Degradation (23 page)

His tongue was back at it, this time joined by two of his fingers. Tracing up and down, swimming in and out. She shrieked and moaned, writhed around underneath him. His other arm came down across her hips, his fingers digging in to her skin. Her cries got louder, her hips undulating against his face. In the back of her mind, she knew that the door was open, that anyone could walk in on them – Sanders, a guest coming back for something, anyone – but she didn't care. It just excited her more.

“You're very close, Tate,” Jameson lifted his head enough to whisper, biting on her thigh while his fingers still moved inside of her.

“Yes, please, please, so close, please,” she whined, her hips lifting off the island, straining towards his mouth.

“Do you want to come on my tongue, or my dick?”

“Can't I do both?”

“Maybe another time. My generosity has run out for right now,” he told her.

She sat up abruptly, forcing him to lean away. She grabbed his neck and pulled herself forward, sliding across the island in to him. She locked her lips onto his warm, damp ones, tasting herself against his tongue. Her legs went around his waist and she hooked her ankles together.

“Now, it has to be
now,
” she groaned, her hands back in his hair and pulling.

“So greedy,” he laughed, picking her up off the island and carrying her out of the room. She clawed and writhed against him, all the way up the stairs. He carried her in to his bedroom and then laid them down on his bed, stretching out on top of her.

“So what am I going to owe you, for that huge favor?” Tate breathed, stretching while he peeled her clothing off of her.

“Something big,” he warned. She smiled, working a hand in to his pants.

“Oh, I know it is,” she replied. He laughed.

“All you think about is sex.”

“Nothing wrong with that. It's your fault, anyway.”

“
I aim to please.
”

She had made it pretty clear that she wanted to come on his dick, and she did – but before he could come, he slid down her body and latched his lips back onto her pussy. For having gone on and on about doing her such a big favor by eating her out, how it wasn't something he “
ever really did
”, he couldn't seem to stop. He was like a man possessed. It wasn't until she was so oversensitized that even the idea of another orgasm was uncomfortable, that he finally stopped. She laid on her back, trembling and shaking, her hands above her head.

“Please, too much, no more,” she gasped for air, rubbing her thighs together. He worked his way up her body, pausing at her breasts, his fingers circling a nipple, pinching it. Her back arched up and she whimpered.

“I could do this all night,” Jameson breathed, his teeth going to the nipple.

“If only I had a twin,” she joked.

“Jesus christ, I would die.”

“
But very happy. You would die a
very
happy man,” she pointed out. He lifted his face to hers, rubbed his nose against her cheek.

“
You're better than any set of twins,
any threesome
, I've ever had. You better be careful, Tatum, or my claws will get in too deep for you to ever get away,” he warned her. His voice was soft, but his words carried weight. They settled on her chest, interfered with her heart beat. She opened her eyes and stared at his ceiling.

“I like it better when you say mean things,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“They don't hurt as much.”

Jameson was silent for a while and then he rolled her over, slapped her on the ass. Called her a stupid slut for listening to anything that came out of his mouth in bed. Held her down by her shoulders and fucked her hard.

That was her comfort zone. She felt like if he was nice to her, if he was sweet to her, she would forget what was really going on, forget her place in the grand scheme of things. And he was Satan, after all. He would make sure to put her back in her place.
That
would be real pain, and she couldn't handle that, not from him. Not again.

I'm losing this game.

“
Wake up
.”

Something smacked hard against Tatum's ass and she jumped a little, propping herself up. Jameson was leaning over the bed, a paddle brush in his hand. She yawned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“A little early, but okay¸ at least we're finally getting to the good stuff,” she joked. He laughed and spanked her again before pulling away.

“
Everything
I give you is good stuff; you haven't earned the right to play with toys yet,” he informed her. She snorted and rolled over in the bed.

“Why are you so chipper? It's too early,” she groaned.

“We're going somewhere. Get up and get showered!” he barked, disappearing in to his closet. She sat up.

He was taking her somewhere? Jameson never took her anywhere, except for maybe out to eat, once in a while. Never in the mornings. They almost only ever did stuff at his house. Was this going to be like a date? Sanders' words came back to her, as well as some of Jameson's own words. She felt giddy. He had been very sweet to her the night before, said things she never would have thought he'd say. Maybe the tide was turning. Maybe Satan was growing a heart.

Tate hustled in to the shower, hurried through her routine. When she got back out of the bathroom, Jameson was nowhere to be found, though there was a dress laid out on the bed. A tight black number, very prim and proper. Probably very expensive. While she fingered the material, her cell phone started going off, so she crawled across the bed to grab it. Rusty's phone number flashed across the screen.

“Hey, I meant to call -,” Tate answered, but a shrill scream stopped her.

“
OH MY GOD HOW COME YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!?!?
” Rus was yelling. Tate yanked the phone away from her ear.

