~Back Together Again~

“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 onto 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 took hold of 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 he “punished” her by tying her wrists together and 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 in 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.