~13~

Jameson watched Tate go home later that afternoon. She didn't come back for three days. Three hair raising, teeth grinding, skin clawing days. She had said she wanted to be with him. He was halfway tempted to go find her and drag her home by her hair, force her to keep her word. But for the first time since they had started sleeping together, Jameson didn't know if that would be welcome.

She turned up on her own, on a Wednesday night. Just strolled in to his library, like no time had passed. She kissed him on the cheek, then went upstairs to change her clothes. He didn't see her again for about an hour, and when he went to look for, she was in Sanders' room, playing chess. He felt left out, but he didn't want to intrude. He wound up laying in bed, staring at his ceiling, thinking about her.

“I looked for you downstairs,” her voice came from his doorway.

“I'm not there.”

“Ooohhh, there's a tone. Satan feeling especially devilish tonight?” Tate asked with a laugh, shutting the door behind her.

“No more than usual. How was the chess game?” he asked.

“Is that it? Sanders? I don't have to spend time with him,” she told him. Jameson hadn't looked away from the ceiling and she hadn't come in to his field of vision.

“I don't care. What have you been doing all week?” he questioned her. He felt the bed dip. She was sitting near his feet.

“Stuff. Just kinda moped around my apartment,” she answered.

“No more baseball players?” he asked with a smirk. She laughed.

“No. Truth? He was nothing compared to you,” her voice was low and husky. She had come to play.

Am I game?

“Nice words. The question is whether or not I believe you,” he said. She laughed again.

“I don't really care whether or not you believe me. If you don't want me sleeping with other people, just say so,” she told him. He paused.

“Was he any good at all?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How good?”

“Not as good as you. Not as good as Ang. But pretty good. I wouldn't say no to seconds,” she replied.

“Did you come?”

“Twice.”

“Where did you fuck him?”

“The bar.”

“In the bar? Wow, Tate. I'm missing out.”

“I know. And in the back bar, on a pool table.”

“Hot.”

“I think I scared him a little, but he liked it.”

“I know the feeling,” Jameson laughed. Her hand rested on his leg.

“I could never scare you,” she whispered.

“You scare me right now,” he replied.

Suddenly she was crawling up his body. Her knees came to a rest on either side of his hips and he rested his hands on her thighs. Her hands were flat against his chest, pushing herself upright.

“Don't be ridiculous, it doesn't suit you. He wasn't exactly a take charge kind of guy, I had to lead the way,” Tate continued with her story.

“Sounds like a pussy,” Jameson commented, laughing. She shrugged.

“Just different. Sometimes it's fun to be in charge,” she told him. He stopped laughing.

“Do you want to tell me what to do? Take the lead here?” he asked. She chuckled, a dark sound, and suddenly she was leaning close, her teeth against his neck.

“No. You're so good at it,” she breathed. He clenched his fingers, digging them in to her thighs.

“This isn't very interesting. Little man, so scared of the big bad wolf that you had to hold his hand to help you get off. We should just stick to my stories,” Jameson taunted.

“Hmmm, maybe it wasn't about all that. It was a change up. Someone treating me nicely, like I was a nice, normal girl,” she tried to explain.

“Nice, normal girls don't fuck baseball players in the backs of bars,” he pointed out.

“Maybe they do. He thought one did,” she whispered.

Well this is new.

“If that's what you want, then you better call your baseball player. I don't want a nice, normal girl. I want a girl who likes to be knocked down and dragged around. A girl who wants to be smacked around and called a whore. I want a girl who will let me fuck other girls, and then get so turned on by that fact, that she'll blow me while we're driving down a highway doing seventy-five,” Jameson snapped.

True story.

“Sounds like a pretty hot girl,” she commented.

“Hottest girl I know.”

She was kissing him, suddenly, her tongue pressing against his lips. He grabbed her by the head and leaned forward, kissing her back. It felt like it had been a long time since he had tasted her mouth. He missed it. She gasped against him and her fingers flew to his shirt. She got about half of his buttons undone, and then she just ripped the shirt open before moving onto his belt buckle.

Three days was a long time.

“Fuck anyone else while you were gone? Engineers? Fast food workers? Doctors?” he asked while she yanked his pants down his legs.

“Not that I can think of, but ask me later, something might come back while you're nailing me to the mattress,” she replied casually. He grabbed her hair and dragged her back up his length.

“You better not think of anyone else but me,” he growled. He could practically feel her eye roll.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He thought maybe she'd want to go slow. Not that Tate had ever been a slow kind of girl, but she had been really upset the last time he'd seen her. They hadn't had sex in four days. Three days ago he told her he would never want her as anything more than a fuck buddy. She hadn't spoken to him again until that night, and even then, she had spent most of the night with Sanders.

