~5~

Tate sat in a chair in an anteroom outside of Jameson's office. She had thought about blowing him off, but she didn't want him showing up at her apartment again. How had he known where she lived, anyway? And he had said he was scared of it – Mr. Prissy Pants had probably never been in a low-rent building.

Asshole.

She had no clue what was going on between them. He challenged her, she played his games. She could have walked away from him – the moment he entered that conference room, she could've walked out. When he touched her leg, she could have slapped him. Could have screamed and acted like a scared girl.

But something about him still got under her skin. There was truth to what Ang had said, her night with Jameson had greatly affected her. It not only set about a major change in her life, but had helped her discover a new side to herself. Tate liked to be treated roughly. She liked to be talked dirty to, liked to be pushed around. Of course, only on her terms, and only by men she liked. She didn't like Jameson Kane, and nothing with him was ever on her terms. He made her nervous. Her made her hot. He confused her.

“Ms. O'Shea?”

She snapped out of her daze. It was obvious that the secretary had been standing there for a while. Tate smiled and got up, following the woman in to a large office. Jameson didn't spare any expense – large windows with amazing views. Mahogany furniture. Impressive credentials in frames. Was that a real Mark Rothko on the wall!?

“I figured you would stand me up,” Jameson got out of his chair as the secretary backed out of the room. Tate shrugged and walked forward, flopping in to a chair across from his desk.

“As cute as stalking is, I figured I'd better nip this in the bud,” she replied. His eyes traveled up and down her form.

“You look different today. Every time I see you, it's like a different person,” he said. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing wide legged suit pants, ballet flats, and a blouse with puffed, cap sleeves. All black.

“I'm temping for an upscale salon today. What do you want?” Tate got to the point. He smiled at her.

“So impatient. How've you been? Did you finish school?” he inquired, taking his seat again.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He said he just wanted to talk, but then he would make comments about punishing her mouth, and other things. He said he didn't want to date her, but he seemed borderline obsessed with getting to know her. He made her mind spin in circles.

“I've been fan-fucking-tastic. I dropped out of school right after I left Harrisburg. Is that it?” she asked, surging to her feet.

“Sit down,” he commanded in a stern voice, and she immediately did so – shocking herself a little.

“What do you want, Kane? Let's not beat around the bush. You don't know me – you never cared to know me before, so what's the big deal now? If I disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, it wouldn't affect your life,” Tate pointed out.

“Maybe not. But I'm kind of used to getting what I want, and like I said, you intrigue me,” Jameson replied. She scooted to the edge of her chair.

“Okay, fine. My life story – I left home after the night I slept with you, didn't look back. My father called me, told me he wouldn't pay my tuition anymore. I told him to fuck off. My mother called me and told me I wasn't welcome in their home anymore. I told her to fuck off. Ellie called me and told me I was the biggest whore she'd ever met. I told her to go fuck herself. I dropped out of school. I got a job at a Chili's. I moved out my apartment. Got a second job cleaning motel rooms. Moved to a shittier apartment. Got my job at the bar – moved in with Rusty, to an even shittier apartment.

“But you know what's crazy? I was happy. I got to be me – I never got to be me, before I left. It was awesome. I drank a lot, I did a lot of drugs, I had a lot of sex, and it was all awesome. Now you're pretty much caught up to speed. Can I go?” she said it all rapid fire, speaking as fast as she could. Jameson leaned back in his chair.

“Do you still do drugs?” he asked. She rolled her eyes.

“Pot sometimes. I've tried ecstasy, and coke. Acid once, but not really in to all that stuff anymore. Never did anything super hard core,” she replied.

“Scandalous. How many guys have you slept with?”

“Too many to count,” she responded. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Stop being cute. How many?” he asked again. She shrugged.

“I don't keep count. A lot, but not, like, astronomical.”

“Any as good as me?”

“A couple.”

“Doubtful.”

Tate stared at him for a minute. Was he really insecure about how he stacked up? Seemed ridiculous. He'd probably been fucking his way through the Ford Modeling Agency. She knew there was no way she could compare to the women he must have slept with since their time together. She let out a deep sigh.

“Is that what you really want to know about? You can just ask,” she told him. “I'd had sex with one other person, before you. What you and I did was ..., intense. Probably not right on more levels than I like to acknowledge, but I liked it. It took me a while to admit that, you know. That I liked it. I thought something was wrong with me – you were a complete dick, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Then a couple months after I moved back here, after I moved out of the apartment Daddy had rented, I went to this party. Got a little drunk. This guy was hitting on me, really laying it on, and it was like the old Tate kept whispering 'ew, you can't stand here and listen to this, it's inappropriate! You'll get in trouble!', but another side of me started going, 'who cares? He's hot, you're horny – just fuck him, you don't have to answer to anyone but yourself' – and it was like something in me changed. I could do that, if I wanted to. No parents to worry about upsetting, no reputation to really care about, none of that stuff. Turned out the guy was horrible in bed, a total waste of time. But it helped me realize something – I like sex. I like having sex, I like being sexy. I like being single. I like being me, and fuck anyone who doesn't like it,” she finished.

“So, you couldn't stop thinking about it, huh? Do you still think about it?” Jameson asked. Tate groaned.

“You are the most self-obsessed asshole I've ever met,” she told him. He laughed.

“You may have done a one-eighty, but I'm still pretty much the same guy – just sharper claws,” he warned her.

“No, I don't think about it,” she answered his question. “I didn't even recognize you at first, in that kitchen. Took a while for it to click.”

“What about what happened in that conference room? Are you okay with that?” he asked. She blinked in surprise. He shifted gears so fast, completely dominated the conversation. If it could even be called that – she felt like she was being interrogated.

“Which part? You tricking me in to a job? Or feeling me up in front of a bunch of suits?” she asked for clarification. He smiled.

“I already know you liked it when I touched you, so how about when you took off your panties? I didn't make you do that – pretty bold move, I didn't expect it,” he said.

“Probably because you don't know me. Maybe that's an every day thing for me, not bold at all,” she pointed out. Jameson laughed.

“I don't think so. I challenged you. You didn't like it. You stepped up to the plate. I admire that,” he commented.

“Yeah, and I knocked it out of the park. Game over. I win. You lose,” Tate replied. His eyebrows shot up.

“You didn't win shit, the game isn't over yet. How far would you be willing to go?”

“I'm not playing games with you, Kane.”

“You started them. If you can't handle it, just say so.”

“I can handle anything you can dish out.”

They stared at each other for a minute, the tension thick in the air. She didn't know what was going on between them – she should get up and walk away. But it was like that night in his apartment all over again. What Tate should do, and what she was going to do, were two very different things. He fascinated her. She usually intimidated men, or was just a good-time girl to them. Rarely did she banter or spar with them, and if she did, she had no trouble ripping them a new ass hole. Jameson, though, was unrippable.

“I want to hear about the best sex you've ever had,” he switched the subject again. Tate laughed.

“Are you sure? It's not you,” she teased. It was a complete lie, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

“I'll be the judge of that. Let's hear it,” he said, leaning back in his chair. She thought for a second, leaning back as well.

“It was probably with my friend Ang, like two years ago or something. I had a boyfriend, but he found out that I had slept with his best friend. It was before we had started dating, but he didn't care. Totally freaked out in a club, started screaming that I was the biggest slut he'd ever met, just a huge whore. He kept shouting it to anyone who would listen,” Tate started. Jameson sighed.

