~9~

“Wake up.”

Something smacked hard against Tatum's ass and she jumped a little, propping herself up. Jameson was leaning over the bed, a paddle brush in his hand. She yawned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“A little early, but okay¸ at least we're finally getting to the good stuff,” she joked. He laughed and spanked her again before pulling away.

“Everything I give you is good stuff; you haven't earned the right to play with toys yet,” he informed her. She snorted and rolled over in the bed.

“Why are you so chipper? It's too early,” she groaned.

“We're going somewhere. Get up and get showered!” he barked, disappearing in to his closet. She sat up.

He was taking her somewhere? Jameson never took her anywhere, except for maybe out to eat, once in a while. Never in the mornings. They almost only ever did stuff at his house. Was this going to be like a date? Sanders' words came back to her, as well as some of Jameson's own words. She felt giddy. He had been very sweet to her the night before, said things she never would have thought he'd say. Maybe the tide was turning. Maybe Satan was growing a heart.

Tate hustled in to the shower, hurried through her routine. When she got back out of the bathroom, Jameson was nowhere to be found, though there was a dress laid out on the bed. A tight black number, very prim and proper. Probably very expensive. While she fingered the material, her cell phone started going off, so she crawled across the bed to grab it. Rusty's phone number flashed across the screen.

“Hey, I meant to call -,” Tate answered, but a shrill scream stopped her.

“OH MY GOD HOW COME YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!?!?” Rus was yelling. Tate yanked the phone away from her ear.

“Jesus, I'm deaf now, thanks. Tell you what?” Tate asked.

“The rent! It's amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much, this will totally help me with so many things!” Rus was gushing on and on.

Rent? What about the rent? After Ang had crawled to her place, begging for forgiveness on his hands and knees, Tate had spent most of the week at his apartment, avoiding her landlord. She would sneak in her window at night, and then back out again in the morning. So she had no clue what Rus was talking about – as far as Tate knew, they were still two weeks late on their rent.

“What's amazing, Rusty!? I don't know what you're talking about!” Tate snapped. There was a melodramatic sigh.

“Oh my god, it was him, wasn't it? I bet it was. I ran in to Mr. Malley in the hall, and I was all prepared to beg, and cry, and plead, or offer your body up for sacrifice, when he said to say thank you to you, for paying the next six months rent in advance,” Rus said in one quick breath.

Six months!?

Tate fell back against the pillows. She was blown away. Jameson must have done it, no one else she knew had that kind of money. Why would he do that? They joked about him paying her, but he never actually had. Was paying her rent considered payment? Or was he just being a nice guy? He'd gotten awfully upset when he'd found out that she owed money. Maybe he was just trying to rectify the problem.

“I didn't know that he'd done that, he didn't tell me,” Tate mumbled in to the phone.

“Aw, maybe it was a secret and I ruined it. I'm so sorry, I was just so excited! I can finally afford those vet tech classes! Tell him I said thank you? What a sweetheart,” Rus sighed in to the phone. Tate snorted and rolled onto her stomach, picking at the bedspread.

“He didn't do it to be nice, Rus. He'll want something in return. I don't call him 'Satan' for no reason,” she laughed.

“Shut up and try not to ruin this one! For once, you found a guy who treats you the way you like and also does nice things for you. You better do whatever it takes to hold onto him, understand!? If you don't, tell him to call me, and I will!” Rus snapped, and then the line went dead. Tate made a face and dropped the phone. Rusty sleeping with Jameson. There was a thought. He would eat her alive.

“I'm Satan, am I?” Jameson's voice was behind her. She pulled herself to her knees and turned to face him.

“Mostly in my head, that's how I refer to you,” she told him. He laughed as he walked across the room, carrying a black, carry-on type of roller bag.

“How flattering. You've already heard everything I like to call you,” he said. She cleared her throat.

“Did you pay my rent?” she asked. He glanced at her.

“Yes. Last week, when I left your apartment,” he told her, sitting the bag at the foot of the bed and opening it.

“Why would you do that?” she asked, crawling down and kneeling behind the bag.

