Reparation(94)

“Yes. It's ugly,” he told her.

“I love it. I'm going to wear it on my wedding day,” she informed him. He barked out a laugh and turned forward.

“Good thing that's very, very, very far away. I pity the groom, whoever he may be,” he grumbled.

“Shut up!” She pushed herself up enough to slap him across the back of the head.

“Keeping pushing me, baby girl. See what happens,” he growled, rubbing the back of his head while she laid back down.

She moved her leg and pushed the back of his head with her foot.

“Push,” she laughed. He batted at her foot.

“I am not above fucking you in a garage.”

“Promises, promises,” she sang, and pushed him in the head again.

“I'm serious, Tate. I'm still mad at you, for this whole little escapade. I haven't even begun to get back at you for your little fling,” he warned her.

“Ooohhh, 'get back at me', he says. Game?” she asked, and pushed his head again.

“No, no games. Stop it,” he growled. She went to push him again and his hand grabbed her ankle.

“Make me,” she pursed her lips at him, blowing a kiss. He sighed and let go of her leg. Began pulling off his jacket.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a small man,” he told her. She laughed, stretching her legs back out.

“Yes, I have noticed,” she replied. He lifted his hips and undid his pants.

“I have to fold myself into a piece of origami to fuck you in these cars,” he complained, clumsily crawling between the two front seats and falling on top of her.

“Get bigger cars,” she suggested, then choked on her words when his fingers ended up between her legs.

“Are you telling me what to do, Tate?” he asked, roughly yanking her legs around, rearranging her so he was kneeling between them.

“I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Kane,” she breathed

“I like that, you know. Mr. Kane. Makes me feel like you've finally learned your place. Say it again,” he ordered.

“Fuck me, Mr. Kane,” she begged, biting back a laugh.

“And why should I do that? You have been a very, very bad girl,” he told her, pulling her shorts away from her hips.

“Then you should fuck me very, very hard,” she suggested. He leaned foward, pressing his weight against her.

“Hmm, still sounds like you're getting rewarded. I was thinking more along the lines of a punishment,” he whispered.

“Whichever, whatever, just get on with it,” she growled, wiggling her hips around underneath him.

“Commanding me?” he asked, pushing himself up so he hovered over her.

“Begging you,” she whispered. He smiled, then moved his hand across her forehead, brushing hair away.

“I like that, too. Maybe do that some more,” he suggested. She laughed.

“You're only allowed so much begging. You've reached your quota for the week,” she joked, but his hand moved into her hair and pulled sharply.

“I tell you what you're allowed to do, not vice versa. Now fucking beg,” he snapped at her.

“Please, Jameson. Please, I'm begging you. Please, do whatever you want to me. Do anything. Do everything,” she begged in a sexy, breathy voice.

“God, that sounds good. You're so good at that,” he said with a groan.

“Really? I thought I was getting better at it,” she agreed in a serious voice that cut the mood. Jameson laughed and playfully slapped her on the cheek. A mockery. An inside joke. A promise.

“You could stand to get better.”

“Only for you, Jameson.”

“Only for me.”

“I do love you, you know,” she said softly. He nodded.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he assured her.

“That doesn't scare you?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. He still had the ability to make her so nervous. She figured she should just get used to it – she wasn't going anywhere.

“No,” he shook his head. “That doesn't scare me at all, not anymore.”

“What changed?” she asked, looking away from his soul-stealing stare and smoothing her hands across his chest.

“The game. You, me. Everything,” he told her. She cleared her throat.

“Jameson,” she started, then lost her nerve. She had been working up the courage to ask him something since their first night back together.

“Hmmm?” he replied, one of his fingers tracing along her bottom lip.

“What does the necklace mean, to you?” she squeaked out, feeling all of two inches tall.

“Excuse me?”

“The necklace. I mean, I know what it means. To me, I mean. But what does it mean, you know, to you,” she stammered.

“I'm not even sure what you just said, let alone what you're asking me,” he teased her. She rolled her eyes.