“So your friend Ang came to your aide after a nasty, embarrassing break up. Comforted you, wanted you to feel good about yourself,” he tried to fill in the story. Tate threw her head back and laughed.

“Not so much. Ang dragged him outside and beat the shit out of him. Pretty hot. We fucked right there in the alley. Ang bent me over a staircase and explained to my boyfriend, in graphic detail, what a good fuck he was missing out on by dumping me,” she finished.

“Wow. That was the best sex you ever had?” Jameson asked. She shrugged.

“Easily in the top five. Most of those are Ang,” she supplied.

“Must be an animal in bed.”

“Yeah – he also has a huge dick.”

She was trying to shock him on purpose, now. Tate was very comfortable talking about sex, and in her experience, men tended to get nervous when confronted with a woman who talked the way she did. Not Jameson Kane, however. He nodded at her comment, showing all the interest of someone listening to a weather report.

“That does help. Are you two still together?” he asked.

“We were never together. We're just friends who happen to sleep together, when the mood strikes us,” she explained.

“And how does one become a friend like that to you?” Jameson inquired. Tate snickered.

“Why, Mr. Kane, do you want to be fuck buddies with me?” she laughed.

“Leave out the buddy part,” he responded. She leaned forward in her chair.

“Not be you. Is that what this is really about? You want to have sex with me?” she asked.

“Of course I do. You can lie to me all you want, but I have no problem admitting that you are still, to this day, probably the hottest pussy I've ever had,” he said, his voice casual.

Tate inhaled sharply and choked a little. Ang was pretty blunt with her, but very few other men ever talked to her quite like that – it did something to her blood pressure. Hearing Jameson say it, did something to her. She rubbed her thighs together and took a deep breath.

“That's very flattering, Kane. Doesn't mean there will ever be a repeat,” she replied.

“Why not?”

“Because. It's a bad idea. You were a massive dick. I'm a different person. It wouldn't be the same,” she suggested. He nodded.

“You're right. It'll probably be much better, you were so inexperienced last time,” he said bluntly. She let out a snort – she was offended.

“If I was so 'inexperienced' and am still the best pussy you've ever had, then you have been sleeping with some very subpar women,” Tate pointed out.

“I'm beginning to think I have. Why is it a bad idea? I mean, even if those things are true, what do they have to do with us sleeping together? You don't want a boyfriend, I don't want a girlfriend, so me being a dick and you being different has nothing to do with us screwing,” Jameson pointed out.

Hmmm, he has a good point.

She shook her head.

“How about I just don't want to.”

“Liar.”

“You're like this super sexy, tycoon, wolf, man, person, thing – you can sleep with any girl you want. What's the big deal about me?” Tate asked, picking a paperweight up off his desk and tossing it between her hands.

“Most girls want something from me. A commitment, a connection, a trophy. Mostly I just want sex. Maybe someone I can treat badly from time to time,” he said. “I think you're looking for similar things. I think we could help each other.”

That caught her off guard. Despite their history, they didn't actually know each other very well; yet he had her all figured out. His words were like poetry to her, and at first, all she could think about was saying yes. Yes, to anything he wanted. And his words paired with the smoldering look on his face made him all that harder to resist. It was a look that said he knew exactly what she wanted, and he knew exactly how to give it to her. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves.

“You know what,” Tate began, standing up and sitting the paperweight down. “I think we're done here. You wanted to talk to me, you did. You wanted to hear how I've been doing, I told you. You asked if I would sleep with you, I declined. Are we finished?”

He stared up at her, a smile spreading across his lips. Even though he looked at her like he was picturing her naked, he still managed to have a slight look of disdain about him. Like he knew something she didn't, and was gloating about it. Holding it over her head, out of her reach. She hated that feeling.

“Yes, I suppose so. When your curiosity gets the better of you, come back and see me,” Jameson told her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse.

“Goodbye, Kane,” she said before walking out of the room at a brisk pace.

Tatum hadn't gotten to the point she was in life by lying to herself. He was right – she was curious. She did want to sleep with him, wanted to see if it would be the same. If it would be better. There really wasn't any reason why they couldn't, or shouldn't, other than that she didn't want to let him win. If withholding sex was the only weapon she had, then she would wield it with a vengeance.

Maybe ...,

When she got outside, she dug her phone out of her purse and called Ang. She was walking so fast, her hair was bouncing all over the place, but she couldn't slow down. If she hadn't been worried about looking completely crazy, she would've started running. She felt like she had been infused with energy, with electricity. Ang didn't pick up the first time and she swore at his voicemail, and then called him again. He picked up after the second ring.

“What's up, chica?” he sounded a little breathless.

“Are you busy right now!?” Tate burst out, weaving through the afternoon lunch crowd.

“Yes. What's up? You sound like you're jogging,” he told her.

“I almost am, I'm walking through downtown. How busy? Can I come over?” she asked.

“Not a good idea, sweetie. Is it an emergency?” Ang asked. She finally stopped walking and dragged herself out of the flow of people, over to a building. She leaned against the wall.

“Kind of.”

“What type of emergency is a 'kind of' emergency?” he asked.

“I met with Jameson today. He wanted to have a 'talk' with me, at his office. I just left,” she spoke softly in to the phone. Ang started laughing.

“Ooohhh, it's that kind of emergency. I can't fuck you right now, kitten. Normally I jump at the opportunity to fulfill your needs, but I'm prepping for filming right now,” he laughed. Tate rolled her eyes.

“It's not like that, I pretty much argued with him the whole time,” she snapped at Ang. He snorted.

“And you love to fight. Exactly how wet are you right now? On a scale – like, pleasantly aware? Or need to lose your underwear?” he asked. She chewed on her lip and looked down at herself.

Definitely the latter.

“Could your film use an extra today?” she managed to laugh in a quiet voice.

“Oh, babe, you've really got it bad. What's the big deal? You want him, go get him. I've never seen you hold back from any guy. Why this guy?” Ang asked. She shrugged.

“Because, he's Jameson Kane. He's like my worst nightmare and my biggest dream, all rolled in to one. Because if he wants me, and I don't want him, I win – but if he wants me, and I sleep with him, he wins,” she babbled.

“Baby, the only thing you're losing out on is good sex. Why does it have to be a competition? Play together, then everybody wins,” Ang suggested.

Tate stared out in to the street. She had been thinking of it as a competition – Jameson had used her once, and she wanted to get back at him. But Ang was right, once she wanted a man, she didn't hold back. And she really wanted Jameson. She had to reconcile that in her mind, or make the two opposing thoughts work together some how.

“Maybe you have a point,” she mumbled.

“I'm almost always right, babe. Think of it as closure. Or make-up sex. Or oh! An anger-bang, getting back at him for making you feel bad! You do love angry sex,” Ang reminded her. She rolled her eyes.

“God. What if I sleep with him, though, and it's horrible? Or weird? Or he, like, falls in love with me?” Tate asked, chewing on her lip.

“Jesus, when did you turn in to such a girl? The way you describe him, the man sounds incapable of having bad sex – or falling in love, for that matter. Just make sure you don't lose your heart. Big, bad, demons don't marry little girls,” Ang warned her. She laughed.

“I'm not even sure I have a heart to lose anymore,” she replied.

“It's there. Buried underneath piles of used condoms and Jack Daniel's bottles, it's in there somewhere,” he assured her.

“You're gross.”

“Look, I gotta go, sweets. Pedro's all lubed up and ready to shoot. Go have nasty, hot, sex with that man. Make him worship the ground Tatum O'Shea walks on. You know, be yourself. Then walk away like it ain't no thang. And then give me all the details. Take care,” he instructed her. She sighed.