“Because your rent was late. That's horrible. And if you were so far behind that you couldn't pay it, I knew that meant you would have to work more to make the money. I didn't want that, I like having access to you at any time. It seemed the only answer was paying your rent for you,” Jameson explained, disappearing in to his closet.

“That's very nice, but six months worth? Seems a little excessive,” she called out. He came back out, carrying some shirts and pants on hangers.

“I'm an excessive kind of person. I have no doubt that one of us will run the other off before six months is up, but it was a nice, even number,” he told her, folding up the clothing and dropping it in to the bag. She grabbed his wrist, halting his movements, and stared him in the eye.

“Thank you,” she said plainly. He gave her a tight lipped smile.

“Don't thank me yet. It wasn't for free,” he warned her, pulling his arm out of her grasp.

“And that's why I call you Satan,” she sighed. “I don't think it's very fair, to expect payment for something I didn't ask to buy.” He laughed and walked over to the side table, grabbing some watches and loading them in to a travel case, which also went in to the luggage.

“Are you fucking with me? Do you think I actually care what you think is fair? C'mon, get up and get dressed. We're leaving in half an hour,” he informed her, heading back in to the closet.

“Where are we going? Are you going away somewhere? You just got back,” she said, running her hands over the shirts in his bag. He walked back out and dumped some socks, underwear, and a pair of shoes in to the bag.

“We are going away somewhere,” he said, pushing her hands away and closing the bag.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked, shocked. He pulled her off the bed.

“I have to get back at you for that ridiculous dinner last week, and you owe me for the rent situation. You are coming with me, on a trip,” he said, moving her to stand against the edge of the bed.

“I am!?” she exclaimed. Her heart was suddenly ridiculously happy. If this was a punishment, she would take it without any questions. He wanted to go away with her somewhere. Surely, it couldn't just be sex between them.

“Yes. We're going away for the weekend,” Jameson said, holding the dress up against her. She grabbed it and he walked away, grabbing a box off his side table.

“Wait, for the whole weekend? I have to work,” Tate told him as he came back to her. He sat the box on the end of the bed and opened it, pulling out a very fine, sheer, black stocking.

“No, you don't. I arranged for you to have this weekend off,” he informed her, laying the stocking across her forearm. It was quickly followed by the second one.

“You did!?”

Heart. Bursting.

“I set this up while I was in Los Angeles.”

A pair of very expensive looking red panties joined the stockings.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Jameson laughed, finally moving to stand in front of her.

“Now that is a secret. Go change in to everything. Put your hair up, nicely, and subtle makeup. No slutty-eyes today,” he told her, scooting her towards the bathroom.

Tate laughed. Normally she would argue with him, but she was so happy, she couldn't bear to – that day, he could make her do whatever he wanted. So she swept her up in to an artfully messy French twist, and then took her time putting on her makeup. Cat's-eye style eyeliner and nude eye shadow, with just powder foundation. She did, however, put on a heavy, matte, red lipstick. Hint-o-slut, like a naughty secretary. Perfect, Jameson would love it.

She didn't know when he got the clothing, or how he had known just what size she wore. The red panties fit perfectly, the stockings felt like they came straight from Paris, and the dress was like a second skin. Went from her collar bone to her knees, and was very tight, with a thin belt around the waist. At first glance, it was almost demure, but when she turned around, she could see that there was virtually no back. Just open skin from her shoulders to her waist. She felt like she was wearing a woman's version of a power suit. With her hair and makeup, she looked very professional. Very rich. She frowned. Almost like ..., how she might have looked had she never left home. She shook her head. No, still too sexy. She wasn't that girl. She would never be that girl.

“How did you know all the right sizes, Jameson?” Tate asked as she padded out of the bathroom.

But he wasn't in the bedroom. A shoe box was sitting on the bed, with a couple of jewelry boxes next to it. She pulled out diamond earrings – those can't be real – and a simple chain with a solitary diamond pendant. She put them all on, and when she opened the shoe box, her breath caught in her throat. Red bottoms. The most coveted of all shoes. She actually moaned out loud as she took the heels out, her eyes traveling over every inch of the leather. Sex with Jameson was pretty amazing, but even Louboutins had him beat. She slipped them onto her feet and moaned again.

“You like?” Jameson asked as he strode back in to the room.