But if her actions were anything to go by, she was fired up and ready to go, even more so than normal. She was either making up for lost time, or punishing herself. Or him. Somebody was getting hurt.

She yanked all of their clothes off, her nails scratching sensitive skin. She went down on him, no-holds-barred, just immediately deep throated him. He thought she was going to make him come that way, but then she was moving again. Crawling on top of him, pulling him forward, wrapping her legs around his waist. They moved together, hips pushing at each other, and she got louder, pressing her forehead to his while her nails dug in to the back of his neck.

“I want you to do it,” Tate panted. He was gripping her hips so hard, he knew there would be bruises.

“I think I am,” Jameson managed to chuckle.

“Hit me,” she breathed. He glared at her.

“No,” he replied. She laughed.

“You're denying me?” she asked.

“Cause I don't think you really want it.”

“Oh, I want it.”

“You're punishing yourself. I don't want to hurt you,” he told her. She shook her head.

“You can't hurt me. I want to be punished. Please,” she begged.

“You're angry at me. I'm not doing something just so you can hold it against me later,” he snapped.

“I'm not her.”

He was suddenly very angry.

“Don't fucking talk about her,” he swore, halting his movements, leaving her impaled on his length.

“Oh, that makes you angry? You talk about every other girl you fuck. Why don't you talk about her? She must have been pretty special to you, Kane,” she said in an evil voice, rotating her hips against his. “Pretty special. An amazing fuck, you said. Was she tight like me? Did she get wet like me?”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate,” he warned.

“Two years, she must have been pretty amazing. Do you want to pour hot candle wax on me? Whip me? Paddle me?” Tate asked, letting her head drop back.

God, this woman. If my dick gets any harder, it's gonna kill one of us.

“I want to scar you,” he groaned.

“Hit me.”

“No.”

“This is what I want, Jameson. I want you to do whatever you want. I want to be able to do whatever I want. I'm not her. Just let go,” she urged.

“I can't,” he whispered. She smirked down at him, her hips slowing their movements.

“Fine. If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will,” she snapped. He glared again.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he snapped back. She shook her head.

“Make me. Ang likes to play, and I trust him. Maybe he'll do it,” she taunted.

“Stupid bitch, you better shut the fuck up,” Jameson growled.

“I'm sure there are lots of guys out there who would do it for me. Some random guy, in a hotel room somewhere. I'll pretend to be that nice, normal girl. Let some guy think he picked up a sweet girl, and then I'll let him fuck me. Fuck me hard; harder than this, harder than you,” she told him.

He slapped her across the face, and the response was instantaneous. She cried out and her pussy clamped down so hard on his dick, he almost came right then and there. Holy shit. He moved fast, slammed her down onto the mattress and then got up onto his knees, holding her hips up while he pumped in to her.

“Goddammit, Tate. Not every fucking thing is about you. I didn't want to fucking do that, you stupid fucking whore. Fucking bitch,” he swore, slamming against her hips as hard as he could. She was shrieking.

“God, it was so good, please say it was so good, it was so good, so good,” she panted. He slapped her again and it drove her wild, caused her to trash and buck underneath him.

It drives me wild.

“Fucking hell, Tate. I'm going to fuck you every night from now on, for as long as I can. Cunt. Whore. Fuck. Why are you so fucking good to me?” he moaned, grabbing one of her legs and resting it against his shoulder. He grabbed her hand, placed it at her wet core, forced her fingers in and around herself. She was like his marionette, his own personal fuck doll.

“Because ..., you're the devil. You need someone to be with. I want to be that person,” she gasped.

“Goddamn, do you let everyone treat you like such a slut?” he said, feeling the sweat pour down his body. He grabbed her ankle, held her leg out away from her body so he could get even deeper inside of her. He wanted to reach places no one had ever been before; places no one else would ever reach again. She suddenly laughed, a low, dark sound.

“You like to think you're the only one, don't you? That you're the only one who fucks me good,” she replied.

“I know I am.”

“Then why am I thinking about a baseball player right now?”

He slapped her across the face, hard, and then grabbed her neck. She started coming, crying out and dragging her nails down his chest. He wasn't far behind her, pumping everything he had in to her before collapsing on top of her chest.

It was a couple minutes before his brain could function again, wrap around what they had just done. He knew he should check on her, make sure she was okay, that what they had just done was actually okay. He pushed himself up over her, but instead of saying kind words, he grabbed her wrists instead, pinned them above her head. Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him. She looked almost stoned. Satisfied. Glowing. Happy.

