~Seven Years Ago~

She had come over to their apartment just to drop off some boxes of stuff for her sister, Eloise - Ellie. Tatum had just turned eighteen and was moving to her own apartment in downtown Boston. She had been in a dorm room for her first semester at Harvard, but her parents didn't “approve” of her roommate, so her father had rented an apartment off campus for her. When Tate's father said jump, all she was ever allowed to say was “how high?”, so, she was moving.

Her sister Ellie was four years older, and they had never gotten along very well. About two years ago, Ellie had started dating Jameson Kane – Kane, as just about everyone called him. The relationship was strange to Tate; Ellie and Jameson seemed more like acquaintances than people who slept with each other, but who was she to judge? She didn't even really like her own boyfriend.

Tate didn't really know what to make of Jameson. He was so good looking, it was probably illegal. She worried if she looked at him too long, she'd go blind. He was also very smart – he had graduated early from Yale with an MBA, and was taking some time off to work on, and review, his job prospects. He came from old money, his father was some sort of big wig on Wall Street, and the talk was that Jameson would follow in his footsteps.

In the two years he had been dating her sister, Jameson hadn't seemed to take much notice of Tate. He ignored her, treated her with indifference. When he had to deal with her, it was almost like an after thought, like he had forgotten that she existed. He was tall, and handsome, and experienced, and smart. Tate was a brainy, naive, clueless girl, fresh out of high school, no real experience with the world or worldly people. He intimidated her.

It felt weird, showing up at Ellie's apartment without her being there. Jameson had let Tate in, and then pretty much ignored her. Such a gentleman. Tate had to haul several heavy boxes from the parking lot to the building, and then down a long hall to their apartment, all by herself. When she got to the last box, she dropped it by their bed, huffing and puffing.

“Did you want me to help?” Jameson asked, appearing in the doorway. Tate whirled around, startled.

“No, that was the last box,” she replied, straightening out her cardigan. He always made her feel nervous. His eyes wandered over her face.

“You look really red. Want something to drink?” he asked. She felt herself turn even redder than she apparently already was; she was never prepared for his blunt manners.

“If you have any tea, that would be great,” she replied, and then followed him to the kitchen. She thought he was going to pour it for her, but he just gestured to the fridge.

“I don't know what Ellie has in there, lots of health food shit. Dig around,” he offered. She made a face at his back.

“Water is fine,” she told him, and then just filled a glass from the tap.

“So. New apartment, all alone in a big city. You ready?” he asked. She nodded and turned to face him. His piercing blue eyes were wandering over her face and she resisted the urge to wipe at her skin. Was she dribbling water down her chin?

“As I'll ever be, I guess. I'm pretty self-reliant, so I think I'm ready,” she replied, taking delicate sips of her water. He chuckled.

“C'mon, you look like you're dying. Let's sit down, you can chug it,” he told her, leading her to a table. He even shocked her by pulling out a chair for her.

“Thanks,” Tate said, before following his instructions and downing the water in a few gulps. Without asking, he pulled the glass from her hands and refilled it before sitting down across from her.

“Don't you have like a boyfriend, or something? Is he in Boston?” Jameson asked, sliding her glass back across the table. She shook her head.

“No, Drew stayed in state,” she replied.

“You guys have been going out for a while – how is it, being in a long distance relationship?” Jameson asked. She was surprised at the question. Jameson never cared about anything she did.

“We've been together three years, but I don't know how long it's gonna last. He didn't want me to go to Harvard, wanted me to just follow him to Penn State. We argued about it a lot. He wants to try to work it out, but I think it's just time to get over it. Move on. We're in college now, I don't have time for that kind of crap,” she let it all spill out. Jameson raised an eyebrow.

“Wow, very mature approach. How old are you again?” he asked. Tate rolled her eyes.

“You've known me for two years, Jameson, and you can't even remember my age?” she responded with a question. He shrugged.

“I don't think I even know Ellie's age. How old?” he pressed.

“I just turned eighteen, two weeks ago. How could you not know Ellie's age? You've been together for so long,” Tate pointed out. He shrugged again.

“I don't pay attention to things like that. So what are you going to school for?” he asked. Tate had to stop herself from pointing out, again, that he should already know these things – it had been discussed, many times, in front of him. She had never realized it before, but he was kind of self centered. Arrogant.

“Political science,” she said. He rolled his eyes.

“We'll see how long that lasts. Go in to economics, more money,” he told her. She narrowed her eyes.

“I'm not doing it for money,” she replied.

“Then you're stupid.”

“You're kind of a dick,” she blurted out, shocking herself. She wasn't prone to foul language most of the time, or being rude. She had just done both. He didn't seem bothered, though; he burst out laughing.

“You're just now realizing that?”

Tate smiled. He had a nice laugh, and a sexy smile. She could feel herself blushing. She could remember the first time Ellie had brought him home. Tate had developed a crush on him the instant she had seen him – tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, killer smile; what girl wouldn't fall head over heels in love with him at first sight? But it had never gone beyond that, she knew Jameson was so far out of her league, she wasn't even visible to him. She didn't waste too much time fantasizing about him.