“Jesus, I'm deaf now, thanks. Tell you what?” Tate asked.

“The rent! It's amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you
so much
, this will totally help me with so many things!” Rus was gushing on and on.

Rent? What about the rent? After Ang had crawled to her place, begging for forgiveness on his hands and knees, Tate had spent most of the week at his apartment, avoiding her landlord. She would sneak in her window at night, and then back out again in the morning. So she had no clue what Rus was talking about – as far as Tate knew, they were still two weeks late on their rent.

“
What's
amazing, Rusty!? I don't know what you're talking about!” Tate snapped. There was a melodramatic sigh.

“Oh my god, it was
him
, wasn't it? I bet it was. I ran in to Mr. Malley in the hall, and I was all prepared to beg, and cry, and plead, or offer your body up for sacrifice, when he said to say thank you to you, for paying the next six months rent in advance,” Rus said in one quick breath.

Six months!?

Tate fell back against the pillows. She was blown away. Jameson must have done it, no one else she knew had that kind of money. Why would he do that? They joked about him paying her, but he never actually had. Was paying her rent considered payment? Or was he just being a nice guy? He'd gotten awfully upset when he'd found out that she owed money. Maybe he was just trying to rectify the problem.

“I didn't know that he'd done that, he didn't tell me,” Tate mumbled in to the phone.

“Aw, maybe it was a secret and I ruined it. I'm so sorry, I was just so excited! I can finally afford those vet tech classes! Tell him I said thank you? What a sweetheart,” Rus sighed in to the phone. Tate snorted and rolled onto her stomach, picking at the bedspread.

“
He didn't do it to be nice, Rus. He'll want something in return. I don't call him '
Satan
' for no reason,” she laughed.

“
Shut up and try not to ruin this one! For once, you found a guy who treats you the way you like
and
also does nice things for you. You better do whatever it takes to hold onto him, understand!? If you don't, tell him to call me, and I will!” Rus snapped, and then the line went dead. Tate made a face and dropped the phone. Rusty sleeping with Jameson. There was a thought. He would eat her alive.

“I'm Satan, am I?” Jameson's voice was behind her. She pulled herself to her knees and turned to face him.

“Mostly in my head, that's how I refer to you,” she told him. He laughed as he walked across the room, carrying a black, carry-on type of roller bag.

“How flattering. You've already heard everything I like to call you,” he said. She cleared her throat.

“Did you pay my rent?” she asked. He glanced at her.

“Yes. Last week, when I left your apartment,” he told her, sitting the bag at the foot of the bed and opening it.

“Why would you do that?” she asked, crawling down and kneeling behind the bag.

“Because your rent was late. That's horrible. And if you were so far behind that you couldn't pay it, I knew that meant you would have to work more to make the money. I didn't want that, I like having access to you at any time. It seemed the only answer was paying your rent for you,” Jameson explained, disappearing in to his closet.

“That's very nice, but six months worth? Seems a little excessive,” she called out. He came back out, carrying some shirts and pants on hangers.

“I'm an excessive kind of person. I have no doubt that one of us will run the other off before six months is up, but it was a nice, even number,” he told her, folding up the clothing and dropping it in to the bag. She grabbed his wrist, halting his movements, and stared him in the eye.

“Thank you,” she said plainly. He gave her a tight lipped smile.

“Don't thank me yet. It wasn't for free,” he warned her, pulling his arm out of her grasp.

“And that's why I call you Satan,” she sighed. “I don't think it's very fair, to expect payment for something I didn't ask to buy.” He laughed and walked over to the side table, grabbing some watches and loading them in to a travel case, which also went in to the luggage.

“Are you fucking with me? Do you think I actually care what you think is fair? C'mon, get up and get dressed. We're leaving in half an hour,” he informed her, heading back in to the closet.

“Where are we going? Are you going away somewhere? You just got back,” she said, running her hands over the shirts in his bag. He walked back out and dumped some socks, underwear, and a pair of shoes in to the bag.

“
We
are going away somewhere,” he said, pushing her hands away and closing the bag.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked, shocked. He pulled her off the bed.

“I have to get back at you for that ridiculous dinner last week, and you owe me for the rent situation. You are coming with me, on a trip,” he said, moving her to stand against the edge of the bed.

“
I am!?” she exclaimed. Her heart was suddenly ridiculously happy. If this was a punishment, she would take it without any questions. He wanted to go away with her somewhere. Surely, it couldn't just be sex between them.

“Yes. We're going away for the weekend,” Jameson said, holding the dress up against her. She grabbed it and he walked away, grabbing a box off his side table.

“Wait, for the whole weekend? I have to work,” Tate told him as he came back to her. He sat the box on the end of the bed and opened it, pulling out a very fine, sheer, black stocking.