“You can't just leave me like this – what do I do? Do I go back there? Do I wait for him to call me? I don't know how to be like this,” she whined. Ang started laughing.

“Oh jesus, you really are strung out for him. What I wouldn't give to be with you right now, you'd probably let me do all those things to you that you normally won't let me,” he laughed.

“If you come get me and save me from the big, bad, demon, I just might,” she told him in a breathy voice.

“Stop it, no teasing me. Seriously. Just do whatever feels natural. If you want to call him, call him. If you want him to call you, wait. If you want to show up at his office wearing nothing but a trench coat, send me pictures. Ciao for now,” he prattled off and then the phone line went dead.

Tate huffed out a breath and stared down at the blank screen on her phone. She needed a plan, if she was going to do this – Jameson Kane got under her skin, ripped her apart. She needed some stitching in place, before she dealt with him. She wanted to sleep with him, wanted him to want her like he'd never wanted any woman ever before, wanted him obsessed with her. But she also wanted to be able to walk away whenever she wanted; which she would do, whenever she got bored. Just like he had been able to do with her.

It's still a game, and I am going to win.

Her phone suddenly rang in her hand, startling her. It was the temp agency calling.

“Hi Carla, I know about the spa, I was going to head there in a little bit,” Tate assured the woman.

“This isn't about that – we've had another request for you! Pretty impressive, Tatum. Kraven and Dunn Brokerage called, they need a data entry clerk. Heard you were good. It would have the potential for long term work!” Carla was excited, her voice even breathier than normal.

“Thanks, Carla, I'll think about it,” Tate responded through clenched teeth. She listened to the woman babble for a while, and then made her goodbyes.

She squared her shoulders and headed back to Jameson's building. While she was in the elevator, she hurried to slick on some lip gloss and ruffle up her hair. Then she smudged her eyeliner a little, to give her eyes a darker, sexier look. She had looked polished earlier. She wanted to look a little messy now. She strode onto his floor and right past his secretary, who yelled at her as Tate burst in to his office.

“My, that didn't take very long,” Jameson laughed, hanging up a phone that had been pressed to his ear. Tate shut the office door on the squawking secretary.

“Why do you want me to be your data entry clerk?” she demanded.

“Because if you're busy with all those pathetic little side jobs, it'll make it harder for me to turn you to the dark side,” he teased. She walked up to his desk.

“I'm not about to take a job just so you can try to have your way with me in some shitty cubicle,” she informed him. He quirked up an eyebrow.

“You'll let your friend fuck you in an alley, but I can't sexually harass you in a cubicle?” he asked. Tate actually laughed – she couldn't help it.

“Look, if you want to see me or whatever, then come see me. You know where I live, you know where I work. I don't need to work in your office. I've played the secretary that the boss is fucking – it isn't fun. Most office women have very sharp insecurities and don't take kindly to the slutty new girl,” she told him. He shook his head.

“I don't want to have to track you down at every ridiculous job you have; bicycle tours? You've gotta be shitting me. I want your schedule clear, so I can see you whenever I want,” he informed her. She crossed her arms.

“For someone who doesn't want a girlfriend, sounds like you plan on spending an awful lot of time with me,” she pointed out. Jameson finally stood up.

“I just want to get to know you, mostly in the naked sense. You're the one who keeps bringing up relationship status. I'm telling you, right now, that will not happen, so don't get your hopes up,” he said, his voice serious.

“So what, you just want me to work in your building, hiding in some dark corner, like a dirty secret? Not very enticing,” Tate told him. He shook his head.

“Not at all. Like I said, I would just like you ..., available to me, whenever I want,” Jameson tried to explain. She shook her head.

“Well that's impossible. I have to work. I live in the real world, Kane, I have to make money, I have to pay rent,” she informed him.

“And I'm offering you a job here,” he responded.

“I am not going to work here. Besides, I love the bar, I would never leave it,” she said.

“So quit all the temp bullshit, the tours, the dog walking, ice cream trucks, drug running, and whatever else you do,” Jameson suggested. She laughed.

“And live off three nights a week!? I make pretty good tips, but I'm not quite there yet,” Tate laughed. His eyes were starting to get hard, she noticed. It was a look she hadn't seen in a long time, but she remembered it well.

“Then just work here,” he said again. She shook her head.

“No. I'm not doing that,” she replied. He rolled his eyes.

“You know what? Fine. I'll pay you. For every day you miss out on a job because of me, I'll fucking pay you for it,” Jameson snapped out. Her eyebrows shot up.

“You'd pay me, to miss work, just so you could hang out with me and potentially have sex with me?” she clarified. He nodded.

“Definitely have sex, and yes, If that's what it takes.”

“That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're gorgeous and rich – you could probably find women who would pay you to have sex with them,” Tate pointed out. He finally smiled again.

“Gorgeous, huh. Flattery will get you nowhere with me. And I make more than enough money, I don't want to get paid to have sex,” he replied.

“But you don't mind paying for it?”

“Not at all.”

“You don't find that strange? Paying someone for sex?”

“I find it exciting.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“But if I let you pay me, and we have sex, that would make me a whore,” she laid out the points bluntly. He shrugged.

“Do you really have a problem with that?” Jameson asked.

Tate had walked some fine lines in her adult life, done some things she wasn't 100% proud of, but she had never turned tricks. She liked sex, liked to use it as a weapon sometimes, but never to get paid. One time, when she was around twenty-one, she and some friends had been hard up for a good time. She wound up blowing a guy for some coke, and she'd felt guilty about it for days.

Was it still a game, or was it just being a whore? Fine lines were so hard to see. She was scared of what would happen to her if she stepped over that line. How far down the rabbit hole was she willing to fall?

“I'm not sure. I think I do. I'm not some prostitute. You can't just pay me, and then I have to fuck you whenever you snap your fingers, or blow all your friends in a circle jerk,” she told him. He laughed.

“Well, I don't normally attend circle jerks, so you should be fine on that point, and I wouldn't even have to pay you, and you'd still fuck me whenever I snapped my fingers,” he countered.

One point, Jameson Kane.

“Two thousand dollars,” she blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“I quit all my other jobs – except for the bar. That means all my days will be free, I'll be 'available to you' virtually every single day. My salary for that is two thousand dollars, a week,” Tate informed him. He narrowed his eyes.

“Five hundred dollars,” he counter offered. She shook her head.

“Don't insult me, Kane.”

“One thousand.”

“Call me when you want to play for real,” she started to walk away. He grabbed her arm.

“One and a half,” he offered, an evil smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She gave the sweetest smile she could manage back to him.

“Two and a half,” she amended her original price. His smile spread to the rest of his mouth.

“Deal.”

“I'm not some street corner whore, either. I'm getting paid to be available to you – not spread my legs whenever you're in the mood. You had better respect that, or I'm gonna Taser you in the balls,” Tate warned him.

“Kinky.”

“I'm fucking serious.”

“I would never force you to do something, if you really didn't want to do it. But, you can't be a tease. I think you're hot, Tate. I can remember how hot you were, and when I decide it's time for us to sleep together, you better not pull some bullshit and try to stop it from happening,” Jameson told her.

He's going to decide when it's time?

