agreed.
“Stupid fucking whore, doesn't even know who she belongs to. Slut. Cunt. You said you wished I didn't exist. Fuck you,” he swore, and she gasped as his hand let go of her breast and slithered between their bodies.
He was talking about when she had screamed at him in the hospital. She was shocked he even remembered the things she'd said. That he ever remembered anything she said. It must have hurt, to have stuck with him for so long.
“I didn't mean it,” she told him, then gasped again as she felt one of his fingers sliding inside of her, right on top of his dick. He was not a small man.
So. Fucking. Full.
“Of course you didn't fucking mean it. I created you, you came from me. If I didn't exist, you wouldn't fucking exist,” he snapped. Realization suddenly dawned behind her eyelids.
Not Satan. Not Lillith. Eve was created from Adam's rib. We're part of each other. That's why I can't get away. That's why he can't get away. I'm not his subject, he's not my lord and master. We're the same.
Getting philosophical during sex usually wasn't her thing, but apparently it worked for her, because Tate came so hard that when she bit down on his earlobe, she drew blood. He roared and pulled back, his fingernails biting into her throat as he grabbed it, forcing her down onto the couch. He held her there while she shook and cried, her whole body ripping apart around him. He finally stilled, but she didn't stop coming for another solid twenty seconds.
“No,” she breathed when she finally felt like she could again. “No, I wouldn't.”
Without a word, he picked her up from the couch. She squealed, clinging to his shoulders as he walked them across the room. She wasn't sure what his intentions were, until she saw that he was walking around the desk. Back to where it all began. He practically dropped her onto it, forced her back down hard against the wood, and began thrusting into her again.
“Why do I always have to fuck you, to get you to agree with me?” he demanded, raking his claws down her chest. She managed a laugh.
“The question is, why do you like it so much?” she replied as he gripped onto her hips.
“Are you kidding?”