But now, sitting across the table from him, she felt herself getting hot under her sweater.

“Well, yeah, you never talk to me,” she pointed out.

“I talk to you.”

“When?”

“Excuse me?”

“When do you talk to me? When was the last time you talked to me?” Tate asked. He thought for a second, looking up at the ceiling.

“I asked if you were okay, after your dog died,” he replied, smiling at her.

“That was last year,” she told him. Jameson started laughing again.

“Hey, at least I remembered,” he pointed out. She found herself laughing as well.

“I guess that's something. Doesn't matter anyway, I'll be gone – no more awkward, silent family dinners to go to, thank god. You and Ellie will be on your own,” she warned him.

“Well, you'll have to come back sometimes.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I won't. I've decided, I'm not coming back till I'm done with school, if then. I'm trying to get through a masters program in four years, or less.”

“Wow. Hell of a challenge, baby girl. You think you're up for that?” he asked. She shivered at his use of “baby girl”, he had never called her that before – never called her anything. She cleared her throat.

“I think I'm up for anything I set my mind to,” she responded. He smiled.

“Good answer. Would you like a drink? Ellie should be home any minute, we could crack something open and have it ready for her,” he suddenly asked, getting out of his chair. Tate held up her glass.

“I have water right here,” she pointed out. He laughed as he pulled a bottle out of a cupboard.

“I meant a real drink, Tate. Seeing as how I've apparently 'never' talked to you, I guess now is a good time to give you some congratulations. I'm assuming I never did that, right?” he asked, holding a bottle of champagne in his hand. She laughed.

“No, you weren't even at my graduation. And maybe just one glass,” she replied, pushing the water she had been drinking out of the way.

Having been too busy with school and all her extra classes, Tate had never been a party girl. No crazy parties and almost no experience with alcohol. Some champagne at Christmas with Granny O'Shea at the O'Shea farm in the Hamptons was about it. But she didn't want Jameson to know that – she wanted to seem mature, like a girl who had champagne all the time. It was silly, but she couldn't help it.

They polished off the first bottle, discussing politics and the current economic situation in the country. He disagreed vehemently with most of her views, but he never got heated or upset. He managed to get under her skin, though, and she found herself arguing just to get a rise out of him, but he was impossible to rile up. The champagne loosened her up a little, and she was a lot bolder with her opinions; or at least, more so than usual.

“No more after this, baby girl needs to be presentable for her family tomorrow,” Jameson said, taking out a second bottle. She made a face at him.

They drank and chatted some more. Ellie texted him that she would be late. She was a paralegal, and her hours were all over the place. Tate was fine with that, she never felt comfortable around her sister. Ellie was tall and beautiful, with dark blonde hair that was always done up in just the perfect style. She was always wearing the most stylish clothing.

Tate was average height, with dark hair, almost black, and she had never paid attention to what was stylish, just wore what her mother bought for her. She was intimidated by Ellie, plain and simple. That's why she was going in to an excelled program at Harvard – to beat Ellie. Ellie was the golden child, the favorite child. Tate had always had to work ten times harder, just to always fall slightly behind.

She wound up blabbering all that to Jameson. Then went onto tell him all about her boyfriend Drew, whom he couldn't remember ever meeting, even though he had – several times. How boring Drew was, how he always wanted to tell her what to do, but he never wanted to do anything. Jameson nodded and listened to her prattle, sliding the champagne out of her reach.

“You're pretty funny, Tate. I never knew,” he laughed. She rolled her eyes, shrugging out of her cardigan.

“Shocking. No one ever notices me, not when Ellie's around,” she snorted, pulling her hair in to a ponytail. He raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn't say that, Ellie's not as great as you make her out to be,” he told her.

“Pffft. She looks like what would happen if Cindy Crawford and Christy Turlington had a baby,” Tate pointed out.

“You're pretty, too.”

“You have to say that, you're her boyfriend. You have to be nice to me,” she laughed.

“No I don't. I'm hardly ever nice, and I almost never lie. You're an attractive girl, you just have bad self esteem, and worse taste in men,” he informed her. She shrugged.

“Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that Ellie is still better in most peoples eyes,” she replied, fiddling with the stem of her champagne glass. Jameson leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I wouldn't say that. From a technical stand point, if we're being completely honest, I would have to say that you're much sexier than your sister,” he told her.

She didn't breathe for a moment. Did Jameson Kane really just say that to her? Or was it the champagne? She glanced at him, and he was staring right back at her, a small smile playing on his lips. She shook her head and shook off her nerves. No. He was just being nice. That had to be it – what kind of a guy would tell his girlfriend's sister that she was the sexier of the two? Not a very good guy, that's for sure.