She smirked at him. He really didn't know her at all. She stepped up close to him, pressing her entire body against his front. She ran her hands over his chest and was pleased to feel solid muscle underneath his shirt. Of course, his frame had looked good under his expensive suit, and she remembered him having a good body seven years ago, but it was nice to have it confirmed. She moved her hands under his jacket, and around to his back. She purred low in her throat and rubbed herself against him, leaning in to place a long lick against his throat.

“Do I seem like a tease?” she asked, her voice husky.

She felt his hand work its way in to her hair, and then he was jerking back, hard, forcing her to look straight up at him. She didn't make a sound, refused to let him see any kind of surprise or fear or want on her face. Just looked at him with hooded eyes as he held her head in place. He looked almost angry. She had gotten to him, ruffled him a little.

Point to me.

“You look like a girl who doesn't know she's playing with fire.”

“You're a sucker, you know,” Tate laughed, shaking herself away from him. He let go of her hair. “I could be horrible in bed – I could just be blowing smoke up your ass. Or maybe I'm too kinky for you, who knows. How do you feel about inflatable sheep?”

“They pop too easily,” Jameson responded. She burst out laughing.

“You know, Kane, we might just get along,” she snickered.

“I was thinking that myself. Maybe buddies is the right word. We should have been friends a long time ago,” he said. She nodded.

“Maybe. But if things hadn't happened the way they did, I wouldn't be this person. You wouldn't want to be my friend,” Tate pointed out.

“This person was always inside of you, maybe I could've helped bring it out sooner,” he replied. She shrugged.

“Pointless now. So, buddy, what would you like to do now? I do a good walking tour of the Harvard Yard,” she offered.

“Is it better than your blowjobs?” he asked. She thought for a second.

“Probably not. I mean, it's a pretty good tour, but sucking dick is, like, my specialty,” she replied in an overly-serious, sarcastic, voice. Jameson laughed.

“God, I hope so. Call that salon, tell them you won't be coming in today. Call your temp agency, too. What was the figure we agreed on? Two-thousand dollars?” he asked, making his way back behind his desk.

“Two thousand, five hundred,” she corrected him.

“Clever girl. Now get out of here, you've wasted enough of my time and some of us have real jobs – not all of us can be whores. Be ready at eight,” he instructed her.

“What's at eight?” she asked.

“You're coming over to my house.”

*

Tate went for drinks with Ang first, to steady her nerves. She let him prattle on about his porn shoot, and then she spilled all the details on her dirty banter with Jameson. Ang had her repeat the “punish your mouth” story – it was one of her favorite parts, too. They agreed that she should play it cool, just see what Jameson's deal was, what he was thinking. And then she could pounce. Blow his mind, see if he was able to blow hers, and then they would go from there. While drinking, she got a text from Jameson, giving her his address.

“You're so tense, it's hilarious,” Ang laughed, massaging her shoulders while they waited outside for a taxi.

“He makes me nervous.”

“Did I ever make you nervous?”

“Of course you did,” Tate replied.

“Really? You never acted like it,” Ang pointed out, moving around to stand in front of her. She guffawed.

“Ang – you're frickin' gorgeous, and the first thing you ever said to me was 'you've got the perfect look for facials, wanna do porn?'; of course you made me nervous!” she chuckled. He shrugged.

“Well, you always seem so comfortable around me. You never get all stupid and brainless, like you are for him,” he replied. She smiled and pressed her hand against his cheek.

“Oh my god, Ang, are you jealous?” she asked. He tried to pull away and she put both hands on his face, following him as he moved backwards.

“Shut up, you stupid cow. Go fuck your abusive billionaire, have a blast,” he snorted, batting her hands away.

“You'll always be my fave, you know that. C'mon, we can go have a quickie, real fast,” she laughed, backing him up against a wall. He grabbed her by her wrists.

“I'm not jealous, Tate,” he said, staring down at her. She stopped laughing. Ang very rarely ever said her name. Baby, honey, sweetie, kitten, fuck-bunny, everything under the sun – when he said 'Tate', she knew it was time to listen.

“What's wrong?” she asked. He sighed, pulling her hands to his chest.

“Look, I'm very excited that you're going to be fulfilling a fantasy tonight,” he said. She went to argue, but he squeezed her wrists. “I just want you to be very careful.” Tate frowned.

“I'm always careful, you know that,” she replied, but he shook his head.

“It's all fun and games with the two of us, but this guy is new – he can say whatever he wants, but he doesn't know you like I do. The way you've talked about him ..., sounds like running with scissors. Play with him, hurt him, let him hurt you a little, but be careful,” Ang instructed her.

“You've been psyching me up for this for the last couple days, and now it sounds like you're trying to talk me out of it,” she told him. He shook his head.

“No, I want you to have fun – but only fun. You've got this look in your eye, and it spells trouble. You think you're playing a game. Don't lose to him.”

The cab driver whistled at her, but Tate stayed were she was, blinking up at Ang. He was staring down at her, his eyebrows drawn together. Not a natural look for him. She smoothed her fingers across his forehead and down the side of his face. She felt so comfortable with his skin, like it was her own.

“I never lose,” she said with a smile before giving him a quick kiss. Ang rolled his eyes.

“That's the worst part about you, you know. You think you're winning, when really you're always losing,” he replied, and then spun her around, smacking her on the ass.

She stumbled to the cab and got in the backseat, waving an arm out the window at him. He waved back and then wandered back in to the bar. She frowned after him. He had never shown concern like that before, and he had been present for many a pre-date-jitters drink. She hoped it wasn't jealousy. She couldn't handle that, not from Ang.

She gave the address to the driver and they took off. It was going to be a long drive. She tried not to think about the cost. She had been living on the fringe for so long, that buying a vehicle was something she didn't even think about, it wasn't even on her radar. She had kinda assumed Jameson might send a car for her, but no offer had been made to do that – maybe he was more of a liberal kind of guy.

He lived all the way out in Weston, the wealthiest suburb in Boston. One of the richest towns in America. Figures. She lived in an apartment in North Dorcester, right in Boston. Kind of sketchy at times. She had been to Weston before, but with her parents, and since then, she'd never had a reason to go back.

When the taxi started pulling down a long, wooded driveway, Tate tried to not to gag at the sixty dollar tab and began rooting around in her purse. There went some rent money. She wondered if Jameson would actually give her any money, or if it had all been play. She was just starting to uncrumple some twenty dollars bills as the taxi parked, when the front passenger door swung open.

“Here you are, and thank you,” a crisp, cultured sounding voice said, followed by a hand holding out two one-hundred dollar bills. Tate and the driver stared at the cash, both a little shocked. The money was exchanged and then her door was pulled open, a hand reaching in for her. Tate took it and was pulled to her feet.

A slender man stood in front of her, wearing an impeccable suit. Very expensive looking. He wasn't a very big man in general; she was around five-foot-six, and he wasn't that much taller than her. Maybe five-foot-ten, give or take an inch. His dark hair was gelled and styled, brushed to the side. He looked like something out of GQ magazine – very handsome, with fair skin and stormy blue eyes. He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Hello, Ms. O'Shea. I am Sanders, Mr. Kane's assistant,” he said in a polite voice. There was a hint of an accent there, but she couldn't place it. Not Boston, but a distinct burr, something else East Coast-y, or maybe even European. His fricatives were sharp, his voice soft.

He should do books on tape.

“Hi, I'm Tatum,” she greeted him, holding out a hand. He clasped it briefly, not really shaking it, just pressing his skin to hers and then letting go.

“Welcome. Please, follow me,” he instructed, and then turned to lead the way.

