Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(47)

It felt like they had run a marathon. She and Jameson had wild, roadrunner sex all the time, but this time ..., she felt like she would never be able to walk again. Talk again. Do anything, ever again.

Except maybe have sex. She would definitely do that again.

“Oh my god. Holy shit. Holy fu-ck,” she panted, pressing her wrist to her forehead.

“Yes,” Jameson breathed in agreement, not moving.

She was very aware that they were in an almost identical position to the first time they'd had sex in his library. Spread out on his desk, him on top of her, both of them gasping for air. Except this time, there was slightly less clothing. A lot bigger orgasms. Definitely a lot scarier feelings. Tate cleared her throat. Tried to talk. Had to clear her throat again. Felt her eyes well up with tears.

“That was ...,” her voice was barely above a breath. He chuckled.

“A week is too long, baby girl. See what happens when you make me wait?” he told her, still out of breath, as well. She cleared her throat again.

“So,” she managed to choke out loudly enough to hear, her voice raspy.

“Hmmm?” Jameson mumbled, his hands gliding up and down the backs of her thighs. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist.

“You hate me, huh?” she asked, managing to laugh. A tear slid down the side of her head. He chuckled.

“Tatum, what have I told you about listening to the shit that comes out of my mouth during sex? It's all rubbish,” he replied, the gliding turning to scratching.

“You've said you hate me before, one time. Before you went to Berlin,” she pointed out. He paused for a second, then his hands continued their path.

“That was different. Sometimes ..., sometimes I feel like I do hate you. I didn't want this, I wasn't looking for this, this isn't what I asked for. I wanted someone to play with, not someone for keeps. You changed the game on me,” he said quietly.

“I did?” she replied, another tear escaping. He nodded his head against her.

“Yes, and I don't know this game. I'm not good at this game. I'm learning as I go, and you don't make it easy, when you fight me at every turn. When you change the rules. You change your mind. You make me slip up. I hate that. Sometimes it all makes me wish for the old days. Sometimes, it all makes me hate you a little,” he confessed. She laughed. The tears were free falling now. No turning back.

Not that there ever was.

“Pity,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because it all makes me love you a little.”





~9~


“What are the rules?”

“No rules.”

“Shut up.”

“Fiiiiiine.”

“What are the rules?”

“No Angiers in the house.”

“Yes. And?”

“No plotting your imminent demise.”

“And?”

“No corrupting Sanders.”

“Good girl. I'll be back in four days.”

Jameson leaned down and kissed her. Went to leave, made it a couple steps, then came back.

“What!? I haven't corrupted him yet,” Tate held up her hands defensively. Sanders shifted from foot to foot, tried to blend in with the door frame.

“Any rules for me, baby girl?” he asked, glancing in a large mirror and fiddling with his tie. She batted his hands away and worked at the knot.

“You are shit at doing this,” she grumbled, pulling the whole thing free and starting over.

“Watch it. Why are you so good at it?” he asked, watching in the mirror as she deftly tied a knot.

“fu-cked a lot of professors,” she replied. He shoved her hands away.

“You're not fit to touch me,” he informed her.

“That's not what you said last night.”

“Last night was a completely different story. Any last words?” he asked. She thought for a second.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” she replied with a smile.

“What a horrible thought. Be good,” Jameson kissed her again, then sailed out the door, Sanders carrying his luggage behind him.

It was Monday. He would be back Friday. She had told him she loved him Saturday night. Things hadn't exploded. The earth hadn't swallowed her whole, Satan hadn't carried her off to his temple of doom. Though he did carry her off to his bedroom.



“I know you do, baby girl.”

“When did you know?”

“Paris.”

“How? I didn't even know.”

“You're not very subtle.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Never be sorry, Tate. I never am.”

“Does this change things?”

“No. Not a thing.”

“Please, don't hurt me.”

“I'll do my best.”

“That's all I can ask.”



He had kissed every inch of her skin, practically worshiped her with his mouth. She had felt like dying on top of his desk, but fifteen minutes later, and he had her so super charged, she felt like her fingertips could jump start a jet engine. Just when she was ready to beg for it, he had slipped inside of her, and eased the tension.