Degradation (The Kane Trilogy 1) by Stylo Fantome

“It hasn't escaped my attention that you growing a massive set of balls seems to have happened right after I fucked you. I think I deserve some credit, and therefore, you owe me,” he broke it down for her. She burst out laughing.

“You're an amazing piece of work! Just because we had sex, doesn't mean -,”

“I fucked you. There is a big difference.”

“It was seven years ago!” Tate was suddenly shrieking. “Seven fucking years! Who gives a fuck!? I've fucked a lot of people since then! I'm sure you have, too! So big fucking deal!”

Nothing rattled him. He stood still, continuing to smirk down at her. It drove her insane. She wanted to slap him. Claw her nails across his face. Knock him to the ground. And then possibly fuck his brains out ...,

“I think it was a very big deal, and we can discuss that another time. For now, let me take you to work. Let me see this shit hole bar you work at, and then maybe we can set up a time to chat,” Jameson offered.

Her mind was spinning. It had been a big deal to him? Not possible. Not. Fucking. Possible. He'd barely even looked at her after it had happened, and she had been a puddle on the floor. Jameson Kane wasn't that kind of guy, she couldn't imagine anything being that big of a deal to him. She had always assumed he had forgotten about it.

That's why she was so stunned.

“I ..., you ..., what?” she asked. He laughed.

“I'll be waiting downstairs. Your apartment scares me. Be down in fifteen minutes. Do not make me come back up here,” he ordered, pointing a finger at her before walking towards the door.

“You can't tell me -,”

“Oh, and Tate, you forgot these,” he said, digging in his pocket. He pulled her panties out and tossed them onto the floor. “You always seem to be dropping these around me.”

Mother fucker.

*

Jameson was a little shocked that she came down within the fifteen minutes. She eyed him sideways for a minute, and it was obvious she was considering just walking off, but something made her think twice. She must have figured out that he would just follow after her. She sighed and stepped around him, letting herself in to the passenger side of his car.

Tate didn't talk to him, other than to give directions. Her voice had gotten just a touch lower than it had been when she was eighteen. A huskiness had been added to it, or something. Something sexy. Everything about her was sexy. Seven years ago, she had been sexy as a clueless, naive, young woman. Now, as a confident, forward, twenty-five year old, she stopped his heart. Made it hard to think straight.

She had put makeup on. She seemed to favor a smudgy, smoky eye. It looked good on her. A little trashy, but in a very sexy way. Her pert mouth was coated in a pale, pink gloss, that really emphasized the fact that she most definitely had CSL - cock-sucking-lips. Seven years ago, he wouldn't have ever been able to imagine Tatum O'Shea sucking dick. Now he couldn't stop.

Jameson wouldn't let himself think about her body, or he'd have to pull over the car and ease the tension between them, right then and there.

She was fighting against him, and it just turned him on even more. When she had started pulling down her panties, in the middle of that room, with all those people ..., it had taken every bit of restraint he had not to dismiss everyone and fuck her right then. The old Tatum had been fun to play with, cute. This Tatum, he wanted to own. He wanted to break her down, bend her to him. She seemed a worthy adversary, and Jameson loved a good fight.

“Do you always start work this late?” he questioned, pulling up in front of a kind of dive looking bar. She shook her head.

“No, I'm filling in for someone, I normally work weekends. Thanks for the ride,” she said before leaping out of the car. He got out right behind her.

“Oh, I've gotta see this place. I'm fascinated by your life. Good girl goes bad. Is there piss on the floor?” he asked, holding the door to the bar open. She gave him a smile full of sweetness.

“You have such a sexy way with words.”

Then she elbowed him and strode through the door.

She made a beeline to the bar, ducking under the partition and heading in to a back room. Jameson planted himself on a bar stool and ordered a bourbon. Neat. The woman serving him was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a string-bikini top, and wore them well. It made him curious as to what Tate would be wearing, wondered if it would be as slutty.

He wasn't disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, at ten o'clock on the dot, she reappeared. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was wearing a tiny pair of jean cut-offs. He had wanted to see her ass, and now his wish was pretty much granted. When she leaned over the back of the bar to grab something, he could see the bottom swell of her ass cheeks.

On top she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of baseball logo on it, but she had ripped off the bottom half of it. It stopped just beneath her breasts, and when she lifted her arms, he could see a gray, lacy bra. The shirt also show-cased her stomach, with was tone and flat. The girl took care of her body. She had leather boots on her feet, almost combat like, but with the tops folded down. They should have looked at odds with her sexy outfit, but they worked some how.

“Is this how you normally dress for work?” Jameson asked when she made her way towards his end of the bar. She glanced down at herself.

“No. Sometimes I wear less,” she replied, and he laughed.

“Less? So if I come in here on the weekend, you might be serving people in a bikini?” he had to shout to be heard over the music and the rowdy patrons. It had been pretty full when they'd walked in – now it was standing room only.