She hadn't gotten a good look at the house on the drive up. She gaped at it now. It was like something from a hundred years ago. Huge, and gorgeous. Lots of brick, with white pillars in the front. She wondered if Jameson had bought it when he moved to Boston, or if it had been in the family. It looked like something that would be on the National Historical Registry.

“Were you with him at the office, today?” Tate asked as they crunched across the pebble stone driveway.

“No.”

“Do you go in to Boston a lot?”

“No.”

“I got the impression he travels a lot, do you go with him on those trips?”

“No.”

She smirked at the assistant's back as he held open the front door for her.

“I'm going to assume that living with Kane is what has given you this anti-social personality disorder,” she said in a sweet voice. The man didn't even blink at her statement.

“I had this disorder long before Mr. Kane. He's in the library, through that door,” Sanders told her, gesturing along the wall.

She gasped, taking in the huge entry way. Vaulted ceilings, original hard wood floors, a chandelier that probably dated back to the civil war. A huge sitting room opened off to her right, and two large, sliding doors were shut on the room to her left. Farther down the wall, just past a grand staircase, was another door, standing slightly ajar. She could see a glow, like candle light, spilling out in to the hall.

Tate had come from money, grown up in a gorgeous home, but it had been a long time since that life. It felt strange now, to be surrounded by such opulence. The rug she was standing on probably cost more than everything she owned.

“You know, Sandy,” she started, reaching out and grabbing onto his shoulder. He frowned while she steadied herself and bent over, undoing the straps on her shoes. “I think we're gonna get along, just fine.”

With her shoes dangling from her hand, Tate tip toed down the entry way and pushed through the library door. There was a roaring fire in a huge fireplace on the far wall; it was providing the only light in the room. Built-in bookshelves surrounded her, and there were two huge, over stuffed, wing-backed chairs pulled up close to the fire. Off to the right of them stood a ridiculously huge, ornate, gold-inlaid desk. Jameson was standing behind it, holding some papers, and he looked up at her entrance.

“You made it. Quite a cab ride,” he commented as she walked towards him. She nodded.

“Forty-five minutes. I won't be doing that often,” she warned him. He laughed.

“You'll do it often enough. Drink?” he asked, setting down his work and coming out from around the desk.

“God, yes. Your assistant gave me freezer burn,” she laughed, watching Jameson as he walked over to a small bar.

She stayed near his desk and stared at him, letting her eyes wander over his form. Every time she had seen him, he had been wearing expensive suits – blazers, ties, trousers, shiny shoes, and shinier watches. Now, he was in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. No shoes. No socks.

Tate had never once seen him so dressed down, not even when he'd been dating her sister. She was a little shocked. It gave him a whole different look. He almost – though not quite – looked approachable. He was too good looking to ever truly look like a mere mortal. But still. She found herself wanting to peel his shirt off so she could lick every inch of his skin.

“Ah, Sanders. Yes. You'll grow to love him, almost everyone does. What would you like?” Jameson asked. When she didn't answer, he turned towards her. “What? What are you staring at?”

“You're barefoot,” she blurted out, staring down at his feet. He laughed, looking down as well.

“Yes. So are you,” he replied. She wiggled her toes at him.

“Yeah, but I expect that from me. Mr. Kane doesn't walk around barefoot. He has people to walk around for him,” she teased, looking back up at him. He snorted.

“Mr. Kane's feet hurt after a long day. You look nice,” Jameson commented, his eyes wandering over her. She had put on a fitted black dress, for her cocktail hour with Ang – a little overdressed for an evening in the country.

“Thank you. I went out for drinks with a friend, before coming here,” she told him. He laughed.

“Pre-gaming? Scared of coming out here?” he asked, turning back to the bar and picking up crystal bottles.

“No. Just drinks with a friend,” Tate replied, spinning in a slow circle and looking around the room.

“The redheaded roommate?” he asked. She felt something cool, and turned to see him running a glass full of ice and liquid down the side of her arm. She took it from him.

“No. Ang,” she answered, taking a sip. She tried not to make a face. Gin and tonic.

“Ah, the half-man, half-donkey friend. How was the tripod?” Jameson asked, making himself a drink, as well. She laughed.

“Careful, almost sounds like jealousy, and I got enough of that from him,” Tate joked, heading over and falling in to one of the chairs. She let her shoes drop to the floor and she tucked her feet up underneath herself.

“Tripod-man is jealous? I'm flattered,” he replied, taking the chair next to hers.

“Not really jealous, I guess. Just ..., cautious. On my behalf,” she tried to explain.

“Understandable.”

“So, how did you find this place, Kane? Daddy's will?” Tate asked. She knew Jameson and his father hadn't had the best relationship.

“Something like that. Had it almost completely remodeled a couple years ago,” he replied.

“Oh wow. Were you here for that?”

“For a little while.”

“So you came to Boston a couple years ago.”

“As my answer would imply.”

She stayed silent, sipping at her drink. He had been in Boston a couple years ago, but hadn't contacted her. She still thought it was strange. If he was so in to her, so obsessed with that one time they'd been together, why hadn't he looked her up? He would've had to assume that she'd still be in Boston, still going to school. She let out a sigh, tried not to think about it.

“Did you -,” she started, but then he cleared his throat.

“I didn't call you because I didn't think about it. I had just acquired a shit ton of property and money, I was a little busy. You weren't even on my radar. Women were the last thing on my mind,” Jameson said, reading her mind.

“It's probably a good thing – a couple years ago, I was even crazier than I am now,” Tate laughed.

“Jesus.”

“I had a rough patch there, from about twenty to twenty-three. Like I was making up for lost time, or something. I just did everything and anything I could think of,” she told him.

“Hmmm, sounds interesting. Now I wish I had called you,” he responded, and she laughed again.

“What about you? What have you been doing?” she asked. He took a deep breath.

“I started my own brokerage firm, not long after I left Harrisburg. Invested in a start up film company, made a bundle. Sold my firm, moved to Germany for a year to head a new firm there. My dad died, and I inherited all of his businesses. Moved back, lived in Los Angeles for a while. Then Manhattan. Made a lot of investments. I do a lot of consulting work, now,” he summed everything up.

“Wow. I moved from one bad neighborhood to another, while you were moving across the globe,” she laughed. Jameson nodded.

“Your life story is much shittier than mine,” he agreed. She glared at him.

“But probably a lot funner,” Tate countered, finishing off her drink.

“I highly doubt that. Have you ever had sex with a supermodel while sailing through the Mediterranean on your 250 foot yacht?” he asked. Tate thought for a second.

“No. I gave a handjob in an Arby's bathroom once, though. Kinda like the same thing,” she told him with a bright smile.

“I stand corrected. Your life leaves me in awe,” he chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Tired?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and getting comfy.

She had expected to be a lot more nervous around him. For the two years he had dated her sister, Tate had always been a nervous mess around Jameson. She was surprised to find that she felt almost comfortable. Something about knowing she was with someone that she could say absolutely anything to, anything at all, and he most likely wouldn't be shocked or offended, comforted her.

“Very tired. It was a long day. I'm also involved in mergers and acquisitions. Sometimes people are not so eager to give up their stuff,” Jameson said in a gruff voice.

“Poor baby,” she cooed at him. He snorted.

“Shut up. How is Ellie?” he asked.

She went still. She hadn't expected him to ask about her family. Sure, Tate had asked about his house and life, but in a general, “let's make conversation before I explode and rape you”, kind of way. She knew he didn't care about her, or her family.

