“Are you okay?”
“Shut up and answer the question. Why do you like the color gold? Specifically. Think about it. Why,” he stressed. She looked at him like he was crazy, but she thought about it.
“Because ..., I like it. When I look at it, it pleases me, aesthetically. I don't know why, but it just does,” Tate explained as best she could. Jameson nodded, digging his fingers into her thighs and dragging his nails up towards her knees.
“When I call you a 'stupid cunt', it pleases me, physically. I don't know why, but it just does,” he copied her answer to make his point. “Why do people always need a reason? I hate my mother, so I treat women like shit? You hate your dad, so you find guys to treat you like shit? No, Tate, I didn't hate my mother. I got along great with her. Loved her very much.
“I'm not acting out my psychological problems in bed. It is possible to like kinky shit just because you like it. If it seems like I treat women like shit, it's because I treat everyone like shit; women, men, orangutans, everyone. I'm not some damaged person, I'm just spoiled. I'm used to getting my own way, and when I don't, I tend to throw a temper tantrum. I have no problem admitting this – I have been getting my way long enough to expect it to just happen, and I have enough money to normally ensure that it does happen. It's as simple as that. So, sorry to disappoint you, I'm just plain old fashioned kinky. I like weird sex, simply because I like how it makes me feel.”
Temper tantrum. I thought bringing Pet home was some well thought out, elaborate plan to hurt me because he's a sadistic bastard. But he's really just a spoiled brat. A goddamn temper tantrum ...
“You should really work on that whole spoiled thing. Your temper tantrum nearly drove me insane,” Tate managed a laugh, though she felt very much like crying. Jameson nodded.
“I know. I think about that everyday. You have very effectively taught me that it is one thing to want things my way,” he started in a soft voice, staring her very directly in the eyes. “But quite another to ignore the ways of everyone else. I hurt you, and I'm still finding it difficult to forgive myself. If you had died, Tate …, there are no words. I would have been very sad. And not just because I had done something bad, I want you to know. I would have been sad because my world is a very lonely place without you.”
So many unshed tears. Tate was glad she was wearing his glasses, she felt like they were hiding her emotions a little bit. She took deep breaths through her nose, tried to stay calm. They were very sweet words. Words that soothed the gaping hurt in her soul. But the devil is very good when it comes to dealing with damaged souls.
I wanted to learn about him so I could hate him more. I didn't expect his answer to make me want to forgive him. Cheating bastard.
“We were talking about your mother,” Tate drew the conversation away from the heavy stuff. Jameson sighed and looked back over the water, wearing a look on his face that she couldn't quite decipher. Annoyance? Hurt?
Those two shouldn't look similar …, only on you, Satan.
“My mother and I got along great, she was an amazing person. My father wasn't exactly big on being involved in family issues. He wasn't even there when I was born. My mother is the one who named me,” he told her.
“Oh yeah, you said your middle name was her last name,” Tate remembered the first time they had run into each other in Boston, at his firm's opening party.
“Technically, Kraven is part of my last name. I have several middle names.”
“You have more than one middle name?”
“Yes. I'm a thoroughbred,” he joked.
“What's your full name?” she asked. He sighed and dragged a finger back down her thigh, following its path with his gaze.
“Mi nombre es Jameson ..., Santiago ..., Agustin ..., Kraven Kane,” he said it slowly, tracing the first inital of each name on her skin.
He's branding me.
“You have five names,” she commented softly. He nodded and glanced at her.
“I know. It took a long time to memorize, when I was little,” he chuckled. She couldn't imagine him ever being little.
“Santiago. I like it. Can I call you Santi?” she teased.
“Only if you want to get slapped.”
“Ooohhh, tempting.”
“Is this really okay, Tate?” Jameson asked, going back to scratching his nails up and down her legs.
“What do you mean?”
“This. Day before yesterday, you were over me. Last night, you were ready to say you wanted to go home. Today, you're sitting here, flirting with me, half naked in my clothing. I am a little suspicious,” he warned her.
“Sometimes, I just need a good fucking to put me in my place,” she laughed.
“Tatum.”
“I don't know,” she was finally serious. “I'm just tired, Jameson. I'm tired of fighting, and I'm tired of arguing, and ..., and I missed you. I hate to admit it, but I did.”
She watched him carefully while she talked, tried to judge whether or not he believed her. His eyes were narrowed, wandering over her face. She swallowed thickly and stared right back. Prayed for him to believe her.
He should – you're technically telling the truth. Weak bitch.
“So. That's what you wanted to talk about? My sexual proclivities?” he asked, his fingers starting to massage her. Tate shrugged.
“Yeah, amongst other things.”
“I never knew they bothered you.”
“Obviously, they don't – I love them. I was just curious, if there was something else there,” she replied.
“And that's why you wanted to ask about my mother?” he asked. She nodded.
“Yeah. I don't know, I used to wonder if you hated women. I thought maybe there was a reason,” she told him. Jameson laughed and grabbed her ankle, lifted her leg up so he could nibble at her calf.
“I don't hate women, Tate. I love women,” he said, kissing his way to her ankle. “I love the way they feel, their skin, their smell. The way they taste, the sounds they make.”
“Clearly. I just wanted to get to know you better,” she continued. He sat her leg down and grabbed her by the hips, scooting her even closer to him.
“So what else do you want to know, baby girl?” he asked, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her. Tate licked her lips and ran a finger along the collar of his shirt.
“Mmmm, how many women have you fucked since me,” she breathed. Jameson laughed and moved his hands to her neck, slowly undoing his tie.
“Hmmm, how many, how many,” he wondered out loud, pulling the tie over her head and tossing it behind her.
“Less than ten?” she asked. He looked upwards, like he was thinking hard, and took the glasses off of her.
“I lose track of these kinds of things, so easily,” he mumbled. He sat his glasses down beside the engine parts and then went to work on the buttons of her shirt.
“Less than twenty?” Tate pressed. It had started out as a tease, but now she wanted to know. Needed to know. Jameson finished unbuttoning and spread the shirt open, running his hands over her breasts.
“Tatum,” he whispered, leaning her backwards till she was laying in the bottom of the boat.