“Whatever. It'll all be behind me in a couple weeks. It'll be like a new Tate, that's what I'm going for; Ellie can suck it,” Tate proclaimed, and then hiccuped. Jameson burst out laughing.

“See, now that's funny. Your sister sucking something – would never happen,” he joked. Tate could feel her cheeks turning bright red.

“Gross,” she blurted out.

“Too much? I guess we're not that good of buddies yet,” he laughed.

“You shouldn't talk that way about your girlfriend, it's not very nice,” Tate told him. He shrugged.

“Sometimes she's not a very nice girlfriend,” he replied. Tate's eyes got wide as she had a realization.

“Are you going to dump my sister!?”

“Now, why would you ask that?” Jameson responded, his smile gone as his eyes stared in to her own.

“I don't know. Your voice, your attitude. Are you?” she pressed. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I shouldn't have given you champagne. I didn't know you'd turn in to Nancy Drew,” he commented.

“Oh my god. You're going to dump Ellie. You've been together for two years. She thinks you're gonna propose. She's gonna die,” Tate gushed, pressing a hand to her chest. His eyes narrowed.

“We haven't even talked about marriage, why would she think that? And I don't know what's going to happen with me and Ellie, we've got a lot to talk about; do not talk to her about this,” Jameson commanded, pointing a finger at Tate. She raised her hands.

“I go out of my way to not talk to her, I won't breathe a word. But can I ask why?” Tate pressed, reaching out for the champagne. Jameson didn't even notice, he was so lost in thought, so she poured herself another glass.

“I don't know. It's ..., boring. Not exciting. Like you were saying about Drew. She wants this pre-programmed life, has everything decided for us. She knows what she's having for dinner next Tuesday, where we're going for the fourth of July, what we'll name our first child. She goes to bed at ten, gets up at six – I'm not allowed to touch her between those hours, I'm not even joking. I don't like being told what to do,” his voice got quiet towards the end. Tate nodded, taking a large swig of her champagne.

“Sounds like Ellie. Do you know, one time when she was mad at me, to get back at me, she got in to my room and organized my closet? That was her idea of revenge,” Tate told him.

He burst out laughing, and that set Tate off. They both bent over, unable to breathe for how much they were laughing. It was hilarious, and it was totally true. Ellie was like OCD Barbie. Very pretty, and a little crazy.

“Oh my god, that sounds like her,” he chuckled. Tate nodded.

“I know! I've got a hundred more, she -,” Tate started, but she was gesturing with her glass, and champagne sloshed all over her front.

“Oh jesus, I knew this was going to happen,” Jameson shook his head, but he was laughing. Tate snorted, holding her wet shirt away from her chest.

“Then you shouldn't have given it to me,” she replied. He stood up.

“I tried to take it away. C'mon, I'm sure Ellie has something you can wear,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him. She got out of her chair.

“Oh no, she'll kill me, I'm not allowed to wear her stuff,” Tate told him, following him across the living room and back in to the bedroom.

“Who cares? She owns so much shit, she'll never know. Just grab something, her stuff is in there,” he explained, pointing to a section of the wardrobe before walking back out of the room.

Tate stared in to the wardrobe for a while, letting her eyes wander over the clothes. Everything Ellie owned was expensive; from a designer. From a young age, Tate had been taught not to touch. Jameson had just given her free reign. She snorted and dove in, yanking back the hangers. She laughed and pulled down a silk blouse – it looked ridiculously expensive.

Perfect.

She spun around and threw the shirt on the bed, stumbling as she did so. She didn't think she was drunk, but she was feeling a little light. Spinny. She laughed to herself, curling her fingers around the hem of her shirt and pulling the wet material up. She went to yank it over her head, but something happened. The shirt's tag got caught in a string of pearls she was wearing, which then got tangled in her hair, and she was stuck with her arms in the air, struggling to pull the shirt one way or the other.

“Oh my god,” Tate laughed, stepping back and forth.

She lost her footing and stumbled clear across the room. She rammed in to something, a dresser, and moved so her butt was against it. She was really laughing now, struggling not to hyperventilate with the shirt covering her mouth. Her elbows were pinned above her head and she tried to reach the back of her neck with her fingers, arching her back. Her fingernails were just brushing the top of her spine when she heard something.

“What are you doing?”

She went stock still, her laughter dying. Jameson was in the room, and pretty close to her, judging by the sound of his voice. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. With her shirt up over her head, she was standing there in just her bra and khaki skirt.

“Um, I got stuck,” Tate offered in a small voice. He chuckled, and he was even closer than before – right in front of her.

“Obviously. Help?” he asked. She managed to shake her head.

“No, I think I -,” she started, but then felt his fingers at the neck of the shirt. He pushed it up, exposing her mouth and nose, but then left it there. She took deep breaths.

“Are you drunk, Tate?” he asked, talking slowly. She shook her head again.

