Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(38)

He was standing in front of her, so close they were almost touching. He stared down the length of his nose at her, and the look of disdain he usually wore was front-and-center. She smiled at him. Reached out and straightened his tie.

“You're such shit at this,” she mumbled, adjusting his tie-pin. He grabbed her hand.

“Sanders is coming with you,” he informed her.

“Really? You wouldn't mind?” she asked, surprised. Sometimes she wondered if Jameson would be able to survive without Sanders.

“You can't be left alone in the world without a babysitter. No getting him drunk,” Jameson growled. She laughed.

“That was all him. I just made the drinks,” she pointed out.

“You are a bad influence,” he said.

“What, on Sandy?”

“On all of us.”

“Duh.”

He yanked her close and kissed her, and she moaned. They hadn't had sex since before the night Sanders got drunk, over two days ago. A long time, in their terms. He shoved her backwards against his desk and she fell onto it. She didn't even have time to find her balance before he was leaning onto her, his tongue invading her mouth. She moaned again, clawing her nails down his back.

“You sure you just slept next to Angier?” he growled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the floor.

“Next to him, on top of him, po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o,” she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“I can smell him on you. God, I wanna hold you under a hot shower till your skin turns red,” he hissed. She shuddered, combing her fingers through his hair.

“Sounds exciting,” she whispered. He grabbed her throat then, pinned her to the desk.

“Stop fu-cking talking.”

“You're the one getting turned on by smelling Ang,” she pointed out. His fingers squeezed harder.

“I always did love fu-cking a whore.”

She couldn't stand it. She began clawing at the buttons on his vest, trying to undo them while his hands ran under her shirt, pushed it up over her breasts. She let out a gasp when he sucked on a nipple, through her bra. She moaned, her head hitting the desk. She felt like she was going to explode. He hadn't even hardly touched her, and she was ready to pop.

She knew it was a bad idea, to have sex. Not with her emotions all over the place. She would probably wind up screaming that she loved him, then cry like a girl afterwards. He would love it, fu-ck her again, and then leave her a broken mess. He would've gotten what he wanted, won the game. She wasn't ready, not yet. But she couldn't stop. She pressed her hips up against his, felt the bulge in his pants, and wanted to feel more. Her fingers wouldn't stop moving. She left his vest and trailed her hands down to his belt, began yanking at it.

“Mr. Kane, your one-thirty is ...,”

Saved by the bell.

Tate opened her eyes. The squawking secretary was a couple feet into the room, and turning bright red. Tate smiled and flicked her eyes to Jameson. His chin was resting on her chest, and one of his hands was halfway down her pants. He looked casual, but his secretary looked ready to burst into flames. Tate wondered how many women he'd fu-cked in his office. Maybe she was the first. She wiggled her hips underneath him.

“Yes, Mrs. Janette?” he asked, scratching his fingers up Tate's stomach as he pulled his hand free of her pants.

“I'm so sorry,” the other woman breathed.

“It's quite alright. Do you mind, Tate?” he asked, not looking down at her.

“Nope.”

“What did you need?” Jameson asked the secretary as he slowly backed off of Tatum.

“Your ..., your one-thirty appointment. Mr. Yamamoto. He's -, he's here,” the secretary stuttered, looking everywhere around the room but at them.

“Of course. Tell him ten minutes,” Jameson replied, and the secretary fled from the room. Tate pulled herself up so she was sitting.

“Ten minutes isn't very long,” she told him. He shook his head, buttoning his vest back up.

“No, not nearly long enough for all the things I want to do to you. As sexy as your whore-y ways are, I don't think I can be inside of you, knowing that Ang might have just been there,” he explained. She snorted.

“I didn't have sex with him,” she snapped. Jameson smiled.

“I know. Still. The mental image. You have five days, baby girl. You better make sure that no one else has been here, when I get you back,” he said softly, stepping forward to run a finger up and down the seam between her legs. She rubbed her lips together.

“You think you can go a couple days without fu-cking me?” she asked, widening her legs.

“I've gone a lot longer than that before, I think I can manage it again. Besides, I'm submitting the termination papers to the secretary downstairs. I may not be so bored while you're gone,” he whispered, his finger pressing harder. She curled her fingers into his shoulders.

“I swear, if you fu-ck her, I'm definitely gonna fu-ck Nick.”

“Threaten me again, and I'll beat your ass so hard you won't even be able to walk during your little sabbatical with Nick.”

God, I missed this.

“Maybe,” she breathed, his fingers starting to make her pant, “maybe we could be really fast. We still have, like, six minutes left.” Before she could say more, he stopped touching her and pressed the finger to her lips.