Reparation (32 page)

“
Menage
.”

He burst out laughing.

“Fuck, Tatum, I think I will marry you.”

“You're so easy.”

“Not as easy as you.”

“No, probably not.”

“Tatum?”

“Hmmm?”

“Will you please shut the fuck up now?” he groaned. She thought about it for a second.

“Maybe. If you say it just one more time,” she told him. He growled, and suddenly her panties were ripped away.

“Prove to me how bad you can be, then maybe I'll say it again,” he snapped. She sighed, scratching her nails down his arms.

“Anything for you, Satan.”

“
Good answer.
”

Hmmm. Where do I start? I'm going to make this quick, stop it before the tears start. As always, for Sue. If you read the book, and you're reading this part, and you enjoyed that last chapter, you have Sue to thank – it didn't exist before her feedback.

Thank you to all the blogs, to EVERY blog that read, that reviewed, that posted, that showed promos. Big and small, interactive or not. You have changed my life.

To everyone who loves to read so much, they take time out of their day to seek out authors and reach out to them. I don't know about other authors, but I appreciate it immensely and I always ALWAYS welcome it.

Thank you to my husband. You put up with me. You support me. You allow me to be me.

Thank you to Becs, formerly of Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews. Despite stepping away from the blogging world, you were still willing to read and review.

Thank you to SueBee, Goodreads reviewer extraordinaire, who took a chance on an ARC and then read the whole series – the following Epilogue would never have seen the light of day without your encouragement.

To a naughty, dirty website that shall remain nameless, for inspiring me to write what was in me to write, and to not be afraid of it.

To Najla Qamber, the best graphic designer in the business, as far as I'm concerned. You have done all my covers, and all have been great. You deal with my changing mind and millions of e-mails. You make sense out of my non-sense. You translate my vision when I can't even figure out how to spell it. People, need a cover? Need a logo? Need something pretty?
http://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
- you won't be sorry. She is amazing.

To the person reading this right now. When I wrote Jameson's story, I really didn't imagine it ever finding you, but I'm very glad it did.

There, and I didn't even cry.

Well, not too much.

Songs that I listened to while writing, songs that just made me think of the story,

and a couple that inspired actual scenes. Listen to entire playlist at:

http://grooveshark.com/playlist/Reparation/101722684

1. Iggy Azalea ft. Rita Ora – Black Widow
   
2. Santana – She's Not There
   
3. Joan Jett – I Hate Myself for Loving You
   
4. Britney Spears - Toxic
   
5. Christina Perri – Human Being
   
6. Lady Gaga – Bad Romance (first one was for Tate, this one is for Jameson)
   
7. Darren Hayes – Insatiable
   
8. Maroon 5 – This Love
   
9. Adam Lambert – Better Than I Know Myself
   
10. Bastille – Flaws
    
11. Eminem ft. Rihanna – Love the Way You Lie
    
12. Madonna – The Power of Good-Bye
    
13. Chris Isaak – Wicked Games
    
14. Rolling Stones – Beast of Burden
    
15. Passenger – Let Her Go
    
16. Natalia Kills – Wonderland
    
17. Lifehouse – You and Me
    

COMPLETION:

Epilogue to The Kane Trilogy

~Prologue~

“Stop. Stop, I'm begging you.”

“Begging, huh. I must be doing something right.”

“I can't take anymore.”

“You'll take everything I have to give.”

“
God, stop.
”

“I don't think so.”

“
Please
.”

“Are you finished?”

“Um …,”

“Then neither am I.”

“
Please!
”

Jameson leaned back on his heels. Tate gasped for air underneath him, one of her hands resting against her chest, the other pushing her hair out of her face.

“If you don't like to be punished,” he started in a low voice, “then maybe you shouldn't be so bad.”

“I'm sorry. I can't help it,” she panted, licking her lips.

“Are you finished?” he asked again. She finally opened her eyes, looked up at him.

“This isn't fair, you know,” she pointed out. He snorted.

“Since when have I ever given a fuck about what's fair?”

“This goes beyond that.”

“
I'm sorry, am I still needed?
”

Both of them craned their heads around towards the voice. Sanders stood upright and dusted off his pant legs. Adjusted his tie. Tate chuckled and Jameson turned back towards her.

“I'm not sure. Tatum, are you going to behave?” he asked. She smiled big.

“Baby, I
always
behave myself.”

“Now that's a fucking lie.”

“But all I asked was -,”

“Tate.”

“If you would just -,”

“I'm warning you.”

“Just tell me when -,”

“
Tatum.
”

“
Are we leaving soon!?
” Tate couldn't hold back, asking for the millionth time. Jameson sighed and leaned back over her, trying to grab on to her wrists.