“No. I mean, I don't think so. I'm just stuck,” she replied. He laughed and she felt him pulling at the neck of the shirt again. A couple tugs, and the strand of pearls broke. She could feel them running down her body, some catching in her bra while the rest clattered to the floor. The shirt came free from her head and Jameson pulled it away, holding it in his right hand. He was staring down at her. She struggled to control her breathing.

“You're very different from Ellie,” he told her in a quiet voice. She rubbed her lips together and nodded.

“I know,” she replied.

Tate knew she should move, should grab her shirt, do something to cover herself. Run for the bathroom. She should not be standing in front of her sister's boyfriend, only wearing a black lace bra. He dropped her shirt as his eyes wandered down her body, and she found that she was frozen to the spot, unable to move a single muscle.

“Family heirloom?” he asked, and then reached out, tracing a finger down her chest. He ran it down her cleavage and she thought she might faint. But then he held his hand up, and he had a pearl pinched between his fingers.

“Present. From Drew,” her voice was just above a whisper. He examined the pearl.

“He's cheap. It's not real,” he commented. She almost laughed.

“What?”

Jameson let the pearl drop and his attention went back to her. Tate still couldn't move. Had even stopped breathing. He was looking at her like she was dinner. She couldn't believe it. Twenty-three year old Jameson Kane was looking at her, really seeing her, for the first time ever. It was wrong, so wrong. She tried to think of Ellie, but couldn't make herself. She could only see his eyes.

“You should leave this room,” Jameson told her, his hands gliding onto her hips. Her skin jumped at his touch and she could feel an electrical current pass between them. She gave a full body shiver and nodded.

“I know,” she breathed. His fingers spread as his hands moved to her back, up to her shoulder blades.

“Ellie's my girlfriend,” he reminded her. As if she needed it.

“I know.” Apparently her impressive vocabulary had deserted her. His hands slid back down, all the way to her butt. She put her hands on the dresser behind her, bracing herself.

“This isn't just me.” He'd said it as a statement, but she knew it was a question. She was feeling it, too.

“I know,” she whispered.

“If you want to run, I suggest you do it now,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked, and he leaned in close.

“Because I eat girls like you for breakfast,” he hissed in her ear. She shivered again.

“Then stop holding onto me,” she challenged, shocking herself.

Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was him – Tate wasn't ever that bold, not in real life. Maybe that was it, she felt like she was in a dream. Jameson Kane, looking at her, not Ellie. Touching her, not Ellie. It couldn't be real. He was too ..., much. Everything. Too much for her. He couldn't want her, not in real life.

“Baby girl, this is nothing. If I didn't want you to get away, you wouldn't be able to,” he chuckled. She took a deep breath, preparing to tell him off, to tell him to let her go.

“Maybe I don't want to get away,” she whispered.

She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't even thought it. But it was out there, she coudn't take it back. Jameson groaned and his mouth dipped to her neck. She gasped when his lips touched her skin, and then moaned when his lips were followed by his teeth. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back.

This is wrong. WRONG. He belongs to your sister. You're the devil. Evil incarnate.

“Tatum, if you don't get the fuck out of here, I'm going to rip your clothes off, bend you over this dresser, and fuck you like you've never been fucked before,” he growled at her, his voice angry and sharp. His words shocked her. She pushed him away.

“You act like this is my fault!” she snapped at him. His eyebrows went up, but he kept his hands on her hips.

“You're the one who was getting drunk in my kitchen, babbling on and on about hating her sister. You're the one who's half naked in my bedroom,” he pointed out. She gasped.

“I never said I hated her! And you got me drunk! What does that say about you!?” she yelled. He laughed.

“I don't need to get girls drunk to fuck them, Tate,” he told her, his voice low. She snorted.

“You are such an egotist, I wasn't going to ..., do ..., that with you,” she replied, stuttering a little. Jameson threw his head back and laughed, taking a few steps away from her.

“'That'? God, I forget, you are just a little girl,” he laughed at her. Flames raced across her face.

“And you're just a pathetic excuse for a man, trolling his girlfriend's little sister, cause he can't get anyone else to fuck him!” she yelled, shoving him in the chest before storming out of the room.

God, she was so embarrassed. What had she been thinking!? She had been playing with fire. Really, Tate was lucky. If he hadn't growled at her, she didn't know how far she would have let him go. Drew had never spoken to her, or touched her, the way Jameson had – it set her on fire. But the things he had said to her. She did feel like a little girl. She felt stupid. She swiped at the tears that were starting to fall down her cheeks. She grabbed her cardigan out of the kitchen and rushed back towards the front door. Jameson was strolling out of the bedroom.

“I wasn't trolling for you. I didn't even know you were coming over tonight. Like I said, you were the one bitching about how no one likes you, how everyone likes Ellie, asking about our relationship. Sounds like you were trolling for me,” he commented, looking down at her. She sniffled, struggling to right the sleeves on her sweater.

“Then you're an awfully easy mark, I almost had you. Geez, what a great story that would've been to tell Ellie when she came home, 'hey, tricked your boyfriend in to having sex with me – BTW, he's going to dump you.' Sounds awesome, maybe I'll just call her and say it right now,” Tate threatened. His eyes narrowed.