“Were you really thinking of him?” he demanded. She chuckled.

“Jameson, when you fuck me ..., nothing else exists but you,” she breathed. He leaned down, baring his fangs against her neck.

“Good,” he whispered. She let out a groan.

“That was so good, Jameson. That is officially, without a doubt, the best sex I've ever had,” she said with a laugh.

“Better than Angier fucking you in a filthy alley?” he asked. She laughed harder.

“Stupid man. I lied. You were always the best sex I ever had, I just didn't want to admit it,” she laughed.

“I knew it.”

He kissed her then. A long, slow kiss. He stretched out on top of her, inside of her. Ran his hands from her head to her thighs, and back up again. She breathed in to his mouth, moaned his name, scratched her nails down his back. He started to get hard again, and he backed away. Rolled her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up. A couple minutes later, he laid down flat, pulled her on top of him. Then pushed her off, made her fuck herself for a little while before diving back inside of her.

It was slow, and it was almost sweet, but he liked it. Just being secure in the knowledge that it would be okay to let go and do whatever he wanted, made it easily the second best sex either of them had ever had.

*

Angier Hollingsworth was not in love with Tatum O'Shea, but he did feel a certain kind of possessiveness; he had always thought it was just friendship. Even when she started fucking Satan and stopped fucking Ang, he hadn't thought much about it. Men had come and gone from Tate's life, but Ang had always been a constant.

But then something changed, and he could feel the tide begin to turn. He had been there for the ex girlfriend discovery. Knew about the baseball player. The fight in the kitchen. He had cuddled with her for two of the three days that she had spent hiding in her room. She refused to talk about Jameson, but Ang knew she was thinking about him.

Then Tate went back to Jameson, and Ang didn't see her for a whole week. She texted a lot – apparently they had reached some new plateau in the interesting sex department, and she was living in orgasm-city. Coming in to town to see her best friend was asking too much, and Ang wasn't exactly welcome in the devil's house. He hadn't asked, but he just knew that was true.

He was angry. He felt like he couldn't talk to her about it. He took it out on his coworkers, on the cast and crew of the porno he was working on, on his other friends. It was ridiculous, to be mad at his best friend for being happy, but Ang was mad. He knew it was fleeting. Jameson Kane was the devil. Tate claimed that she knew what she getting into, that she knew he would never love her or want to be with her. She tried to pretend that she felt the same way. But Ang knew better. He always knew better.

He was angry when he went over to her apartment. Tate had borrowed one of the movies he had starred in - “I want Jameson to see you in action, so he can understand why I'm so infatuated with you” - but Ang didn't want Jameson to see his movie. Didn't want Jameson knowing anything about him, at all. Tate was his friend, she understood where he was coming from – Jameson was a stuck up, rich boy, silver spoon sucking, asshole.

Ang was very angry.

So when he let himself in to Tate's apartment, he wasn't in a very good frame of mind. Being in Tate's room, amongst all her things, smelling her scent, made it worse. He felt it should be him leaving marks on her body, not Satan. He got angrier. And then he walked in to the hallway and nearly ran over Rusty, Tate's roommate. Looking down at the short girl, Ang suddenly understood where Tate was coming from, when she said sometimes she wanted to be treated badly during sex, and other times she wanted to be the one treating someone badly.

Rus smiled her sweet smile up at him. She was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, her strawberry blonde curls wet. She had a huge crush on him, he knew. He felt nothing for her. Tate had told him that under no circumstances was he ever allowed to mess with Rus. But he was angry at Tate. He wanted to treat her badly, and she wasn't there.

Strawberry shortcake would have to do.

*

Tate was in the library when her phone rang. She was laying on the floor, on her stomach, skimming through a magazine. Jameson was behind his desk, working on something. Sanders was somewhere in the depths of the house. She was about to go find him when her phone lit up. Rusty's number scrolled across the screen and Tate smiled, lifting her phone to her ear.

“Hey, chickee, I was about to call you,” Tate answered.

“EEEEEEK! It happened! It finally happened!” Rus gushed, so loudly even Jameson heard from across the room. Tate laughed and moved so she was sitting on her butt.

“What happened?” she laughed. Jameson rolled his eyes, went back to his papers.

“I finally slept with him! It was amazing, oh my god, Tate. I saw the back of my own eyeballs. His hands, his tongue, I couldn't believe it!” Rus squealed. Tate snickered.

“Who is this sex god, and why haven't I slept with him?” she teased. Jameson snorted.