“I want to fuck you, like, so hard right now,” she told him. He laughed.

“Maybe when we're in the air. C'mon, baby girl, we have to go,” he said.

“How did you know all the right sizes to get?” she asked.

“I took one of your dresses and a pair of your ridiculous socks, gave them to a private shopper. The underwear was easy, I am very familiar with your ass,” he assured her, his eyes sweeping over her body.

“Well, it all fits like it was made for me. How do I look?” she asked.

“Absolutely stunning.”

Tate blushed. He had never said something like that before, she was always sexy, or filthy, or hot. Rarely ever beautiful. Never stunning.

“Was it expensive?” she asked in a soft voice. He raised an eyebrow.

“Very. Now stop questioning me. Let's go,” he ordered, and marched out of the room.

Sanders was waiting at the front door, next to two black rolling bags. Tate could only assume that one was for her, probably already packed with similar clothing. Sanders' eyes wandered over her, and she thought she might have seen a hint of a smile on his lips. She winked at him and pinched his butt while they walked out the door.

They didn't talk as they drove to an airfield a little ways away. She was surprised they didn't just go all the way in to Logan Airport. Jameson barely even looked up from his phone as they breezed through security and headed out onto the actual tarmac. Money talked. They approached a small, private plane, and her jaw dropped.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked as Sanders climbed in to the plane ahead of them, loading up their bags.

“I told you, it's a secret,” Jameson said, pressing a hand against her bare back and leaning close to her ear.

“Yeah, but ..., a private plane? Do you own this plane?” she asked. He laughed.

“No, I chartered it for the weekend. I feel like if I ever buy a plane, I will have irreversibly slipped in to the land of douchey-rich-guy,” he told her. Tate laughed.

“I don't know about that, might be nice to always have a plane on standby,” she said.

He kept his hand on her back while she climbed the stairs ahead of him. Sanders was already seated in the back of the plane, a laptop open in front of him. A flight attendant fiddled around in the back and a pilot smiled at them from the cockpit. Tate wasn't sure where to sit, so she just plunked down in a chair close to the door. Jameson sat in the seat across from her, his eyes wandering over her face.

“You look excited,” he commented.

“I am. I'm holding out hope that we're going to the Bahamas,” she told him. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, Tatum. So optimistic. I'm going to tell you right now, it's not the Bahamas. You should be very, very afraid,” he teased. She rolled her eyes.

“We'll see.”

He told her the flight would take about two hours, but that's all he would say. When they took off, they headed over land, so she knew they weren't going East. Somewhere West – back to Los Angeles? No, that would be way longer than two hours. How long did it take to go to Chicago? Did Jameson even like Chicago? She had no clue where they were headed, and his words started to get to her. She got nervous.

She talked Sanders in to playing a couple rounds of gin rummy with her. Jameson produced a chess board, and beat her so quickly, it was embarrassing. Then he got Sanders to play, and that was actually interesting. They were both very good. She wondered if either had competed, and realized she knew almost nothing about either of their pasts. Jameson won, but it was a hard fought battle. Sanders made a noise in the back of his throat, and it took her about five minutes to realize it was a laugh.

This is going to be a hell of a weekend.

“Time to clip your wings, baby girl,” Jameson commented after the pilot announced their descent.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked as he dug something out of his bag. A long, black sash appeared in his hands.

“You said you trusted me,” he reminded her as he sat down next to her. She edged away from him.

“Yeah, with both eyes open. Not so much in the dark,” she joked, even though she was a little nervous.

“I'm not asking, Tatum,” he said in a stern voice.

The blindfold wrapped around her eyes, and she was left in darkness.

Tate had never really been in to the whole bondage scene. Sure, it was fun once in a while, but she liked to touch, and she liked to be touched, too much for it to be a real thing. And blindfolding was the worst. She had said it once, she was a very visual person. She wanted to see everything. Ang loved it and was forever trying wrap things around her head. It was usually a battle that he won only after copious amounts of liquor.