“Don't play with me, baby girl,” he warned her. She glared right back at him.

“You're the one playing games, and you lost. Move,” she ordered, waving her hand at him. He was blocking the door. He folded his arm across his chest and stood his ground.

“I don't lose,” he replied. She rolled her eyes.

“God! Whatever! You tried to seduce me, it didn't work, get over yourself! I just want to -,”

She was shocked when he suddenly grabbed her by the back of the neck, yanking her forward so he could slam his mouth down onto hers. She gave a muffled shriek, pushing against his chest. He moved both of his hands to the back of her head, his tongue forcing its way in to her mouth as he started walking them backwards.

She struggled at first, but it was half hearted at best. Tate knew he was an asshole. She knew it was just a game to him. Just sex. She knew she was doing something very wrong with her sister's boyfriend. She was doing something very wrong with a guy who was not her own boyfriend. She was going to burn in a special place in hell.

And she didn't care.

Tatum O'Shea was a good girl. She did the right things. Not because she wanted to, but because people were always telling her she had to, that she must. She dated Drew because her parents had set them up. She started having sex with Drew because he told her that's what couples do. She was going to an Ivy League school, because that's what O'Sheas did. They did not engage in illicit affairs with their relatives' significant others.

She still didn't care.

She moaned in to his mouth, running her hands under his shirt, pushing it up. He broke away from her long enough for it to go over his head, and then his mouth was back on her own. He was demanding, almost punishing, with his kiss. Rough and aggressive. Drew had never been that way with her.

She loved it.

“Doesn't feel like I'm losing now,” Jameson growled against her mouth, his teeth biting in to her bottom lip as they backed in to the couch.

“Shut up, or I'll still leave,” she threatened, and then gasped when his hands covered her breasts. He chuckled.

“I don't think so,” he replied, one of his hands sliding down her stomach and over skirt. His fingertips brushed against her thigh.

“I can do whatever I -,” she ended in a gasp as his hand suddenly yanked her skirt up, diving in to her underwear.

“You'll do whatever I say,” he amended her statement. Her eyes squeezed shut and she pressed her lips together, nodding.

“Yes, yes,” she finally breathed, standing on her toes.

“You wanted this – from the moment you got here tonight, you wanted this,” he said, his fingers plucking and playing with her like she was an instrument.

“No, I didn't. I didn't want this,” Tate managed to pant, one of her hands moving to grab onto his wrist. Not to stop him, but to ground herself. To feel him. He chuckled.

“You're awfully wet for someone who doesn't want to do this,” he laughed at her.

“Oh god.”

It was the truth, she knew. She was always like that around him, for as long as she could remember. She had touched herself to many fantasies about him. With Drew, it took a lot of foreplay to get her in the mood. But sometimes just thinking about Jameson was enough that she would have to change her panties.

“Turn around,” he ordered, but he didn't even give her a chance to comply. He pulled his hands away and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her in a circle. She was still getting her bearings when he started yanking her skirt up over her hips.

“Are we really doing this?” she gasped, gripping onto the back of the couch.

“Unless you walk away right now, yes,” he replied, yanking her underwear down her legs.

She didn't move.

He put a hand in the middle of her back and shoved her forward, forcing her to bend in half over the couch. She put her hands in to the cushions, trying to gain a sense of balance. She felt his hands kneading the flesh on her butt, and then he was shoving one, two fingers inside of her. She cried out.

“Oh my god!”

But before she could even adjust to that, she could feel his erection. She didn't even make a sound, just held her breath. He was huge, or at least a lot bigger than Drew. She bent completely in half, her face in the couch cushions, her ass in the air. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion, and when he was inside of her, pressed up against her, she sucked in a gasp of air, her whole body shaking. She had only ever had sex with Drew. Nobody else. Until now.

It occurred to her that she had been missing out.

“Goddamn, Tate,” Jameson growled. “You're so fucking tight.”

This was surreal. Having sex with Jameson. Jameson talking dirty to her. How had this happened?

Then he was pulling out of her. Then pounding in to her. Pull. Pound. In. Out. She moaned, made noises in her throat, and managed to push herself upright. She couldn't even think straight. Everything felt so amazing. She'd never had sex like that before, with someone behind her. Drew was not adventurous. Only ever at night. Her laying down. Him on top. Lights always off.

All the lights were on in Jameson's trendy loft apartment. It wasn't daylight out, but all the shades were open. Anyone in the building across the way would be able to see her having sex. No wait, what had he said; what hadn't she been able to say earlier? Fucking. He was fucking her. She hadn't ever really been fucked before, but she could now see that there was a huge difference. This was much, much better. Jameson Kane could fuck her whenever he wanted, she thought to herself.

Oh my god, I am fucking my sister's boyfriend.