“That's kinda the weird part – you have slept with him,” Rus said, laughing. Tate stopped smiling.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice serious.

“You always said he was so freaky, but Ang was so sweet! He really took care of me, told me I was so beautiful, that I was so amazing. It was amazing. I really think we had a connection!” Rus blurted out in a breathy voice. Tate climbed to her feet.

“You didn't,” she breathed.

“Oh, we did. Twice. Once in the bed, and once in the shower. Can you believe it!? The shower. I'm trying to become more adventurous,” Rus laughed. Tate groaned.

“No, no, no, please tell me you're joking,” she begged, but Rus ignored her.

“Look, the reason I'm calling is because I haven't heard from him in a week, since it happened. I was getting kinda nervous, but then I figured maybe he doesn't have my phone number. I mean, it was really good sex. He said we had something, said he felt it, too. He has to call, right? Could you give him my phone number?” Rus asked, the happiness fading out of her voice. Tate swallowed thickly.

“You know what, I'm going to call him. Right now,” she managed to say.

That piece of shit mother fucker. He knew better.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I mean, I don't want to seem clingy. Am I being clingy? It's only been a week, I guess. A whole week,” Rus' voice began to falter at the end, and the insecurity that she was obviously trying to hide broke through – she kind of sounded close to tears.

“No, you're not clingy. I gotta go, chickee, I'll call you later,” Tate assured her. Rus managed a small laugh, and then the line went dead.

Tate let out a long shriek. Startled, Jameson leapt to his feet. As she called Ang's phone number, Sanders came running in to the room. Both asked her what was wrong, but she ignored them. She pressed the phone to her ear and paced down the room.

“Hey, honey pot, I was just thinking about -,” Ang answered.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed in to the phone.

“Whoa! Nice greeting! What the fuck is your problem!?” he demanded.

“You! You are my problem! How could you do that!? And not say anything to me!? I've talked to you EVERY DAY THIS WEEK!” Tate shouted at him. Jameson was now pacing along side her, demanding to know what was wrong. There was a sigh on the other end of the phone.

“It wasn't any of your business, Tate. And it wasn't a big deal,” Ang told her.

“Not a big deal!? She's practically picking out her fucking wedding dress! You piece of shit! Why!? I specifically told you that she was off limits! Why!?” Tate demanded.

“You don't make all the rules, Tate! You're not in charge of everyone! We're adults, we can fuck if we want to!” he yelled back.

“Sure you can! But hey, here's a thought – if you wanna casually fuck one of my closest friends, maybe not tell her that you have a fucking goddamn special connection! Why would you say that!?” she shrieked.

“Hey! You're fucking Satan, right? What, I'm not allowed to be the devil sometimes!?” Ang demanded. She gasped.

“Are you fucking serious!? This is because of me!? You're blaming this on me!?” she shouted.

“You're goddamn right I am! You fucking threw me over for some asshole because he's a good fuck, which is a really shitty move! Fuck you, Tate, I fucking hope you -,”

It all went downhill from there. She began screaming obscenities in to the phone. He shouted them right back at her. When she was red in the face and gasping for air between rants, Jameson ripped the phone out of her hand. He handed it over to Sanders, who put it to his ear and walked out of the room. Tate let out another shriek, slapping her hands against Jameson's chest before falling against him, pressing her face in to his shoulder.

“What the fuck is going on!?” he demanded.

“Ang. Slept with. Rus,” she managed to pant out. Jameson went very still.

“You're this upset over him sleeping with someone else?” he asked. She gave him a violent shove.

“Jesus christ, none of you want to actually be with me, but all of you are jealous of every single fucking move I make!” she snapped. He put his hands on either side of her face, forced her to look straight at him.

“You wanna take your anger out on me, fine. Let's do this,” he offered. She glared at him for a second longer, and then her bottom lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled up with tears.

“I'm upset because he promised he wouldn't. Rus isn't like us, she really is a nice, normal girl. She's always had a crush on Ang. He doesn't care about her. He made her all these promises, said all these sweet things to her, and then he just walked out. Dined and dashed. She thinks they're soulmates. He just did it to get back at me,” Tate explained.

“Get back at you for what?” Jameson asked. Her eyes slid away from him. He shook her gently. “Talk to me. Get back at you for what?”

She sighed and leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She could feel his surprise – while a very sexual person, Tate wasn't the most affectionate person. She wasn't prone to hugs; except with Sanders. But she squeezed Jameson tightly and decided it was now or never.

I just don't care anymore.

“He's getting back at me ..., for falling for you instead of him,” she whispered.