This is amazing.
Jameson had always known how to show her a good time, and not just in the naughty sense. It was like without communicating, he just knew the things she would like; what clothing she would like to wear, what foods she preferred to eat, movies she would want to see. She had never really noticed it before, but when she found herself thinking a ride on a speed boat was the best time she'd had since September, she realized it. In his own backwards, domineering way, Jameson liked to indulge her. Tate was blown away.
This is going to be harder than you thought, stupid girl.
After scaring her a couple more times with some tight turns, and weaving in and out of buoys, Jameson finally slowed down. Took them well away from town and other boats, then threw out the anchor. Tate was about to ask if he was planning on killing her and dumping her body, when his phone rang. He took the call, standing at the very end of the boat with his back to her.
Tate crawled her way out onto the bow, dragging some cushions with her. She had thought they would just go out for a quick spin, so she hadn't brought her bathing suit. She stretched herself out and pushed up her sleeves, rolled up the bottom of her top so it was right under her breasts. Then she yanked up the legs of her shorts as absolutely high as they would go, before unbuttoning the top and rolling it down. She wanted to soak up as much sun as possible before she went home. Winters in Boston were cruel.
She didn't know how long she laid like there that, but it was long enough to almost doze off. She wasn't aware of Jameson until he was standing right over her.
“You can just get naked, Tate. I won't be offended,” he offered. She managed a snort and put her hands behind her head, not opening her eyes.
“Keep dreaming, Kane,” she told him.
“It is a sort of recurring thing for me lately.”
“Dreaming about me naked?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Cause that's all you'll ever have.”
“You always make these threats, you realize,” he started, and she heard him move. He knelt next to her. “That first time, threatening to walk out of my apartment. Then when you came to my office, warning me that we would never happen. You're like an anti-prophet. By proclaiming that it won't be, I think you're actually hoping it will.”
Tate didn't answer him. Didn't want to think about it. With every person she'd ever had sex with, it had always been just that – sex. Every boyfriend she'd ever had, Ang, an accidental orgy, all just sex. Jameson was the only one it was different with; it had never been just sex. Tate could admit that, even if it wasn't the same for him. It had always been something else to her. If she slept with him again, she would be in danger of getting confused again. She had to keep her guard up.
“I think you like to interpret things however best suits your moods and opinions,” she replied. Jameson laughed.
“Very true.”
They were silent for a while after that. She didn't know what he was doing, because she was too scared to open her eyes and look at him. Then, suddenly, she felt his fingertips against her stomach. Tracing around her hip bone, then lightly up to the edge of her shirt. Back down again. No nails, no scratching, so it was different coming from him, but it still caused her to shiver. She squirmed under his touch.
“How long did she stay?” Tate blurted out.
One of these days, I will have to develop a filter.
“Excuse me?”
“Pet. How long did she stay with you?” she asked, licking her lips nervously. Jameson was quiet for a long time.
“She didn't. I made her leave that night, with everyone else,” he finally replied, his voice soft.
“Poor girl.”
“It was better than she deserved.”
“I saw you with her, in the kitchen.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She was whispering sweet-nothings to you in German,” Tate told him. She didn't know where this was all coming from, she hadn't intended on talking about anything personal with him.
“It's a good thing you don't speak German. There was nothing sweet about what she was saying,” Jameson replied, and his voice was no longer soft.
“Looked pretty cozy to me. She was probably devastated. I know how I felt when I found out you were fucking another woman, it wasn't exac-,”
“I never slept with her,” he interrupted, his hand going flat against her stomach. Tate finally opened her eyes. He was still kneeling, but he was looking down at her with murder in his eyes.
“Now that I don't believe for an instant,” she managed a laugh.
“If you will think very hard, you will remember that I never once lied to you. I may have withheld things, but I never lied. I am not lying now. I did not sleep with her. Not in Germany, and not at home,” Jameson assured her.
Tate didn't want to think about it, so she closed her eyes and filed his confession away.
Under F, for “so fucked up I can't even handle it”.
“Whatever, it looked sweet,” she continued.
“She was telling me that I was wasting my time on filth like you,” he explained.
“Bitch.”
“She's not a very nice person.”
“Neither are you.”
“No, but I never once thought you were filth. I told her to get the fuck out of my house,” Jameson replied.
“So, you used her. You led her to believe you had something going, you brought her home to embarrass and hurt me, and then you kicked her out. You're doing a very poor job of convincing me you're not the devil,” Tate pointed out.
“I've still got a couple weeks. You're going to have raccoon eyes,” Jameson warned her, and she felt him fiddle with her sunglasses. She batted his hand away and sat up.
“Like the tan I'm going to have is going to be any better,” she laughed, climbing to her feet and looking down at her mangled outfit.
“I told you. Just take your clothes off. There's no one out here, and it's nothing I haven't seen before,” he pointed out, standing as well.
Tate looked up at him. Jameson was staring down at her, but at her body, not her face. She watched his eyes sweep over her frame, and she could see the blatant desire in his gaze. She found herself wondering when the last time he'd had sex was, wondered who it was with, if it was any good. The idea of him sleeping with other women used to turn her on. Now she just wanted to puke.
“Alright.”
Jameson looked a little surprised, but he didn't move as she slowly pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes got wider as he took in her white bra. Then she took her time peeling her shorts away from her hips, revealing skimpy, black panties. His eyes followed her movements, watching her hands and legs as she slid the material down her body, even watched her toes when she kicked the shorts into the back of the boat. If she hadn't known any better, she would have sworn he was holding his breath.
“That's not naked,” Jameson informed her, in a tone of voice she knew well. A tone that meant he wouldn't tolerate any dissension.
“Are you sure you're ready for that?” Tate whispered, stepping up so she was pressed against him, pressing her hands flat against his chest. She almost felt dizzy, being that close to him.
“Baby girl, I was built ready for you.”