After the plane landed, she stayed sitting in her chair, as still as a statue, while people and the crew moved around her. At one point, someone leaned close, and she jerked away, but then there was a hand covering her own. Sanders' voice assured her that everything would be just fine. She managed a smile and tried to grab onto his arm, her fingers trailing down his sleeve as he pulled away. Then Jameson was next to her, she recognized his cologne, and he pulled her out of her seat, led her down the aisle.

Her nerves abated a little when they had to figure out how to get down the stairs. She stumbled on the first step and refused to go down anymore while wearing the blindfold. Jameson simply picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, carried her all the way to a car. By the time she was ensconced in a back seat, she was laughing hysterically.

She made a mental checklist as they drove. They were somewhere that wasn't any warmer or cooler than Boston, really. Wherever they had landed, Tate could smell foliage, a heavy forest. Something familiar. She figured they were still in the Northeast. Maybe he was taking her to some getaway in Maine. Or Vermont – she remembered Jameson saying he owned a farm in Vermont. Her outfit wasn't very conducive to a weekend in a cabin, though. She hoped for a five-star hotel.

“I am going to take your blindfold off in a moment,” his voice was soft, after they had been driving for about an hour.

“Thank god,” she laughed.

“I want you to remember something, though,” Jameson said, at the same time the car took a slow, but sharp, right turn. Gravel crunched under the wheels.

“What?” she asked.

“You started these games,” he told her. Her nerves went through the roof at that statement.

This is not a romantic get away. This is something very, very bad.

The blindfold fell away and she blinked, trying to adjust to the light. The car they were in had tinted windows, making it hard to see outside. Jameson was sitting next to her, carefully folding the sash up and putting it in his jacket pocket. She scooted closer to her door, peering out the window. She didn't get it. All she could see were trees. A narrow, gravel road. She pressed her forehead to the glass, tried to see ahead of the car. Glimpsed a house in the distance.

Oh. My. God.

“You didn't,” Tate breathed, her heart stopping in her chest. She turned to look at Jameson, and he smirked at her.

“I told you, I always win,” he said, stretching an arm out along the seat behind her.

I am so. Fucking. Stupid. Goddamn Satan wins again.

She lost her damn mind. Screamed and slapped him across the face. He ducked the next blow and grabbed her wrist, but she was already throwing herself at him, grabbing his hair with her other hand and trying to kick at him. Her dress was too tight, she couldn't really reach, and had to settle for kicking him in the shin.

They wrestled around for about a minute. Jameson could stop her whenever he wanted, she knew he was just letting her work out her frustrations – so she made the most of it, pulling his hair, pounding on his shoulders. When she scratched at his face, though, she apparently went too far. They were driving in an extended-back town car, and he slammed her onto the floor.

“This isn't a fucking game!” she screamed at him. He pinned her wrists by her head.

“Calm the fuck down!” he shouted at her. She used every muscle she had, swung her weight around underneath him. He didn't budge.

“How could you!? How could you!? You must really fucking hate me, Kane!” she shouted at him. His hand came down over her mouth, clamping it shut.

“Calm. Down. Take a deep breath. It's not that bad. This was going to happen some day, I just sped up the process,” he said. She shook her head and cursed at him from behind his hand. He pressed down harder. “Shut the fuck up and calm down. You made me go to that ridiculous dinner. You kissed Sanders in front of me. You kissed Angier in front of me. You owe me.”

She forced herself to go still, and he finally removed his hand. She breathed heavily, staring up at him. He was very close to her, his hair messy and hanging over his forehead. One, long, red, scratch mark went from under his ear to just under his jaw. Not too noticeable. Pity. She took a deep breath.

“This wasn't about you, you had no right to do this. I'm nothing to you, why would you do this?” she whispered. He frowned at her.

“You are not nothing to me,” Jameson replied. She shook her head.

“You're always telling me I'm nothing. Reminding me, over and over again. Nothing, nothing, nothing. You're the devil,” she said, moving her eyes away from his to stare at the roof of the car. She could feel tears at the back of her throat and she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“I will fully admit to being the devil, but I have never said you're nothing. Look, if you can't do this, if you can't handle this, we will go right back to the airport and I will take you home. You never have to talk to me again. Just say the words. Admit you can't handle this,” he told her. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Move,” she snapped, and he got off of her. Pulled her onto the seat next to him.

