“Harder,” she moaned, and he complied. The desk began to rattle and shake, edge forward.
Just like old times.
“The question is, why do you make me do it?” he sighed, his head leaning back. She rubbed her hands across his chest.
“Because no man has ever made me come the way you do,” she purred.
“No shit. You don't deserve it. I should make you work harder for it,” he groaned, his hands moving to her knees. Forcing them wider apart.
“You make me work too hard for it,” she countered.
“Fuck you, I should make you pray to my dick. That fucking mouth. Fuck. Are you this mouthy with Angier?” he growled.
“It's always about Ang,” she sighed.
“You're the one always talking about fucking him, and every time I see him, he's bragging about fucking you. Fucker. Fucking bragging. Couldn't have been that fucking good. He should have at least taught you how to shut the fuck up,” he snarled, his thrusts getting brutal. She felt another orgasm approaching like a freight train.
“He was a good enough teacher,” she moaned.
“Excuse me!?” Jameson's head snapped down to look at her.
“You should know – you benefit from him every day.”
It hadn't happened since last fall. Not since that very last time they slept together, before the shit hit the fan and hurricane Jameson ripped her heart in two. And hadn't even happened once when he had been busy putting the same heart back together in Spain.
He slapped her across the face and she screamed, coming so hard, her vision went black around the edges.
“You goddamn cunt, don't you ever fucking say shit like that to me again,” he snapped at her.
“Yes! Yes! Oh my god, please,” she moaned, not even aware of what planet she was on, let alone what she was saying. He grabbed her by the neck and roughly yanked her forward so she was sitting up. She tried to gasp, still caught in multiple orgasms. His other hand grabbed onto her ass, forcing her closer to him, as close as another human being could get, and he jackhammered his hips against hers, his forehead resting against her own.
“You fucking bitch. Fuck you. Fuck you. I goddamn hate you,” he growled, and then he was coming.
It seemed to go on forever. He would shudder, pump, release, and it would trigger another wave of pleasure through her own body. She was practically sobbing by the end, her arms wrapped around his waist. When he finally let go of her throat, she fell back onto the desk, and he fell with her. Pressed his head to her breasts while he tried to catch his breath.
It felt like they had run a marathon. She and Jameson had wild, roadrunner sex all the time, but this time ..., she felt like she would never be able to walk again. Talk again. Do anything, ever again.
Except maybe have sex. She would definitely do that again.
“Oh my god. Holy shit. Holy fuck,” she panted, pressing her wrist to her forehead.
“Yes,” Jameson breathed in agreement, not moving.
She was very aware that they were in an almost identical position to the first time they'd had sex in his library. Spread out on his desk, him on top of her, both of them gasping for air. Except this time, there was slightly less clothing. A lot bigger orgasms. Definitely a lot scarier feelings. Tate cleared her throat. Tried to talk. Had to clear her throat again. Felt her eyes well up with tears.
“That was ...,” her voice was barely above a breath. He chuckled.
“A week is too long, baby girl. See what happens when you make me wait?” he told her, still out of breath, as well. She cleared her throat again.
“So,” she managed to choke out loudly enough to hear, her voice raspy.
“Hmmm?” Jameson mumbled, his hands gliding up and down the backs of her thighs. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist.
“You hate me, huh?” she asked, managing to laugh. A tear slid down the side of her head. He chuckled.
“Tatum, what have I told you about listening to the shit that comes out of my mouth during sex? It's all rubbish,” he replied, the gliding turning to scratching.
“You've said you hate me before, one time. Before you went to Berlin,” she pointed out. He paused for a second, then his hands continued their path.
“That was different. Sometimes ..., sometimes I feel like I do hate you. I didn't want this, I wasn't looking for this, this isn't what I asked for. I wanted someone to play with, not someone for keeps. You changed the game on me,” he said quietly.
“I did?” she replied, another tear escaping. He nodded his head against her.
“Yes, and I don't know this game. I'm not good at this game. I'm learning as I go, and you don't make it easy, when you fight me at every turn. When you change the rules. You change your mind. You make me slip up. I hate that. Sometimes it all makes me wish for the old days. Sometimes, it all makes me hate you a little,” he confessed. She laughed. The tears were free falling now. No turning back.