“It's okay, baby girl,” Jameson whispered against her ear as he moved his hands to her hips, urging her to move. Rocking her hips against him. She groaned and let her head fall back, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Jameson, I'm ..., I'm ...,” she gasped, running her hands into her hair as they picked up speed. He always filled her up, so much. There wasn't enough space for both of them. Just him. Why didn't she ever remember that? She was going to explode.
“It's okay,” he urged, fingers biting into her flesh.
When his teeth clamped down on her nipple, she lost her fucking mind. Actually screamed. One hand went to his head, pulling his hair while at the same time holding him to her. It felt like she came forever, shaking and gasping for air on top of him. Her body turned to jell-o, all of her muscles dissolved.
When the biggest part of her orgasm had subsided, Jameson laid down, taking her with him. Tate panted against his chest and his arms came to rest around her waist, his fingers drawing lazy circles in her skin. She shuddered and pressed her face against him, ran her teeth along a muscle.
Something was different. It was so different. She couldn't put her finger on it at first. Sex between them was always amazing, so the orgasm didn't shock her. He hadn't come, but that wasn't necessarily a surprise, either – Jameson usually liked to wring a couple orgasms out of her first, before giving her one of his own. It had been a lot quicker than normal, but they had all night, so it wasn't that. Sure, it had been a little quiet, but ...,
Tate's eyes snapped open and she grew still on top of him. They were never quiet during sex. Jameson was the most talkative man in bed she'd ever met – and that was saying something, considering she used to sleep with Ang on the regular, and he never shut up.
Jameson used words the way other people used toys; vibrators, whips, ropes. Backed up by his hands, so demanding in their grab and pull. But not this time. Tate felt amazing, like she was glowing. God, he'd been so gentle. What the fuck did that mean!? It certainly wasn't anything like the sex they used to have, back in Boston. She suddenly felt ill. Jesus, they weren't ..., they didn't ..., they hadn't just made love, had they!?
You're losing again, baby girl.
“Get up,” Jameson suddenly urged, slapping her on the ass. She was still reeling from her moment of introspection, and just fell off of him as he started to sit up.
“Huh?” she asked as he got off the bed.
“Get up, let's go,” he said, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. She almost didn't make it, and he grabbed her around the waist.
“I'm sorry, wait. What's going on?” Tate asked.
“You were laying there thinking, never a good thing. Stop it. Follow me,” Jameson said, then he was pulling her across the room.
“I was only -,” she started to argue.
“Shut up, Tate. Don't ruin this.”
He led her across the large room, into his master bath. She had never been in there, and was a little stunned. There was a huge circular jacuzzi tub. Did Jameson take baths? There was also a large, glass enclosed shower stall. He turned both taps on, then pulled her into the shower while the tub filled up.
“What are we doing?” Tate asked, slicking her hair away from her face. He grabbed her hips and pulled her close.
“Getting reacquainted.”
“I thought we just did that,” she laughed.
“No, we had sex,” Jameson replied, pinching her chin between his fingers and forcing her to stare at him. “Now that it's out of the way, maybe you'll hear me.”
She swallowed thickly and pulled herself free of him. The sex hadn't been quite as scary as she thought it would be, it hadn't quite broken her. But talking – now that was really dangerous. If he started saying things she'd always wanted to hear, she wouldn't be able to handle it. He would really win, once and for all.
It's still a game. Sex doesn't change anything. It has to be a game. You'll never be anything more than that to him, and if you ever forget that, he'll put you back in that pool.
Tate turned around and leaned into him, pressing her back against his chest. Jameson moved and she moved with him, standing under the spray of water. She felt his hands in her hair, working the water over the strands. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I've never been on a yacht before,” she commented. He chuckled, his hands moving back down to her hips.
“Really? I would've assumed your family had one,” he replied. Tate shook her head.
“There's like a family boat, parked in the Hamptons, but I never got to go on it. Yours is nice,” she told him.
“My god, she says something nice to me. I didn't think it would ever happen again.”
“Don't get used to it.”
“Tatum, I want you to know, I always -,”
Stop him. It's too much. You'll overflow. Shut down. Break down. Fall apart.
“Have you owned this boat long?” she interrupted, lifting her head away from him. He sighed.
“Years. I bought it after I left Harrisburg,” he answered.
“Did you -,”
“Tate, since when do you give a fuck about boats?” Jameson demanded. She laughed and stepped away from him.
“Since you tricked me in to staying on one. Very dirty game, Mr. Kane,” she teased him.
“I'm not playing any game.”
Tate almost swallowed her tongue. She didn't know what to say to that, so she chose to ignore it.