“This is wrong, Jameson. So wrong,” she panted out. His hand suddenly came around her throat and pulled her towards him. She had to arch her back to meet him.

“Then tell me to stop,” he dared her, pressing his face to the side of hers, his teeth bared against her skin. She shook her head.

“I can't, I can't,” she cried out. He laughed and the hand on her throat went to her ponytail, pulling hard on it.

“You love this. You've probably fantasized about this. Did you ever? Ever touch yourself while you were thinking of me?” he asked, his fingers pulling at the roots of her hair. She shrieked.

“God, yes! Yes!” she answered. He laughed again and leaned away from her, but didn't relinquish his hold on her hair.

“Fuck, Tate, you are so sexy. You should see yourself,” he groaned, his free hand running over her ass. “I knew I should've fucked you a long time ago.”

She was shocked.

“You ..., wanted to do this ..., before?” she managed to get out between thrusts.

“Are you fucking kidding? I don't know any guy who hasn't thought about trying to fuck his girlfriend's hotter sister, and baby girl, you are definitely a hotter fuck,” Jameson informed her, pulling harder on her hair.

God, he's talking about fucking Ellie while he's fucking me. So wrong.

“Oh my god, we have to stop, this is wrong. You're Ellie's ..., I'm her ..., this is so wrong. Oh my god!” she cried out. He pulled out of her, and she moaned at the loss. But then he was spinning her around to face him, his fingers digging roughly in to her arms.

“Don't fucking say her name again,” he told her.

“But it's wrong, Ellie could be -,”

“If you say her name one more time, I'm warning you, I will fuck your mouth,” he growled, and then he was kissing her again.

It was like getting slapped, when Jameson spoke to her that way. No one had ever spoken to Tate like that before – she couldn't believe it. She knew she should be offended. She wanted to be offended. But she wasn't. If anything, it made her hotter. Did he talk to Ellie that way? She couldn't imagine it. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I won't say it again,” she whispered, kissing him back. They stumbled in to the bedroom, lips attached, hands roaming everywhere. It hadn't escaped her attention that his kisses seemed just as desperate as hers, just as needy. As if he couldn't get enough of her taste. He wanted this just as much as she did – maybe even more.

“You're goddamn right you won't,” he snapped, giving her a rough shove so that she fell onto the bed.

He was on top of her in an instant, his hands everywhere. He pulled the cups of her bra down and lavished attention on her breasts, teasing her nipples with his teeth. His hand was back between her legs, his fingers gliding through her wetness. She moaned and thrashed around beneath him, her fingernails raking across his shoulders, no thought about hurting him. He hissed and brought his mouth back to hers.

“Jameson,” she breathed against his lips.

“What?” he snapped.

“Are we -,” she started to ask, but then he was plunging inside of her. No hesitation, no accomodating her – just full, hard, length, driving as deep as he could go. She screamed his name, her legs moving to wrap around his waist.

“'Are we' what, Tate?” he asked, his voice breathless as he slammed his hips against hers.

“Are we going to do this again?” she managed to ask. He pulled himself up onto his knees and grabbed her by the hips, driving in to her even harder. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

“You're going to let me do this whenever I want,” he informed her.

“Yes, Jameson, yes, yes, yes,” she chanted, scratching her nails down his arms. One of his hands came to rest flat against her chest, between her breasts, pushing her down against the bed. Anchoring her to his thrusts.

He's going to turn me inside out.

“You love this, fucking me. Your sister's boyfriend. Winning, right? Don't you think this kind of makes you a slut?” he asked, slowing his thrusts. She started panting again.

“Yes, I do,” she answered, and the hand on her chest slowly slid upwards, creeping onto her neck.

“Tatum O'Shea. Perfect, princess, goody-two-shoes, Tate. Who would've thought, a slut,” he swore at her. She moaned, raking her hands across her own chest. His fingers gently wrapped around her throat.

This shouldn't be turning me on. Why is this turning me on!?

“Yes, for you, Jameson. Just for you,” she moaned. His movements were so slow. He would almost pull all the way out of her, and then he would plunge back inside, to the hilt, so slow. It made it hard to breathe.

“Whenever I want,” he repeated his earlier statement. She rubbed her lips together and nodded again.

“Of course,” she sighed, and he let go of her throat.

It was almost like he was massaging her, on the inside. Only instead of relaxing her, it was causing her to tense up every muscle in her body. She was going to burst apart, completely explode, and no one would ever find Tatum again.

“Goddamn, you're so fucking sexy, Tate,” Jameson groaned, dragging his fingers up the insides of her thighs. She took a deep breath.

“Are we together?” she blurted out.

He stopped moving.

Uh oh.

“What?” he asked, his voice like steel. She let her head roll to the side and she opened her eyes, staring at the wall across from her.

“You're dumping Ellie. Does this mean we'll be together?” she asked.

He barked out a cruel laugh and then he was slamming in to her again. She cried out, her hands going to his chest, hooking her nails in to his muscles. He leaned down close, forcing her legs as wide apart as they could go, his chest pressed against hers.