“This time, Sanders, hold her arms down,” he instructed.

“No! No! I'm sorry! Two against one isn't fair!” Tate yelled. Sanders grabbed onto her wrists and held them against the floor while Jameson scooted down her body.

“You asked for this,” was all he said before he lowered his head.

“No!” she shrieked, but then his lips were against her.

“I can't believe I came all the way home just to witness this,” Sanders complained, looking away. Jameson lifted his head.

“Shut up, you love it.”

And then he went back to blowing raspberries on Tate's stomach.

~1~

A lot can happen in two years.

Tate drove back to Boston with Jameson and Sanders. She stayed with Jameson, lived with him in Weston. It was home, after all.

He
was home.

Jameson was the devil. Sometimes he was cruel, sometimes he was sadistic, sometimes he made her want to tear her hair out. But always,
always
, he made her love him even more. Underneath everything, was his love. His trust. His adoration.

Sure, they weren't perfect, and she was pretty sure they had turned fighting into an art form. One time she threw a dinner plate at his head and called him retarded. Then he held her down in the shower, calling her a hot-head. But it worked for them, and afterwards she let him “punish” her by tying her wrists together and then fucking her in the hallway. She loved it.

Every single second.

When they got through the summer without anymore hiccups, she decided to take his and Sanders' advice, and she went back to school. Sanders had been right, Tate was a smart girl, and she excelled at her classes. She was going to work towards a business degree so she could open her own bar, and Jameson informed her that if she finished the year strong, he would help facilitate that dream.

But then a bomb was dropped. That next spring, Sanders decided it was time to leave the nest. Tate took it a lot harder than she would have thought; they had grown ridiculously close. He was her best friend, they went everywhere together. He taught her how to drive a stick shift, she taught him how to play beer pong. What would she do without him!?

She wasn't sure how to deal with it. Jameson was of no help at first, wouldn't even tell her the reason why – neither of them would. She pouted. She gave everyone the silent treatment. But finally, she gave in and told him if he had to go, then he had to go, and wished him well.

Though she did make sure to give him a going away party he would never forget.

By the time June rolled around, Tate had a lot of freedom. Ang had moved to Los Angeles – his porn career finally took off, no more B-rate for him. Sanders was in Moscow. Her old roommate Rusty had moved away, and even Tate's sister, Ellie, was settled down with a new boyfriend, way out in the country side. And Tate loved Jameson, she really did, but she couldn't spend all her time with him. They would kill each other if they didn't come up for air once and a while.

Jameson solved the problem by making good on his promise – he bought her a bar. Just came home one day and gave her the keys. At first she was angry. If it was going to be hers, she wanted to be the one to pick it out, to scout the location, to see if it worked for her. She wanted to yell at him, get mad. But somehow it evolved into crazy sex in the conservatory, and suddenly she was making a midnight phone call to Sanders, explaining to him that his geraniums wouldn't be there when he came home.

Jameson had actually picked the perfect location. It shouldn't have been a shock, really. Tate had learned to expect perfection to come out of most of his decisions. The man didn't do things by halves. And it also turned out that the bar Tate used to work in had closed down, and she was able to hire most of the old staff, people she trusted and knew worked well. She was very confident that her first foray into business would be a success.

Turned out “
success
” wasn't a strong enough word – business was
booming
. It took off like a rocket. She managed the place as well as worked the bar for the first six months. It completely killed her college career, and almost caused Jameson to kill her. He didn't like her being gone so much. She eventually dropped out of school altogether, figuring she was doing well enough on her own, anyway. And after one too many late nights, she decided to back off of working on the floor. Set some hours for herself. Took a vacation even, visited Sanders.

It was all going so well that by the following spring, she approached Jameson with the idea of opening a second bar. Something a little different. A little darker,
sexier
, and in a different part of town. His response was a hearty “
no
”, at first. But she had ways of convincing him, and it helped that she promised to keep the same hours. It took a couple months of begging, but she finally got her way.

“
We should have a party.
”

Jameson suggested it towards the end of the summer. It was shocking – Jameson never wanted to have a party. Never wanted to leave the house, and never wanted people to come over. Tate had been busy, scouting new bars, and figured it was his way of getting her attention.

“What kind of party?” she asked.

“A special kind.”

“Oh god. I'm not ready for an orgy.”

“
Prude
.”

He thought it would be fun for one last hoorah, of sorts. The new bar, along with the old bar, would take up all her free time. It would be a while before they would be able to get out and get away, or anything like that; so why not have Sanders come home for a visit, and they could spend an evening in New York together?

Well, who could say no to that? Didn't seem like such a big deal.

Though she seemed to have forgotten that virtually
everything
Jameson did turned into a big deal, some way or another ...