~13~

“Shall we look?” Tate asked, propping herself up.

“No,” Jameson moaned. “Sleep. Please, for the love of god, woman, let me sleep.”

“Did you really think I was going to let you sleep on our wedding night?” she asked, then bit him on the chest. He jerked away.

“One of these days, you really are going to give me a heart attack,” he warned her.

“Good thing I inherit everything,” she pointed out.

“Hey, Sanders gets half.”

“Yeah, but I'll just marry him after you're gone, so same diff.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“C'mon, let's go look,” her voice lowered to a hiss as she wiggled her body next to his.

“Why do you like to look at that shit?” Jameson asked.

“Because it's fun.”

“'Fun'? Tate, it nearly destroyed us on not one, but two occasions,” he reminded her. She shrugged.

“It's different now.”

“How so?”

“I'm your wife. I'm undestroyable now.”

Jameson couldn't argue with that.

“Fine. Get the computer.”

Tate scampered off of the bed, ran out of the room naked. Then she came back in and jumped on the mattress, holding the laptop. He took it from her and opened it, resting it on his stomach.

“Go here,” Tate instructed, tilting the machine towards her so she could type in the Google search bar.

“You owe me for this,” Jameson warned her, working his hand into the hair on the back of her head.

“What!? It's just an article, barely anything. How can I owe you for that?” she asked, ignoring him while she scrolled through web pages.

“Because I said so,” he replied, fisting his hand.

“Pffft, like that matters,” she snorted. He pulled sharply.

“Hey. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“You watch it.”

“I think having my last name has given you a new set of balls,” he told her.

“Ooohhh, then you must be extra excited about being married to me,” she joked.

Play time's over.

Jameson rolled over quickly, causing her to shriek and the computer to fly off the bed. He pinned her down to the mattress.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he growled. She smiled up at him, but there wasn't anything sweet about it.

“I think you heard me,” she purred.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you always want to piss me off?” he snapped, driving his knee up between her legs, forcing them apart.

“Cause I think it's fun,” she breathed, then gasped when his hand gripped her thigh roughly, yanking her leg up so it was next to his hip.

“You're not gonna think it's fun in a minute,” he warned her, moving so he was kneeling between her legs.

“I'm sure I will.”

Jameson didn't care that they were both exhausted from having sex all night. Didn't care whether or not she was ready. Didn't care about anything but being inside her. He held onto his cock with one hand, pushing all the way inside her in one go, slamming his hips to hers.

“Fuck, Tate, you wake up wet for me,” he groaned. She managed a laugh in between her gasps.

“Only for you,” she breathed.

He pulled away from her and she moaned. He forced her onto her stomach, slapping her on the ass before pounding into her again.

Sex between them had always been different, special, because of the innate trust they had in each other. Jameson liked rough sex, liked to have heavy hands and heavier words. He wasn't practicing some “art form” or “lifestyle”, he just got off on calling a woman a cunt and grabbing her throat. Tatum wasn't looking for a “master” or a “sexual advisor”, she just got pleasure of out of being called a cunt and someone grabbing her throat.

For some people, sex was about leading a certain lifestyle, or almost a kind of performance art, and that was completely fine. Jameson believed people should do whatever worked for them, but it wasn't what he and Tate were doing. They were just two people screwing. Fuck safe words – they didn't need them, because it wasn't a game for them. Jameson would never hurt her, and Tate knew that. It was trust. It was sex.

It was making love.

“Oh my god, we should get married again if this is how you're going to act the next day,” Tate moaned. Jameson slapped her on the ass again.

“What the fuck does it take to shut you up?” he demanded, hiking her hips up higher and pumping as hard as he could. She groaned, pressing her hands flat against the headboard and pushing herself back into him.

“Not sure. Maybe you should keep trying,” she panted. He grabbed her hair and yanked, forcing her upwards. She moved her hands to grip the top of the headboard.

“I gave you a fucking wedding. I gave you a fucking ring. I gave you my fucking name. The least you can give me is what I want,” he snapped at her.

“I always give you what you want,” she moaned.

“Always,” he agreed, letting go of her hair and sliding his hand around to her jaw. She turned her head towards him, taking his index finger into her mouth. He groaned as she sucked on it, working her tongue around it like it was his dick.

“Fuck, Jameson,” she cried out as he moved his hand to her throat. Circled his fingers around it and squeezed.

“Jameson, Jameson,” he mocked her. “Now she says my name. Remember when you tried to call me Kane? Now that you share the name, you won't say it.”

“Because it sounds good on me,” she chuckled.

“Fuck you. I made this name, it doesn't mean anything on you, you stupid slut.”

“You may have made it, but I'll make it better.”

Jameson let go of her throat and put his hand in the middle of her back, forcing her down so her face was flat on the mattress. Then he reached around her, forcing his fingers in and around all of her warm heat.

“It's time for you to shut the fuck up and come.”

For once, Tate didn't have any smart ass comeback – she complied. Tate was a full-body orgasm-er, he could watch it take hold of almost every inch of her. Watch as a blush spread across her shoulder blades, just like he knew it would be spreading across her chest. She cried out, dragging her nails down the headboard, and he felt her pussy lock down on him. He growled, dragging his nails down her back, and her whole body shuddered.

When all her muscles had relaxed and she was panting and gasping for air, her head half buried under the pillows, Jameson pulled away. She mewled in protest, moving her face so she could look at him.

“What are you doing, why didn't you finish?” she breathed.

“Oh, don't worry Mrs. Kane, I plan on it.”

Another thing Jameson thought was beautiful about being in a completely open, loving, trusting, sexual relationship – he could come whenever, wherever, he wanted to on Tate.

It's the little things in life.