Tate glared and sat down across from him. While she worked at taking her fancy shoes off, the maid wandered back out onto the deck, asking a question in Spanish. Tate didn't need to speak the language to know that every word out of the other woman's mouth was dripping with sexual promise, full of innuendo.
She looked the other girl over, watching as the woman eye-fucked Jameson. She certainly wasn't subtle. It was actually kind of brave, considering the fact that the object of her attention was sitting there with another woman.
“Why isn't Sandy staying here anymore?” Tate asked in a booming voice, cutting right through their conversation as she tossed her shoes over her shoulder. Jameson smiled tightly at the maid before turning back to Tate.
“Because he's in the way,” was all he said. The maid stayed on the deck for a little longer, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Jameson and Tate, before she headed back inside the yacht.
“Sandy is never in the way,” Tate replied.
“Very rarely,” Jameson agreed. “This is a special situation.”
“Special how?”
“You get distracted easily. I don't want anyone else here when I decide it's time to fuck you.”
Tate was a little shocked. That he would assume he had already won, that he thought she would still be that easy. She wasn't ..., was she? No, she most definitely wasn't. Not for him, at least. She sat up straight in her chair, flicking her ponytail off her shoulder.
“Well, seeing as how that's not going to happen, you can just bring him right on back,” she replied. Jameson laughed.
“Tate, you can't kiss me like you did in that club and not put out,” he informed her. She raised her eyebrows.
“I told you, that was just for show,” she bluffed, rubbing at her sore ankles.
“Really. So dry humping me in a hallway, where no one could see us, was just for show,” he laid out the facts. She tried very hard not to blush.
“More like a sick curiosity.”
“Tatum.”
Jameson's voice was full of warning, making her shiver.
“I'm not fucking you. Deal with it.”
He rubbed a hand over his face again, but before he could say anything else, the maid called out to him. He grumbled to himself, then answered her in Spanish. A light laugh floated out onto the deck. Tate tried very hard not to glare into the boat.
“It's been a long night, baby girl. You sure I can't tempt you into a blowjob, at the very least?” Jameson asked, a laugh in his voice.
“Hmmm, probably not. But your maid seems more than happy to be of service. Any kind of service,” Tate replied, not able to keep the bite out of her voice. He laughed some more.
“Ooohhh, now that sounds like jealousy. You don't want me, but no one else can have me? How droll,” he taunted her.
“I don't care who has you – most of America, and I'm sure half of Germany, has had you. Go fuck your maid, see if I care,” she replied.
“Now, I know you don't meant that,” his voice was soft, his eyes wandering over her face. Tate shrugged.
“Jameson, why would anything you do bother me?” she countered. He leaned over the table.
“I think everything I do bothers you.”
“Then you're stupid. Go. Maybe she'll do you better than I ever could and you'll finally leave me alone. Make a night of it,” Tate suggested.
“Maybe I will,” Jameson agreed.
“Maybe you should.”
“You never know when enough is enough, Tate. You push me, and then get mad when I push back. It's counter-productive. It doesn't make sense. Why do you do it?” he asked, his head cocked to the side.
Because I like it when you push back.
“Because,” she sucked air through her teeth, trying to think of something, anything, to say in response. “I'm not the same person anymore. I don't care what you do, or who you fuck. It doesn't affect my life, not anymore than me fucking someone else affects yours. She wants you. You want to fuck somebody. Who am I to stand in the way? Go. I don't care.”
Jameson stood up abruptly and walked away from the table. He looked pissed. Tate was a little shocked, watching him walk into the galley. Her eye sight had adjusted to the dark some, and she could see what was going on inside a little better.
She watched as Jameson walked up behind the maid, leaned down close to her. He whispered something in her ear, but his eyes were on Tate the whole time. The maid threw her head back and laughed. Jameson smiled as well, then kept talking. Talked until she started moving away, towards the back of the boat. He gave one last look at Tate, then followed, his body crowding close to the smaller woman as they disappeared into the depths of the yacht.
Tate sat at the table, feeling small again. She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing around the deck. She wanted Sanders there, wanted to lean on his strength. She really wanted to go inside, press her ear against Jameson's door. Was he really going to have sex with that girl? Right then? While Tate was on the boat? They had done some kinky shit in their previous relationship, but never anything quite like that; Tate was open minded, but she had her boundaries.
What boundaries are there, if you're not together? He can do whatever he wants. Right? Right?
Of course, she had goaded him. Told him to do it. Tate couldn't be mad about it. She had laid it on thick in the club, then things had gotten pretty intense in that hallway. If Jameson hadn't touched her throat, she had no doubt that sex would have been imminent. She had been ready to take his pants off with her teeth. Probably a bad idea. Definitely a bad idea. And she had probably left him more than a little hard-up.
So Jameson having sex with the maid was a good thing. A great thing. Saved Tate some hassle, and would probably calm him down for a day or two. Get him to lay off her. Hell, maybe if she was lucky, the maid would be so good, he would forget all about Tatum. Perfect.
Tate leapt out of her chair like she had been electrocuted and prowled through the boat. She paused at the door to her room, still trying to convince herself that she was just going to bed. But she couldn't do it. She tip toed farther, all the way to Jameson's door. She knew she should let it go, knew that him sleeping with someone else was a good thing. Good, good, great.
But she was a horrible liar, even when it was to herself.
Tatum fucking hated the idea of Jameson sleeping with that girl.
She pressed her whole body to his door, straining to hear what was going on; living in a marina was similar to living in a city. There was always some kind of noise. Boats rocking, bouys squeaking, engines rumbling. Even inside an expensive, hand tailored yacht, noise managed to get in, and she had trouble hearing exactly what was being said.
But Tate could definitely hear voices, muffled as they were. The woman was definitely in his room. They were talking. There was giggling. Possibly a groan from him. Definitely a moan from her. More giggling. Tate wanted to puke. She pushed away from the door, hurried back to her room. Paced up and down the hallway. Took deep breaths through her nose. Tried to remember a happier time, a time when she would've been excited for him to sleep with someone else.
“... I want to know everything.”
“Really? You want to know everything? Like how I tied one girl down ..., things like that?”