She fixed her hair. Dug out a mirror and fixed her lipstick, which had smeared all over her chin. She straightened out her dress, pulled the stockings back in to place, fidgeted with the jewelry. Jameson reached out and tried to place a hand over her own, but she pulled away from his touch as if he burned her, refusing to even look at him.

“Tate, we -,” he started, but she shook her head. The car was pulling up in front of a large, colonial style home. Not unlike Jameson's home in Weston, though this one was on a much grander scale. More pillars, more bricks, more rooms. She knew it had more rooms, because she had been in it many times. She took a deep breath.

“You'll never win, Kane. So how are we doing this? Is there an explanation, a back story? Are you my boyfriend? Am I your paid whore?” Tate asked.

“We ran in to each other in Boston. We're friends,” he said in a slow voice. She cackled.

“Friends. We have never been friends, Jameson,” she snapped, listening as Sanders got out of the driver's seat. Talked with someone who had come out the front door. Jameson put a finger under her chin and pulled her gaze to him. He looked angry.

“Baby girl, I might just be the best friend you've ever had,” he told her. She smiled sweetly at him at the same time Sanders pulled her door open.

“You better start smiling, Jameson. You know how my family loves a happy face,” she whispered, and then took Sanders' hand, allowing him to pull her out of the car.

Her mother, sister, and some guy she didn't recognize, all stood on the porch of the house she had grown up in, the house she had been living in when she had first met Jameson; the house she hadn't been back to in seven years. She took a deep breath.

Show time.

*

Her mother actually cried. Like real tears, not drunk ones. Hugged her. Gushed over how beautiful Tatum was, how amazing she looked. Tate managed a smile, but she had a feeling that it looked more like a smirk, as that long ago phone call played through her mind. Her own mother, calling her a worthless whore, a good for nothing, a home wrecker. Telling her own daughter that she wasn't allowed to come home, ever again.

“Ever again” apparently only lasts seven years.

The mystery man turned out to be Ellie's husband. He was tall, dirty-blonde, and handsome. He smiled a lot and stared at Tate's chest the whole time, even though there wasn't even a hint of cleavage showing. Asshole rolled off of him and Tate moved away quickly.

She had often wondered what meeting up with her sister would be like; would she be forgiving? Would she be angry? She wasn't necessarily either, she was just the same, old, hateful Ellie. Like no time had passed. Scowling at Tate like she was a nuisance, an interruption. Like she was lesser than. And when Jameson came down the line, shook Ellie's hand while standing what could probably be considered too-close to Tatum, Ellie's eyes looked downright murderous. Tate could read her thoughts, “you stole this from me, he was mine, and you ripped it all away.”

Funny that everyone had gotten so angry at her, but no one had seemed to care about Jameson's part in it all.

They all went inside and she was told that her father was out of town, but he would be back the next day. Her mother claimed that he was “looking forward” to seeing Tate, but the woman could barely get the words out through her painted on smile. Tate just nodded, following everyone in to the kitchen.

Wine was poured and stories told. Jameson had called Mrs. Blanche O'Shea a couple days ago, explained how he had run in to Tate, how they had developed a friendship of sorts. He just wanted to help, could he bring Tatum down for a visit? Tate's mom had been all over that idea, and got even more excited when he had invited himself along, as well. They were placed in rooms across from each other, neither of them Tate's old bedroom. That room had long ago been broken down and turned in to a spare office.

Ellie's husband, Robert, talked non-stop. How he had heard so much about Tate, but he had no idea that she was so good looking. Mrs. O'Shea only made beautiful children, it seemed. Most of his speeches were made to her chest, and at one point she caught Jameson scowling at them, so she indulged Robert. Arched her back, stretched her arms, leaned in to him. Made a big show of letting her hair down, shaking it out so it was wild and messy – a person fave of Jameson's, she knew.

Ha, choke on it, Satan.

Ellie didn't even notice, she was so busy kissing Jameson's ass – Tate was just waiting for her to get down on her knees and make an offer to suck him off, right in front of everyone. It was ridiculous. In between flirting with Jameson, Ellie threw poison darts with her eyes at Tatum, who just rolled her own eyes and drank a little more. Finally, as if awkward small talk wasn't bad enough, they all sat down to dinner.

