Degradation by Stylo Fantome Page B

helped me realize something – I like sex. I like having sex, I like being sexy. I like being single. I like being me, and fuck anyone who doesn't like it,” she finished.
    “So, you couldn't stop thinking about it, huh? Do you still think about it?” Jameson asked. Tate groaned.
    “You are the most self-obsessed asshole I've ever met,” she told him. He laughed.
    “You may have done a one-eighty, but I'm still pretty much the same guy – just sharper claws,” he warned her.
    “ No, I don't think about it,” she answered his question. “I didn't even recognize you at first, in that kitchen. Took a while for it to click.”
    “What about what happened in that conference room? Are you okay with that?” he asked. She blinked in surprise. He shifted gears so fast, completely dominated the conversation. If it could even be called that – she felt like she was being interrogated.
    “Which part? You tricking me in to a job? Or feeling me up in front of a bunch of suits?” she asked for clarification. He smiled.
    “I already know you liked it when I touched you, so how about when you took off your panties? I didn't make you do that – pretty bold move, I didn't expect it,” he said.
    “Probably because you don't know me. Maybe that's an every day thing for me, not bold at all,” she pointed out. Jameson laughed.
    “I don't think so. I challenged you. You didn't like it. You stepped up to the plate. I admire that,” he commented.
    “Yeah, and I knocked it out of the park. Game over . I win. You lose,” Tate replied. His eyebrows shot up.
    “You didn't win shit, the game isn't over yet. How far would you be willing to go?”
    “I'm not playing games with you, Kane.”
    “You started them. If you can't handle it, just say so.”
    “I can handle anything you can dish out.”
    They stared at each other for a minute, the tension thick in the air. She didn't know what was going on between them – she should get up and walk away. But it was like that night in his apartment all over again. What Tate should do, and what she was going to do, were two very different things. He fascinated her. She usually intimidated men, or was just a good-time girl to them. Rarely did she banter or spar with them, and if she did, she had no trouble ripping them a new ass hole. Jameson, though, was unrippable.
    “I want to hear about the best sex you've ever had,” he switched the subject again. Tate laughed.
    “Are you sure? It's not you,” she teased. It was a complete lie, but she wasn't about to tell him that.
    “I'll be the judge of that. Let's hear it,” he said, leaning back in his chair. She thought for a second, leaning back as well.
    “It was probably with my friend Ang, like two years ago or something. I had a boyfriend, but he found out that I had slept with his best friend. It was before we had started dating, but he didn't care. Totally freaked out in a club, started screaming that I was the biggest slut he'd ever met, just a huge whore. He kept shouting it to anyone who would listen,” Tate started. Jameson sighed.
    “So your friend Ang came to your aide after a nasty, embarrassing break up. Comforted you, wanted you to feel good about yourself,” he tried to fill in the story. Tate threw her head back and laughed.
    “Not so much. Ang dragged him outside and beat the shit out of him. Pretty hot. We fucked right there in the alley. Ang bent me over a staircase and explained to my boyfriend, in graphic detail, what a good fuck he was missing out on by dumping me,” she finished.
    “Wow. That was the best sex you ever had?” Jameson asked. She shrugged.
    “Easily in the top five. Most of those are Ang,” she supplied.
    “Must be an animal in bed.”
    “ Yeah – he also has a huge dick.”
    She was trying to shock him on purpose, now. Tate was very comfortable talking about sex, and in her experience, men tended to get nervous when confronted with a woman who talked the way she did. Not Jameson Kane,