“Fine, I guess. We don't speak. My mother gets nostalgic after a couple bottles of wine, calls me, keeps me updated on the family. Last I heard, Ellie's pregnant,” Tate replied, turning to stare in to the fireplace.

“First child?”

“Yup.”

“Married, I assume.”

“Within a year of you two splitting up.”

“She was always ambitious.”

Tate didn't respond, staring at the flames. She got lost in thought. She hadn't seen or spoken to her sister in seven years. Most of the time she didn't think about it, but once in a while, the realization slapped her in the face. She hadn't spoken to her father, either, and the only times she spoke with her mother was when the woman was drunk off her face. God, she hated thinking about them.

There was coldness against her arm again, and she looked up to see Jameson handing her a fresh drink. She hadn't even heard him move. She smiled up at him, taking the glass. He didn't move away, though; just kept staring down at her. She kept her eyes trained on his while she took a drink.

“Ambitious, but boring as fuck. I think I started hating her, long before you and I happened,” he said. Tate chuckled.

“Same here,” she agreed.

“But you. You were always something else,” he continued. She laughed.

“Me? You never even noticed me. You were Jameson Kane. My family practically worshiped you. I was always shoved in to the background. You didn't even know my age, that night, and you had been with Ellie for two years,” she pointed out. He shrugged.

“So. I knew you were sexy. That first time I ever saw you, when Ellie brought me home to meet your parents. You walked in the front door. I can remember it so clearly – you were in tight running shorts, arguing with someone on your phone. I can remember thinking that I wanted to peel your shorts off of you and wrap them around your neck,” he told her.

Who knew?

“Huh. That would've been an interesting introduction,” Tate joked.

“And then the night you and I slept together. Ellie and I'd had a big fight. She never told me you were coming over. You walked in, in those preppy sweaters you always wore, and your tight skirt. Long, black hair. So different from her. Sitting at the kitchen table, trying to be an adult with me. You had no idea, but I knew then that something was going to happen,” Jameson said. She laughed.

“No way, Kane. I was whining and complaining like a little girl. You were probably annoyed with me. You didn't even try anything, till you caught me with my shirt off,” she reminded him. He shrugged.

“What can I say, I'm a gentleman at heart,” he replied. She laughed some more.

“Bullshit.”

“No, I guess I'm not, not even a little bit. You just ..., there was something about you, the way you would always look at me. So shy. I wanted to hurt you a little bit.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Tate leaned over the side of her chair a little, setting her glass on the floor. Then she sat forward, arching her neck to look up at him. He stared straight back at her, the fire casting shadows on one side of his face and burning up the other side.

He looks like Satan.

“I never did anything to you, why did you want to hurt me?” she asked. He chuckled.

“Not like how you're thinking.”

“Then like how?”

He reached a hand out. He was gentle as he wrapped his fingers around her throat, and then he squeezed, just enough for her to feel the pressure. He began pulling and she was forced to follow. He pulled her to her feet, so she was standing right in front of him. Then he applied more pressure, his short, sharp, nails biting in to her skin.

“Like this,” Jameson said, still staring straight in to her eyes. She took quick breaths through her nose.

“Maybe you should've just asked,” Tate whispered. “Maybe I would've been okay with it.” He shook his head.

“No. Not back then. You weren't ready, and I wasn't ready to be that person for you,” he replied. She raised an eyebrow.

“And you think you can be that person now?” she asked.

His fingers loosened and his hand trailed down her neck, then continued down to her chest. He pressed his palm flat against her, right over her breasts, and she had a flashback to their night together. She shivered.

“Yes, I do. I remember you being very concerned about Ellie, last time. Wouldn't shut up about her. I've been in threesomes where the women talked less about each other than you did about Ellie. Is that going to be an issue this time?” he asked. Tate laughed.

“You're the one who keeps bringing her up. Maybe you're actually more interested in meeting up with her,” she teased. Jameson rolled his eyes and stepped way from her, heading back towards his desk.

“God, what a horrible thought, Eloise O'Shea, seven years later. Some how, I assume she hasn't turned out quite as ..., grown up as you,” he said, raking his eyes over Tate's body.

“I couldn't give two shits about Ellie. Maybe I should look up all her ex boyfriends, sleep with all of them, really stick it to her,” Tate snorted, picking her glass up off the floor and taking a drink.

“Please don't. I know for a fact I was the wildest person she ever slept with, and even then, I kept things on a very tight leash for her. I would hate for you to waste your time. Now, I've been thinking about our terms. Two-thousand dollars seems like an awful lot of money, when what you said is right – how do I know I'm not getting skunked? I think I need to sample the goods first,” Jameson said, sitting behind his desk. She laughed.

“You've sampled my goods once already. And the salary was two-thousand, five hundred,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes. But those goods are out of date now, and I didn't get a nearly big enough sample. Like your mouth, for example. How can I guarantee you even know what to do with it?” he asked, steepling his hands in front of his chest. She raised an eyebrow at him and sat her drink back down on the floor.

Challenge accepted.

“You know, Kane,” she started, taking slow strides to reach his desk. “You have the strangest way of trying to get things. If you'd just ask, half the time you'd receive, instead of playing these silly games.”

“But where's the fun in that? And you started these games,” he reminded her. Tate hiked up her dress a little and lifted her knee to his desk.

“I didn't realize they'd go on for this long,” she replied, lifting her other knee. She bent forward and crawled across the desk towards him. He didn't move.

“They're going to go on for a lot longer,” he warned her. She reached out, putting her hand on his knee.

“For how long?” she asked, her voice husky as she slid her hand up his thigh, moving as slowly as possible.

“However long it takes for you to realize who the winner will always be,” Jameson replied.

Before she could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. She didn't move, kept her eyes locked to his, her hand an inch away from his crotch. He stared back, a smile spreading across his face. He looked like the devil. She suddenly got nervous.

Oh no.

“Who is that?” she asked, when there was another knock.

“I forgot, a business associate is stopping by, just to go over some stuff,” Jameson explained. His voice was too soft, too easy going. Tate leaned back, sitting on her heels.

“Oh. Okay. Want me to leave?” she offered, confused. He shook his head.

“No, you can stay in here. In fact, I have a wonderful idea,” he started.

Now she was really nervous.

“Oh god. What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the door.

“You want two-thousand, five hundred dollars. You have to prove to me that you're worth it,” he said.

“I thought we were doing that,” she pointed out. He laughed.

“Too easy! Now you've got me worried. A handjob in my library? Don't I even get Arby's?” he joked. She smacked him on the chest.

“Shut up,” she growled. He lurched forward in his chair, his face a couple inches away from her own.

“Mr. Greene is going to walk in here, in about two minutes. We are going to go over some property info – he's buying my farm in Vermont. If you can make me come, before he leaves the room, I will agree to your salary,” Jameson offered.

She stared at him. A little shocked. A little surprised. A lot intrigued. Make him come? While another man was in the room? How was she going to do that? How had they gone from drinks and light banter, to acts of sexual indecency in front of a virtual stranger?

“You want me to jack you off in front of some dude,” Tate clarified. Jameson roared with laughter.

“God, no, I have long since out grown any sort of voyeuristic phase. You have about one minute,” he warned her, as there was another knock at the door.

Her breathing picked up. She wasn't even thinking about the money. The look on his face said he thought she couldn't do it. She wanted to wipe it off his face. She smirked at him and moved, swinging her legs towards him. He had to roll his chair away as she scooted to the edge of the desk and hopped off, standing in the V of his legs. Jameson raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as she lowered herself to her knees. She backed herself under the desk – it was huge, with enough space for her to almost fully kneel under it. She grabbed his knees, dug her fingernails in, and urged him forward. He rolled towards her.

