“In one night.”
“Impressive. Smooth operator. Did they pass each other going through the front door?”
“They walked through it together, at the same time.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh wow, Jameson had been a naughty boy while he was gone. She was touched that he was worried it would bother her, but it didn't really. She wasn't threatened by some random chicks in Los Angeles.
“Hot. So, were either of them prettier than me?” Tate asked again.
“They were twins, and they were very sexy, but not as sexy as you,” Jameson assured her. She smiled big.
“I'm choosing to believe you on that. Were they better in bed?” she continued. He thought for a second.
“Well, that's hard to answer. Twice the anatomy to play with, kind of gives them an advantage,” he said. Tate pouted her lower lip out at him, trying to hide her laughter. “But they weren't better. No. No, definitely not. No one takes care of me quite like you.”
“That's good to hear, seeing as how it's usually you doing all the taking care of – have you ever slept with them before?” she asked, munching on a cracker. He shook his head.
“No, I just met them that week. Kind of a spur of the moment thing. They asked me to dinner, one thing led to another,” he nodded his head for emphasis. Tate laughed.
“The ol' one-thing-led-to-another-suddenly-I'm-fucking-twins kind of night. I have that same problem all the time. Bitches just be falling for you in pairs, man,” she teased. He rolled his eyes.
“God, I shouldn't have said anything.”
“No, I'm glad you did. I want to know everything,” she urged, pushing the box of crackers away. His face became hard, serious. Almost angry.
“Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down and had her watch while I fucked the other? Or how they took turns sucking my dick? Things like that?” Jameson's voice was serious as well. The temperature in the kitchen suddenly cranked up about a hundred degrees. She licked her lips and nodded.
“Exactly like that,” Tate replied, her voice breathy. He stared at her for a second, and then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, pushed a button.
“Sanders,” he barked in to the phone, still staring at her. “Party's over. I want everyone out of my house in five minutes.”
“Ooohhh, finally, alone time,” Tate chuckled.
He didn't say anything in response, and they watched each other in silence. When they heard the sound of feet clomping through the house, he winked at her and slid out the door, closing it behind him.
She let out a breath, bowing her head forward. The mental image of Jameson, having sex, with two women. She rubbed her legs together. When she was having sex with him, she was too caught up in the moment, most of the time, to really pay attention. The idea of sitting back and watching him, seeing him in all his perfect kind of action; it turned her on. With two women? Wow.
The goodbyes seemed to take forever. She could hear voices murmuring, picked out Jameson's voice among them. She laid back flat on the island, propped her feet up on the edge. Two women. Did he talk with other women the way he talked with her? She imagined him tying a woman's wrists to a bed post, calling her names. Tracing his tongue down her prone body. Tate's hand crept onto her stomach. Fiddled with the edge of her bikini bottoms. She took a deep breath through her nose, forcing her hand to stay still.
It had been a long week without him.
“Getting started without me? Bad girl,” Jameson's voice was soft as he walked back in to the kitchen.
“No, but I thought about it,” she replied, not lifting her head but holding up her hands for him to see.
“That's bad enough. I've barely told you anything, and you're already turned on?” he asked, moving so he was standing in front of her. She sat up, letting her legs fall back down against the drawers beneath her. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs so he could stand between them.
“I've got a very good imagination, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He placed a hand against the crotch of her bikini bottoms, gently tracing his middle finger up and down. She sucked air through her teeth, trying not to moan.
“Apparently. You're soaking wet, Tatum,” he informed her. She nodded.
“You have that effect on me, if you haven't noticed.”
“You sure it wasn't all those men you were flirting with? Laying it on pretty thick out there,” he told her, his fingers from his other hand digging in to her knee.
“I thought you liked it when I was slutty,” she pointed out. He narrowed his eyes.
“Hmmm, sometimes,” was all he said in response, the pressure from his fingers getting harder. She sucked in another gasp of air and grabbed onto his wrist.
“No fair. I want to hear your story,” she told him, stopping his movements.
“You are an amazing woman, Tatum O'Shea,” Jameson chuckled, stepping back away from her.
“You have no idea. Now make it juicy. Lie if you have to,” she told him, and he laughed, going back to his position by the door, leaning against the wall.
“Alright. What do you want to know first?” he asked. She laid back down.
“How it all started, start there. What were you wearing. What were they wearing,” she suggested.
“Awfully detailed.”
“I'm a very visual person.”
“Let's see. I met them for dinner. I was wearing clothing. One of them was wearing a ridiculous dress, you would have loved it – short, slutty, only covered one shoulder. The other one was more demure, some fancy shirt, and tight pants,” he described. Tate laughed.
“You were 'wearing clothing', huh? You're a horrible story teller. Do these girls have names?” she asked, propping her foot up on the island top.
“Probably,” was all he said, and she laughed.
“Terrible. So okay, we'll say Thing One is Slutty One - right up your alley. Thing Two, Demure Temptress. How long did it take you to talk them in to coming home with you?” she asked. He snorted.
“I didn't talk them in to shit, Tate. We had appetizers, I told them I was going home, they asked to join me. Demure Temptress sucked my dick during the cab ride to my hotel,” Jameson stated.
“Oh my. Lucky cab driver,” Tate whispered.
“Once we got in to my room, I sat on the balcony while they took turns blowing me. Slutty One couldn't wait any longer, and climbed on top of me right out there,” he continued.
“What was Demure Temptress doing?” Tate asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“She went back in to the room, got naked. Stretched out on the bed. Played with herself,” his voice was soft. Tate could feel her breathing pick up.
“Did you like that?”
“Very much so.”
“What else?”
“I carried the slutty sister in to the room, laid down on the bed between them. You can touch yourself, Tate, it's okay,” Jameson said when her finger began to trace lines above her bikini. She laughed.
“I don't need your permission,” she pointed out.
“Wrong.”
Her hand dived underneath the bathing suit material and she closed her eyes. She brought her other leg up so both knees were in the air, the balls of her feet balanced on the edge of the island. Sometimes she wondered who was better at touching her – herself, or Jameson. Her fingers could thread her like a needle; precise, knew exactly how to touch. Jameson was more like silk; smooth, finessing everything. She began to pant.