“So where do you live in Boston, honey?” her mother asked.

“North Dorchester,” Tate answered.

“Oh wow, you must be a tough little thing,” Robert laughed. Tate laughed as well, winking at him.

“You have no idea,” she teased.

“Tate's never had a problem getting down and dirty, have you?” Ellie snapped, sipping at her water. She was two months pregnant, and it was obvious by the way she eye balled the wine that sobriety was difficult for her.

“Oh never. In fact, I absolutely love it,” Tate drew out the words. Jameson cleared his throat.

“Tate has been working for me,” he offered up. The whole table went silent and stared at him. Tate wondered how truthful he would be.

“Oh? Doing what?” Ellie asked in a cool voice.

“Oh, just some work here and there, around my house. Making the place brighter, you could say. In exchange, I have been setting her up with a retirement account,” he explained, his eyes locked onto Tate's. She laughed at him.

“Making the place brighter - it's was I live to do, Mr. Kane,” she replied in a husky voice.

“Well, you are very good at it.”

Her mother interrupted then, not drunk enough – yet – to let the innuendos go over her head. Dessert was brought out and they ate mostly in silence, then retired to a drawing room. Mrs. O'Shea didn't last much longer before heading off to bed. Tate followed her to the stairs and gave her a hug goodnight. When she turned around, Ellie was behind her.

“I know what you're doing,” she snapped. Tate sighed. She was so tired.

“What am I doing, Ellie?” Tate asked.

“You stole Jameson from me. He was going to propose, and you ruined it all. Now that Robert and I are about to have a baby, you want to steal him from me, too,” Ellie replied, rubbing her hand over her belly. Tate laughed.

“I didn't steal Jameson – in seven years, I never even saw him, not until a couple weeks ago. He was never going to propose to you, he told me that night that he was going to dump you, so I didn't ruin shit. I just made it easier for him to end it. And trust me, in no way, shape, or form, do I want your husband, so you two can have all the babies you want,” Tate assured her. Ellie narrowed her eyes.

“You're just a slut, Tate. It's so digusting. I can see what's going on between you two, 'doing work around the house'. Is that what you call screwing? And he pays you? Now you really are a whore. He doesn't care about you. Jameson Kane would never be with a slut like you. Some day sex won't be enough, and he'll need a real woman, and that's when he'll marry a girl like me. Not one like you,” Ellie hissed.

Her words were true, and they hurt because they were true, but before the cut could split open and bleed, Jameson walked in to the room. Tate didn't even look at him, just kept her eyes locked on her sister. Tate was a little shocked, though, when he stopped next to her and coiled his arm around her waist.

“Clearly you underestimate good sex, Ellie. I could never have 'enough' sex with Tate, and I can guarantee that I will never get tired of her, and I would most certaily never marry a girl like you. She didn't ruin anything – what happened between us that night was just a happy accident; I was going to end things with you. I wasn't going to marry someone like you seven years ago, and I am definitely not going to now,” Jameson said in a cold, hard voice. Ellie took a step back.

“So you admit it, you're paying her for sex?” she demanded. Jameson lifted an eyebrow.

“Glad to hear you paid attention to the important part of that speech. Have I ever once given you cash for sex, Tatum?” he asked, looking down at Tate. She pretended to think for a minute.

“Does that time you made me bite down on a roll of money, to shut me up, count?” she asked. Ellie looked like she was going to be sick. Jameson smiled.

“No, I made sure to get that back when we were finished. I had to pay the taxi, after all,” he reminded her.

“Then no. I have never received cash for sex,” Tate agreed.

“You see, Ellie, some people don't need to get paid for sex. If anything, you expect more in return for sex than Tate ever has – all she wants is to get off, which I can provide for very easily. You, though, you require a husband, a name, children, acceptance, the right car, the right house. And you're not worth that price, not at all,” Jameson explained.

If she had been the richest person in the world, Tate would have given every cent she had to have recorded that moment. Ellie's eyes bulging open, her jaw dropping down. Skin turning red. And hearing Jameson say that he would never get tired of Tate, even if it was an act, was priceless. She suddenly burst out laughing. Like hysterically. Like it was all the funniest thing she had ever heard, in her whole life. Tate bent over in half, stumbling forward.