“There has to be rules. You can't purposefully stop me, no hair pulling,” she stated, staring up at him while she undid his belt buckle.

“You'd like it if I pulled your hair,” he retorted. Tate rolled her eyes, wiggling her hand through the zipper of his pants.

“You know what I mean.”

There was a loud knock, and then she heard the door sweep open. Jameson rolled forward, and she was left in the dark, just a little glow from the fire making its way under the desk. She yanked and pulled at the waist of his jeans, listening as another man came in the room, greeted Jameson, and sat down across from the desk.

Their only time together, Tate hadn't gotten to see, or even really feel, his dick. It had just been inside of her. So much inside of her. He was larger than she remembered. She had slept with quite a few men since him, and he still managed to be the most impressive, in almost every way.

She ran her hand up and down his shaft, resting her other hand against his thigh. She was hoping to feel tense skin, maybe a muscle tick. Something to show he was struggling. But his legs were relaxed, and even though she was jerking him off, his voice sounded completely normal as he spoke. Almost bored sounding.

We can change that.

Tate hadn't been lying, blowjobs were a kind of specialty of hers. She loved the act. Having so much power over a man, but at the same time, being completely subjugated by him. An illusion of control. She loved it, and doing it in public? If Jameson didn't wanna have sex after she was done, she was going to take care of herself, right on his desk.

She licked him from top to bottom, taking her time at first. When she wrapped her lips around his head, she finally felt a muscle in his thigh tense. She almost smiled, bobbing her head up and down a little. Getting a feel for him. She removed her hand from his leg, wrapped it around the base of his dick, and then worked it up and down to cover the distance. She didn't know how long his meeting would last. It almost sounded more like a social call, with a smattering of property talk. She would love to draw it out for him, have him panting and sweating, but she didn't want to lose the game.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, she went for gold and lowered her mouth all the way down on him. When his tip hit the back of her mouth and started to slide down her throat, she finally heard his voice hitch. Victory. She slowly worked her mouth off of him, and then plunged right back again. He coughed to cover up a stutter. With him fully sheathed in her mouth, she ran one hand up between his legs, rolling her fingers around his sack. He coughed again and she backed off.

Finish this.

She began pumping away, working her hand and mouth up and down his dick. Every up sweep, she swirled her tongue around his head. Every down sweep, she squeezed his testicles. Then she would switch it up. Take a couple deep throats. Then back to bobbing and sucking.

Tate could hear it in his voice, he was having trouble. She felt a hand on the back of her head, and his fingers worked their way in to her hair. Twisted and pulled. Not enough to pull her away, but enough for her to feel him. She let out a small, breathy moan, dug her fingernails in to his thighs.

“Well, John, it's kinda late, and I have some work I need to do upstairs,” she heard Jameson say in a loud voice.

Cheating! He can't ask him to leave! Cheater!

Tate redoubled her efforts, pulled all her tricks out of the bag. Unsheathed her teeth, skimmed them against his skin. She heard him hiss at that one. Took him on the inside of her cheek, running the sensitive tip against the sides of her molars. He gave a full body shudder then. Then she ran her tongue over every inch of his nuts.

His voice was getting strained, his muscles were all tensing. He wasn't going to last much longer. She could hear Jameson trying to get the guy to leave. She ran her free hand up his leg, over his waist, and started up his stomach. When her fingertips were visible over the desk, his hand let go of her hair and grabbed at her fingers. Pressed his hand flat over them, against his stomach. She dug her claws in and raked the hand back down. More tension in his legs. He was breathing heavy, and through his t-shirt, she could feel sweat.

I'm going to win. I'm going to win. I'm going to -,

“It's almost eleven o'clock at night, John. Go the fuck home so I can go to bed,” Jameson suddenly barked out.

She was enraged. The cheating bastard. Tate went to pull away, but his hand was back in her hair, forcing her head down on him. She moaned, loudly this time, and then both his hands were in her hair, holding her in place. She braced her hands against either side of the dresser, taking shaky breaths through her nose.

When the door to the library banged shut, he let go of her. She all but spit him out, pushing at his knees and forcing him backwards. She quickly climbed to her feet and glared down at him, but he just grinned up at her.

“Goddamn, Tate, you weren't fucking around. You do that like it's your job,” Jameson laughed, sounding proud of her. She put her hands on her hips.

“You cheated!” she snapped at him. He ignored her and climbed to his feet, tucking his hard on back in to his pants.

“It wasn't ever actually your job, was it? Walking tours with a happy ending?” he joked.

“You cheated. You made him leave. I had you, and you cheated,” Tate repeated herself. He stepped up close to her.

“I said you had to do it before he left the room. I didn't say when or how that was going to happen. Should've worked harder for it,” he told her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she growled. He ran a finger down her cheek.

“Think of how much better it will be when I'm an active participant,” he said. She shook her head.

“You'll be lucky if there ever is a next time,” she spat out.

“So let's see. How does ..., one-thousand, five hundred a week sound,” Jameson said it out loud, but sounded more like he was talking to himself as he reached around her, sifting through some papers.

“Oh no. The price just went up to four thousand,” Tate informed him. He laughed, long and loud.

“Now that's a fucking joke. I wouldn't give you four thousand dollars a week if you needed it for a kidney transplant. You suck cock like a champion, but no mouth is worth four thousand,” he laughed at her. Tate got so close, her chest was brushing against his own.

“My mouth is. You can agree, or I can walk out the door,” she told him, her voice low and angry.

It wasn't about the money. Tate would be there even if he hadn't offered to pay. It was about winning. Beating him at his own game. Getting him to admit that she was an equal, that she could turn him inside out, the same way he did to her.

“You're not going anywhere, baby girl. We have unfinished business.”

Baby girl.

“That's not my fault,” she replied.

“Seems to me it is; if you were better at your job,” Jameson said. She laughed.

“Doesn't matter how good I am, if what I have to work with, doesn't work right,” she taunted.

His hand was in her hair in a second, pulling at the base of her skull. She was yanked forward and was completely flush against him, her chin almost resting on his clavicle. His other hand went to her waist, his fingers hooking in to her dress and her flesh. Her hands flew to his chest, to brace herself.

“You better watch what you say to me,” he warned her in a soft voice. She chuckled, her eyes watering a little from the sting of her hair being pulled.

“Or what, Kane?” she pushed him. His lips tilted up in a soft, sly smile.

“You're so fucking stupid, Tate. You still think we're playing a game. Stupid bitch. What did I say about calling me Kane? You've said it thirteen times. I said I would punish you,” Jameson threatened.

This is what I've been waiting for.

“You keep saying that, but I've yet to see anything happen. I think you're all talk, Kane.”

He spun her around and bent her over, slamming her down on the desk. She let out a grunt – that might leave a bruise. She reached back, pulling at the hand he had in her hair. He let go, but only to grab her wrist. He pinned it down on her back, and then grabbed her other wrist, joining it with the first. He held them together with one hand, pressing down on her so hard, it was uncomfortable to breathe. She tried to turn her head, and her chin dug in to the wood of the desk.

“Such a fucking child, Tate. Fucking games. Do I look like the kind of guy who plays games?” he was hissing behind her, his free hand raking up her thigh and pushing her dress up over her ass.

“You're the one who keeps playing them. You're the one who -,” she started when his hand crashed down across her ass. She gasped.