“I don't date sluts, Tatum,” he told her.

“But I'm -,”

“A good fuck, yes. But Ellie is my girlfriend. I never said I was dumping her. And even if I did, I wouldn't date her sister. Wouldn't date some eighteen year old,” Jameson laughed in her ear.

“We have to stop, we have to stop, we have to stop,” she started moaning. Her brain was telling her one thing – get out, now, you stupid bitch! - but her body was going a completely different route – holy fuck, this amazing, don't ever stop doing this, why didn't you do this sooner, if you stop him now, you will never feel this way again!

“I don't think so,” he whispered, and then his hand was sliding between their bodies, his fingers pinching at the part of her that was aching the most.

She screamed. Her body felt like it was ripping up the middle. She had never had an orgasm like that before, not with Drew, not even with herself. She jerked forward off the bed and clamped her teeth onto his shoulder. He let out a roar and she could feel him coming as well. Every muscle he had tensed and pressed down onto her. Her orgasm intensified and she let out a sob. It took a moment for the tremors to subside, for both of their bodies to become still again.

“Holy shit,” Tate breathed, collapsing back onto the bed.

“Fuck. Fuck,” Jameson whispered, his breath hot against her skin as he rested his forehead on her chest.

They laid like that for a while, coming down from the high of good sex. Tate had never experienced it before – Drew wasn't good enough to induce it. Jameson had just blasted her in to the stratosphere. She didn't think she'd ever come down. She took deep breaths, trying to find herself in space. She rested her hand against his back, feeling his steamy slick skin.

“Did you -,” she started to ask in a thick voice, but he pulled away. He lurched off the bed, yanking his pants up as he went. She was a little shocked, and sat up, putting her bra to rights as she did so.

“Shut up. Don't say a fucking thing. Just get dressed,” he ordered, picking up the silk blouse from the other side of the bed and throwing it at her. She caught it as it landed over her face.

“How can you -,” she started when she was interrupted by a buzzing sound. They both froze for a second, and then Jameson made his way in to the living room. She heard him walk over to the door, assumed he was pressing the button for the intercom to the downstairs.

“What?” he asked, his voice rough and agitated sounding.

“I'm locked out down here, I forgot my keys. Buzz me in,” Ellie's voice filled the apartment.

Tate dropped her face in to her hands, the gravity of the situation falling down on her. She had just had sex with her sister's boyfriend. It was all fine and dandy to be caught up in the kink and sex of the moment – but the afterwards was horrible. She was a horrible person. Ellie was a mean sister, but Tatum was officially the worst.

“What are you doing? I suggest you get dressed,” Jameson's voice floated to her. She lifted her head to watch him walk across the bedroom and in to the bathroom.

“How can you be so calm!? After what we just did!?” she demanded. There was the sound of running water, then a toilet flushing, and then he reappeared, his pants done up.

“It's not a big deal unless you make it a big deal, Tate. Get dressed, or you're going to have a lot of explaining to do to your sister,” he said, pulling a shirt out of his closet and yanking it on. Tate struggled to push herself to her feet and pushed her skirt back in to place.

“I just had sex with you! We just had sex! We have to tell her!” she shouted at him.

Jameson finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and her breath caught in her throat. He was a massive asshole, but holy shit, he was good looking. And she now knew what he looked like while having sex. She would never be able to look at him the same way again. She swallowed and looked away.

“Alright. You want to start that conversation? Once I'm gone, it's over, I never have to see her again. But you, you're her sister. Much worse for you,” he pointed out.

Tate struggled with her conscience, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. She was going to cry again. He was so cold. He had always been so cold, how could she have thought he'd be different? Sex didn't change things. But he was right. Telling Ellie would just upset the whole family, and he would escape unscathed. He had said he didn't want to date her, so it wasn't like she would gain anything by telling her sister.

“You're an absolutely horrible person,” she hissed at him, blinking through her tears. He laughed, his voice loud in the large apartment.

“No shit, but you just fucked your sister's boyfriend, so what kind of a person does that make you? Now get your goddamn clothes on, and get out,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through the bedroom door.

They stopped just long enough for Tate to button up the silk shirt while he grabbed her cardigan off the floor. She refused to look at him while she tried to make herself look presentable, finger combing her hair as best she could, praying she looked semi-decent. Or at the very least not like someone who had just had a steamy affair with their sister's boyfriend.

Oh god.

“I'm going to forget tonight ever happened,” she informed him as they strode towards the front door. Jameson laughed again.

“Baby girl, you couldn't forget if you tried,” he told her in a low voice, pressing himself against her from behind. She shivered and had to force herself not to press back in to him.

“You had better break up with her. If you stay with her, you're ..., you're sick,” she informed him, her hand on the door knob. He shrugged, not moving his weight away from her. His body was so warm, like a furnace. She wanted to curl up in him.

“I can live with that. See you around, Tate,” he said. She yanked open the door.