“No, you don't. I arranged for you to have this weekend off,” he informed her, laying the stocking across her forearm. It was quickly followed by the second one.

“You did!?”

Heart. Bursting.

“I set this up while I was in Los Angeles.”

A pair of very expensive looking red panties joined the stockings.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Jameson laughed, finally moving to stand in front of her.

“
Now
that
is a secret. Go change in to everything. Put your hair up, nicely, and subtle makeup. No slutty-eyes today,” he told her, scooting her towards the bathroom.

Tate laughed. Normally she would argue with him, but she was so happy, she couldn't bear to – that day, he could make her do whatever he wanted. So she swept her up in to an artfully messy French twist, and then took her time putting on her makeup. Cat's-eye style eyeliner and nude eye shadow, with just powder foundation. She did, however, put on a heavy, matte, red lipstick. Hint-o-slut, like a naughty secretary. Perfect, Jameson would love it.

She didn't know when he got the clothing, or how he had known just what size she wore. The red panties fit perfectly, the stockings felt like they came straight from Paris, and the dress was like a second skin. Went from her collar bone to her knees, and was very tight, with a thin belt around the waist. At first glance, it was almost demure, but when she turned around, she could see that there was virtually no back. Just open skin from her shoulders to her waist. She felt like she was wearing a woman's version of a power suit. With her hair and makeup, she looked very professional. Very rich. She frowned. Almost like ..., how she might have looked had she never left home. She shook her head. No, still too sexy. She wasn't that girl. She would
never
be that girl.

“How did you know all the right sizes, Jameson?” Tate asked as she padded out of the bathroom.

But he wasn't in the bedroom. A shoe box was sitting on the bed, with a couple of jewelry boxes next to it. She pulled out diamond earrings –
those can't be real
– and a simple chain with a solitary diamond pendant. She put them all on, and when she opened the shoe box, her breath caught in her throat.
Red bottoms
. The most coveted of all shoes. She actually moaned out loud as she took the heels out, her eyes traveling over every inch of the leather. Sex with Jameson was pretty amazing, but even Louboutins had him beat. She slipped them onto her feet and moaned again.

“You like?” Jameson asked as he strode back in to the room.

“I want to fuck you, like, so hard right now,” she told him. He laughed.

“Maybe when we're in the air. C'mon, baby girl, we have to go,” he said.

“How did you know all the right sizes to get?” she asked.

“I took one of your dresses and a pair of your ridiculous socks, gave them to a private shopper. The underwear was easy, I am very familiar with your ass,” he assured her, his eyes sweeping over her body.

“Well, it all fits like it was made for me. How do I look?” she asked.

“Absolutely stunning.”

Tate blushed. He had never said something like that before, she was always sexy, or filthy, or hot. Rarely ever beautiful. Never stunning.

“Was it expensive?” she asked in a soft voice. He raised an eyebrow.

“
Very
. Now stop questioning me. Let's go,” he ordered, and marched out of the room.

Sanders was waiting at the front door, next to two black rolling bags. Tate could only assume that one was for her, probably already packed with similar clothing. Sanders' eyes wandered over her, and she thought she might have seen a hint of a smile on his lips. She winked at him and pinched his butt while they walked out the door.

They didn't talk as they drove to an airfield a little ways away. She was surprised they didn't just go all the way in to Logan Airport. Jameson barely even looked up from his phone as they breezed through security and headed out onto the actual tarmac. Money talked. They approached a small, private plane, and her jaw dropped.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked as Sanders climbed in to the plane ahead of them, loading up their bags.

“I told you, it's a secret,” Jameson said, pressing a hand against her bare back and leaning close to her ear.

“Yeah, but ..., a private plane? Do you own this plane?” she asked. He laughed.

“No, I chartered it for the weekend. I feel like if I ever buy a plane, I will have irreversibly slipped in to the land of douchey-rich-guy,” he told her. Tate laughed.

“I don't know about that, might be nice to always have a plane on standby,” she said.

He kept his hand on her back while she climbed the stairs ahead of him. Sanders was already seated in the back of the plane, a laptop open in front of him. A flight attendant fiddled around in the back and a pilot smiled at them from the cockpit. Tate wasn't sure where to sit, so she just plunked down in a chair close to the door. Jameson sat in the seat across from her, his eyes wandering over her face.

“You look excited,” he commented.

“I am. I'm holding out hope that we're going to the Bahamas,” she told him. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, Tatum. So optimistic. I'm going to tell you right now, it's not the Bahamas. You should be very, very afraid,” he teased. She rolled her eyes.

“We'll see.”

He told her the flight would take about two hours, but that's all he would say. When they took off, they headed over land, so she knew they weren't going East. Somewhere West – back to Los Angeles? No, that would be way longer than two hours. How long did it take to go to Chicago? Did Jameson even like Chicago? She had no clue where they were headed, and his words started to get to her. She got nervous.