“What's going on in here? Partying without me?” Robert laughed, joining them.

“I'm going to bed!” Ellie all but shrieked before stomping up the stairs.

“Life is always a party with the O'Sheas,” Jameson said in a dry voice before heading upstairs as well.

“Looks like it's just you and me, Tatum,” Robert's voice purred. She felt his fingers on her exposed back and she shuddered, stepping away from him.

“What are you doing?” she asked. He stepped closer to her again.

“Ellie's told me all about Jameson, about you and him. You got a thing for big sister's lovers? I'm cool with that,” Robert told her in a low voice.

Might have laid on the flirting a little too thick. God, rich people are way creepier than poor people.

“Well, I'm not, so no thank you,” Tate snapped.

“C'mon. She told me about Jameson, the crazy things he used to ask her to do for him. You must be a hell of a fuck, to keep a guy like him chasing after you,” Robert pointed out. Tate was a little shocked. This needed to end, now.

“Look, I do not have a 'thing' for Ellie's lovers – I didn't even have a thing for him, it just happened. It was an accident. I am not now, nor ever, going to fuck you, so you can fuck right off with that idea,” she told him, crossing her arms. He glared at her.

“You're a fucking tease. You and your sister. Fucking teases,” he snapped at her before pushing past her, checking her hard on the shoulder. She stumbled backwards and had to grab onto the banister, to keep from falling.

Mother fucker.

Tatum had been called a lot of things, but she was pretty sure that was the first time “tease” had ever been used.

She went upstairs as well, went in to Jameson's room. He was in the shower and she didn't feel like joining him, so she wandered back in to her own room. She was an odd combination of mad at him and grateful for him. He should not have ambushed her with her family, it was going too far – but it had felt better than words could describe to watch him put Ellie in her place, after all these years. To have someone back her up, when she said it hadn't been planned, that it hadn't been done on purpose. She was very thankful for him. It all made it hard to stay mad at him.

As she worked her way out of her dress, her mind went over Ellie's words. Robert's words. Slut. Tease. Tate was angry. She wanted to get back at them. They weren't so great. Six years, and one child – Tatum would put money on the fact that they never had sex. Ellie just wasn't a sexual person, and Robert was way too pervy; he had to be getting it elsewhere. Tate saw his type all the time in her bar, hitting on her when their wives went to the bathroom. It made her so angry. A thought crossed her mind. When she got angry, there was one thing that always made her feel better ...,

In just her heels, underwear, and stockings, she dashed across the hall, back in to Jameson's room. He was still in his bathroom, so she stretched across his bed. He took a long time in the shower, so she knew it could be a while. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Imagined him under the water. Naked. Her annoyance at him was slipping farther and farther away.

When his bathroom door finally opened, she was laying with her legs sticking straight up in the air, crossed at the ankles. The room was dark and he didn't seem to notice her at first. He walked across the room, securing a towel around his waist as he headed for his luggage. He was about halfway there when he saw her.

“What's this?” Jameson asked, stopping. Keeping her knees locked and her legs straight, Tate let them fall open, while her head hung over the side of the bed so she could look at him from upside down.

“You sound surprised,” she commented, bringing her legs back together and then slowly fanning them apart again. His eyes followed the motion; he loved her legs.

“Three hours ago you were telling me you hated me. I was prepared to sleep alone tonight,” Jameson explained.

“Tsk tsk, silly man. Just because I hate you doesn't mean I don't want to fuck you,” Tate replied. He smirked at her.

“Someone is very angry,” he said. She nodded and rolled onto her stomach, driving her knees in to the mattress and using her legs to pull her body back so she was sitting upright – classic stripper move. He wasn't immune to it, she could tell interesting things were starting to happen underneath his towel.

“Yes. I won your little game, I stayed. I want my payment,” she informed him, sliding her legs out from underneath her and moving to the edge of the bed.

“And what exactly do you want? Maybe I don't feel like paying,” was his retort. Tate laughed and stood up.