“No, you won't.”

His laughter followed her in to the hallway. It sounded demonic. Like Satan was laughing at her.

“I will if I want to.”

She stomped down the hallway, tears streaming down her face. How could she have let that happen!? She was a goody-two-shoes. Tate never acted wild, never did anything bad, never did anything wrong. Sure, she had always secretly kind of wanted to – but maybe something more along the lines of sneaking her dad's brandy, or staying out past curfew. Not fucking her sister's boyfriend. That was a little beyond wild.

Speak of the devil – her sister was getting off the antiquated freight elevator at the end of the hall. Tate let out a deep breath, wiping at her face. She didn't know if she could handle this moment. Jameson had just ripped her in half. Ellie would mop the floor with her remains.

“Kane didn't tell me you were still here,” Ellie clipped out in a brisk tone, striding down the hall in her expensive ballet flats.

I would never call him Kane, I hate that. He has a first name, I just screamed it about twenty times.

“I was just on my way out, I dropped off your stuff,” Tate said, her voice low and her head ducked, hoping they could just pass each other. No such luck.

“Are you wearing my shirt!?” Ellie suddenly demanded, grabbing Tate by the arm.

“Yeah, uh, I spilled something on myself. Jameson told me to grab something, so I just grabbed something,” Tate mumbled.

“Jesus, Tate, you're such a child. Kane doesn't know anything about clothing, do you have any idea how much this cost? Take it off, right now,” Ellie demanded. Tate gasped.

Can this day get any worse?

“Ellie! I don't have anything else! You want me to drive home naked?” she asked. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“You're so over-dramatic. You have your sweater.”

“It doesn't close! Ellie, c'mon, I can have your shirt sent back tomorrow. I'll even dry clean it,” Tate offered.

“No. You'll ruin it. Take it off, now,” Ellie ordered her.

Something snapped in Tate.

“Fuck you, Eloise. It's a goddamn shirt, and I'm going to wear this goddamn shirt, all the goddamn way home,” she snarled, and then stomped in to the elevator.

She leaned against the wall as the old contraption clanked and rattled its way to the ground floor. She couldn't believe she had spoken like that to Ellie. She had never talked that way, to anyone. Jameson had loosened something in her, shaken her up. She now knew that he was Satan in a male model's body, but he had done something to her, there was no denying it.

She dragged her feet as she made her way outside. She didn't want to think of the repercussions of her actions. It was safe to assume that Ellie was already calling their father. That never ended well for Tate, under the best of circumstances, and these circumstances were complete shit.

Snow was coming down, adding to the layer that was already on the ground. She got to the back of her car, but then couldn't resist looking up. Jameson's apartment had huge floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out over the parking lot and street. Gorgeous on a sunny day.

She had a clear view of the inside of the loft. Ellie looked like she was throwing a temper tantrum, shaking her arms and head at a very still Jameson. He had his arms crossed, and almost looked bored. At first Tate couldn't figure it out – if Ellie was freaking out over the shirt, then she was totally overreacting. Usually, she was sugary-sweet to Jameson. Fake. But she looked like she was screaming. She was holding something in her hand, and it clicked in to place in Tate's mind.

She's shaking my panties in her boyfriend's face. Apparently, this night can get worse.

Tate knew she should be scared. That she should feel bad, or guilty, or some kind of upset. But she didn't. Her sister was a bitch, and Tate just didn't care any more. About anything. She let out a shaky breath, and it was like she was breathing for the first time ever.

I really, truly, honestly, completely, just don't give a fuck.

Ellie's form turned to look out the window, and saw Tate standing down there. She fumbled with a latch, and then a huge section of the window was swinging open. A black scrap of lace was thrown outside, and Tate watched her underwear float to the ground.

“You stupid whore! I'm telling Daddy! I'm telling him everything!” Ellie was shrieking, leaning halfway out the window.

Tate smiled.

“You know what, Ellie!?” she called back, her fingers working at the buttons on the front of the blouse. She slipped it off her shoulders. “I don't give a shit!” She let the shirt fall to the snow covered pavement, and then she stepped on it, grinding her heel in to the fabric.

“No! You bitch! You stupid bitch!” Ellie screamed, and then ran from the window. Tate could just picture her tearing down the hall. She laughed to herself.

“Good for you, baby girl!” Jameson laughed down at her.

Tate stared up at him, shivering as snow sprinkled down on her bare shoulders. She was standing in a parking lot, at eight o'clock at night, and it was freezing out, and she was only wearing her bra and a nerdy skirt. She had gone crazy.

And she absolutely loved it.

She raised her arm and gave Jameson the middle finger. He laughed again, and then blew her a kiss before walking away from the window. Tate scowled and hustled in to her car. As she pulled out of her spot, she saw Ellie running in to the parking lot, waving her arms like a crazy person. She scooped up the shirt from the ground, screaming something at Tatum's car as it drove away.

I don't care. I don't think I ever did.