“This is not a game. You would do well to remember the difference,” Jameson growled. She laughed again, and was almost amazed by her own bravado.

“Maybe you should write me out a game plan, so I can know when you are, and when you aren't, playing around and -,”

His hand was so heavy, she knew he was going to leave a mark. Six slaps. She was crying out by the end, writhing under his grip. She didn't want to play the game anymore. She wanted him inside of her.

He knew what she needed, just like before; just like always, probably. He let go of her wrists and she gripped onto the edge of the desk, next to her head. He was rough as he yanked her underwear down, not even bothering to push them past her knees. He kicked her feet wider apart and she could feel the material pull. Wondered if they'd rip.

Then he was pushing inside of her. She let out a long moan, raising up onto her tip toes, trying to accommodate all of him in one go. She wiggled her hips against him, and then he was pressed completely against her. Solid, warm flesh, inside and out. She let out a deep breath, her whole body starting to shake. He leaned down against her.

“Still feel like a game?” Jameson whispered, his voice full of disdain. Tate laughed and laid her cheek against the desk.

I'm such a glutton ...,

“I don't know. Can't really feel much of anything at all,” she said back in a raspy voice.

He fucked her like she offended him. Like he was angry at her. Pulled her hair, forcing her to raise up off the desk. Slammed in to her so hard from behind, she was pretty sure she was going to have bruises where her legs were pressed against the desk. His dick was brushing against something inside of her; she couldn't tell if it was her cervix, or maybe a G-spot she didn't know about – whatever it was, it made her see spots and little flashes of paradise.

He let go of her hair and while one hand gripped her hip, the other worked the zipper down on the back of her dress. He pushed the material off her shoulders and she managed to lift her arms enough to slide it off. His hand was instantly at her breast, twisting and scratching through the material of her bra. She propped herself up, locking her elbows.

“Holy fucking shit, Tate, you feel even better than I remembered,” Jameson groaned, a hand sliding up to her neck, his fingers wrapping around it and squeezing tight. She managed a nod, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes, yes, better. Much better,” she managed to whisper.

He suddenly pulled away and then he was yanking her back with him. She wasn't sure if she could stand on her own. Her panties slid off onto the floor. He turned her and then forced her to sit on the desk, pushed her onto her back. He yanked her legs apart, and then was plunging back inside her.

His hands were on her knees, forcing her legs apart. Her own hands were at her breasts, at his command. He told her where, and how, to touch herself. Called her filthy names. Told her that this was all she was good for, and that was why he had found her again. Because even if this was the only thing she was good for, she was so good, he was the only one worthy of sharing it with her.

For once, she didn't argue with him.

“C'mon, Tate,” he growled, peeling his t-shirt off over his head. “I would've thought you'd be done by now, crying like a girl, coming all over my dick.” She pushed herself upright, hooked an arm around his back to anchor herself in place.

“You'll find ..., it's a little harder ..., to make me cry now,” she told him, running her tongue up the center of his chest. His hands slid down her legs, moved around to grip onto her ass, forcing her even harder against his thrusts. She shrieked, letting her head fall back.

“Hmmm, we'll have to try for it another day,” Jameson groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. She felt his teeth against her skin, fangs to her jugular, claws to her heart. He bit down, once. Twice. A third time, so hard, she thought he was going to take out a piece of her.

He already did that, a long time ago, baby girl.

She came, hard. She clenched her thighs against his waist, pressed her face to his chest, her hand to his jaw. Her fingers dug in to his cheek. He held completely still while she shook and moaned, his heart beat the only thing keeping her grounded to earth. She felt like she had just been shot out of a cannon.

“So easy,” he murmured.

He shoved her away and Tate collapsed against the desk, taking deep breaths. He started pounding away again, lifting her legs high, resting her calves on his shoulders. Then his hands were on her breasts, covering them, pressing down on them. She completely let go, relaxed every muscle, just let him do whatever he wanted to her. The desk began to jolt around and move forward; she couldn't even imagine how much the oak monstrosity weighed, that's how hard he was pushing in to her.

Jameson came so hard, she could feel it. Felt his shaft tighten, swell. Felt the muscles in his shoulders strain and cord up underneath her calves. She let her legs fall to the side and he collapsed on top of her. All of his weight. He obviously wasn't worried about crushing her.

Just like last time.

Tate wondered what else would be like last time. She loved her some dirty, rough, sex – but getting kicked out of bed was never a fun experience. She didn't even mind if a guy hustled her out, but that was really the only part of her experience with Jameson that she didn't recall with pleasure. The way he had treated her afterwards. Not so much his words, but his indifference. Like she hadn't just rocked his world off its axis, the way he had done to hers.

“Scared, baby girl?” he suddenly breathed against her chest. She laughed.

“Not the word I would use,” she replied, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead.

“And what word would Tatum O'Shea use?”

“Fucked.”

Jameson laughed and pushed himself off of her. She waited for it, the indifference, but it didn't come. He pulled his pants up, left them undone, and then grabbed her arm, pulling her so she was sitting upright. She felt like her body was made of jell-o. He cocked up an eyebrow and fixed her bra for her, then slid her dress back over her arms. He looked at her for a second, traced his finger along her jaw, and then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her off the desk.

“No tears,” he mumbled, looking down in to her eyes. She laughed.

“Nope.”

He turned her around and zipped up her dress. While she slipped her underwear back on, he grabbed her forgotten drink and refilled it. She chugged it down in a couple gulps and he made her another. She did the same thing to it, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“If that's how you fuck sober, it'll be very interesting to see what you're like drunk,” Jameson laughed, pulling his shirt back on.

“You couldn't handle it.”

“I can handle anything you've got.”

Tate thought maybe he would tell her to go home, order up a cab, or a car, or something. But he didn't. He made her another drink and then grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him. She followed him out of the library and in to the entry way. A light was on in the sitting room. There hadn't been any on when she'd come in to the house.

“Is somebody here?” she asked. He glanced back at the room as he led her up the stairs.

“Sanders. He works late in there sometimes,” he explained. She laughed.

“That poor man, I probably scared him,” she snickered. She had been screaming like it was a competition, cursing a blue streak. Oops.

“Please. He's walked in on a lot of scenes like that, I doubt he even notices it any more,” Jameson snorted as they reached the second floor. He dragged her down a hall, past a bunch of doors.

“Fuck a lot of women in your library?” Tate asked. Jameson looked over his shoulder at her.

“Jealous?”

She laughed.

“No. You fuck women in libraries. I fuck men in odd, semi-public locations. Po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o,” she replied. He laughed and finally stopped them in front of a large door at the end of the hallway.

“Well, I feel left out. A desk and a bed seem kinda boring in comparison,” he chuckled, pushing open the door.

“I didn't want to say anything,” she said with a straight face, and he laughed again before leading her in to his bedroom.

It. Was. Huge. She dropped his hand and walked foward, taking it all in, while he kicked the door shut behind him. He had a huge king size bed. Walk in closet. Expensive, heirloom looking furniture. She walked over to a side table, running her fingers across expensive looking cuff links and watches. Everything was dark, every inch of the room screaming with masculinity. With him.

Tate downed the rest of her drink and slowly turned around to face him. He was still in front of the doorway, his arms crossed, watching her. She sat her glass down on the table and slipped the top of her dress back off her arms. Peeled it over hips. Dropped it to the floor and kicked it aside. Stood in front of him, a hand on her hip.

“So. Fuck a lot of women in here?”