“Oh, you'll pay,” she chuckled, walking over to the wall to her right. She pressed her back against it, stretched her arms out along the wall.

“What's going through your head, baby girl?” Jameson asked in a quiet voice, walking towards her.

“I want you to fuck me, right here. Against this wall. As hard as you can,” she told him.

“Seems like I'm winning on this deal.”

Tate lifted a leg, stretching it out, touching his washboard stomach with the heel of the expensive shoe he had bought for her. Dug in to his skin a little, hoping for blood. He grabbed her ankle, held it against his hip.

“I want you to call me every filthy name you can think of. I want you fuck me like you absolutely hate me,” Tate whispered. His eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like my kind of game What's the catch?” he asked.

“We can't move from this spot. This wall. I want you to pound me through this wall,” she explained. He dropped her leg.

“Who is on the other side of that wall? Ellie and Robert? Very clever, baby girl. Very obscene,” his voice was low as well.

“That's what I was going for. I won't be quiet,” she warned him.

“Is this really what you want to do?” he double checked. His hesitancy annoyed her. She arched her back, pushing her hips away from the wall, and sighed. She let her eyes slide away from his, as if she were tired of their conversation.

“If you don't want to, it's fine. I'm sure I can find someone else to play with; Robert was very keen a moment ago,” she said in a bored voice. Jameson's eyebrows shot up. Now she had his attention.

“Oh really? I saw the way he was looking at you. What did he say?” Jameson asked, stepping closer to her. She shrugged.

“Stuff. Things. Since I have a thing for Ellie's sloppy seconds, basically, why not give him a try. What a good fuck I must be. What a tease I am for not showing him,” Tate replied nonchalantly. Jameson was now pressed against her.

“Would you show him?” he asked, his hands pressing against her ribs and then sliding around to her back. She chuckled.

“If I could tie Ellie down and make her watch, maybe,” she replied.

“Kinky. Can I watch, too?” he asked, unhooking her bra and sliding it down her arms.

“I don't think so. You haven't been very good to me lately,” she pointed out. He laughed, pulling the towel away from his hips.

“Baby girl, I am always good to you,” Jameson countered.

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“And your opinion doesn't matter.”

And then it was like a switch. He ripped her panties away – the expensive ones he had bought for her – and grabbed her ass, forcing her legs around his waist, forcing his way inside of her. She cried out and slapped her hands against the wall above her head. She was going to put on a performance that Robert and Ellie would never forget.

It was almost comical at first – it was like being in one of Ang's pornos. She said things she normally never said, things she laughed at when other people said them – “You fuck me so good, oh my god, your dick's so big, oh yeah, harder, slower, right there, you're amazing.” And of course his name, over and over again. Couldn't let them forget who she was doing this with, after all. She even heard Jameson laugh at one point.

But as his thrusts got harder, the game melted away. She groaned and screamed for real, pounding one hand against the wall. Picture frames fell down. Books came off a shelf. There was a mirror across from them, and seeing their reflection, watching his muscled back and strong legs tense up, his hips moving against her so hard, it was practically her undoing. They hadn't even been standing there that long, and she was already coming like a freight train.

He didn't slow down at all. If anything, he pounded even harder. All his weight was pressing her in to the wall, one hand digging in to her ass and the other gripping her breast painfully. He pressed his face against the side of hers, growling at her through clenched teeth. Called her every filthy name she'd ever heard of, and a couple new ones. She was surprised, though, that he stuck to just names. Usually he liked to really degrade her, say horrible, horrible things about her, but not that night.

After what seemed like forever and two more orgasms for her, he literally dropped her to the floor and loudly told her to suck his cock. While she did so, he braced himself against the wall, beating his fist against it when she nipped at particularly tender areas. When he finally came, he announced it to the whole house, holding her head in place by her hair, pulling at the roots.

More of our games should be like this one.

“How was that? Good enough?” he whispered, breathing heavy as he leaned his forearms on the wall above her. She leaned away from him.

“It'll do for now,” she joked, gasping for air as well while she wiped at her mouth. He groaned and grabbed a handful of her hair.

“I can't wait to take you home and really treat you bad,” he grumbled, pulling her to her feet and leading her to the bed.

Me, neither.