Degradation
Page 37
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“Rus is a virgin?” he asked. She shook her head, shaking a tiny skirt out of the pile of clothing and sliding it on.
“No, but as far as you're concerned, she might as well be. She's a beautiful, tiny, angel, sent from heaven to be sweet and strawberry blonde. You are not allowed to corrupt that. You are not fucking her,” Tate stated, staring him in the eye.
“You ruin all my fun.”
“You have like a ton of people on speed dial who would jump on you if you so much as breathed in their direction. Call one of them,” she suggested, squeezing herself in to a tiny cropped top that had long sleeves and a scoop neck.
“But I wanted my honey-bunny, and you won't play with me,” he said in a whiny voice. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her mirror, spreading out her makeup supplies.
“Stop being ridiculous,” she told him. He leapt off the bed.
“I'll go be a normal person, drown my sorrows, find some whore to take home. Wanna crash a show this weekend? I've got a guy who will let us sneak in during the second act,” Ang offered, leaning against her doorway.
“Totally. And see if you can find any more gym stuff – I actually kinda liked the Zumba class,” she laughed. He nodded.
“I'll keep my eyes peeled. See you later, don't let Mr. Mean take too many bites out of you,” he cautioned her. She laughed again.
“He's in Manhattan for the weekend, so I'll be bite free for a couple days,” she assured Ang. He thumped on her door and then took off down the hallway.
“Later, kitty-cat,” he called out.
“Bye!”
She did her makeup heavy, but left her hair to air dry – sometimes the unpolished look worked really well on her. She finished off her outfit with a pair of wedge boots that went to her knees and then grabbed a large jacket, covering everything up for the bus ride to work.
The bar she worked in was always popular, though Thursday wasn't as rowdy as the actual weekend. The next night was better, the Red Sox had won a home game, and the city went crazy. Tate wore a baseball jersey and Rus even got her to do a line dance on the bar top. They wound up getting wasted at a hotel party afterwards. Though she had a very tantalizing offer to join some guy for a sexual romp in the hotel's lobby bathroom, she declined. Even in a drunken haze, Tate held out. She would try to be a good girl till she heard from Jameson.
Her will power didn't hold out very long. Saturday night, she stood behind the bar, clapping and moving her body to the beat of the song that was playing. She was laughing at something one of the regulars was saying, when someone caught her eye.
Ang was walking through the room, a head taller than most people. It wasn't often that he came to see her at work, and she gave a broad smile in his direction. He was making his way towards the bar, but he wasn't looking at her. He was flirting and having eye-sex with some sexy Korean girl as he moved through the crowd.
Tate didn't think she was a nymphomaniac; she could go for long periods of time without sex, and had done so. But she did like it a lot and had a tendency to use it as a kind of therapy. Angry at someone? Have angry sex. Sad about something? Have fun sex. Just plain old bored? Have exciting sex.
And when she was in the mood, she had a lot of trouble resisting. It was like a switch that she couldn't turn off. She had been thinking about Jameson non-stop, remembering their night and morning together in vivid detail. Fantasizing about what she would do to him when he got home. What he would do to her. Her switch was halfway flipped already, and as Tate watched Ang work his magic on the girls in the bar, the switch completely flipped on.
He was wearing a long jacket, the kind with a stiff, stand up collar that buttoned all the way to the chin – he looked stylish and handsome. His hair was messy, as usual, and his grey eyes were smiling, as usual. He had an impish smile, one that some how managed to look innocent and naughty at the same time, and she knew it drove most women nuts. It was in full effect, and Tate wasn't immune to it – add that to the fact that his body was almost as familiar to her as her own, and it was hard to resist him. She took a deep breath through her nose, letting her eyes wander over his frame.
Sunday night is so far away ...,
When she dragged her eyes back up to his face, he was looking right at her. Smirking. He said something to the girl in front of him and then continued on his journey. He jostled and moved people out of the way, until he was leaning against the bar across from her. She stayed in her spot, still moving a little to the music.
“Well, well, sweetie pea, how're things?” Ang asked in his sexy voice, his eyes traveling up and down her body before going back to staring her in the face.
“Good. Busy,” Tate replied.
“You don't look very busy,” he pointed out. She shrugged.
“Lull in orders. We still going to the theatre?” she asked. He squinted his eyes at her.
“Hmmm, I don't think so,” he replied. She finally moved forward, leaning against the bar in front of him.
“Why not? I thought you wanted to hang out,” she said.
“I do. But I think little Tater-tot has something other than dinner and a show in mind,” he told her. She laughed.
“Oh, there will definitely be a show later.”
They didn't even make it till “later”. When Tate went on break twenty minutes later, Ang followed her in to the back of the bar and then dragged her outside. Pressed her up against a wall, raked his hands over her body. He had borrowed his roommate's car, and when it started to rain, he pulled her in to the backseat with him. As his tongue ran across Jameson's fading bite mark, she groaned and dragged her fingernails across his scalp.
“No, but as far as you're concerned, she might as well be. She's a beautiful, tiny, angel, sent from heaven to be sweet and strawberry blonde. You are not allowed to corrupt that. You are not fucking her,” Tate stated, staring him in the eye.
“You ruin all my fun.”
“You have like a ton of people on speed dial who would jump on you if you so much as breathed in their direction. Call one of them,” she suggested, squeezing herself in to a tiny cropped top that had long sleeves and a scoop neck.
“But I wanted my honey-bunny, and you won't play with me,” he said in a whiny voice. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her mirror, spreading out her makeup supplies.
“Stop being ridiculous,” she told him. He leapt off the bed.
“I'll go be a normal person, drown my sorrows, find some whore to take home. Wanna crash a show this weekend? I've got a guy who will let us sneak in during the second act,” Ang offered, leaning against her doorway.
“Totally. And see if you can find any more gym stuff – I actually kinda liked the Zumba class,” she laughed. He nodded.
“I'll keep my eyes peeled. See you later, don't let Mr. Mean take too many bites out of you,” he cautioned her. She laughed again.
“He's in Manhattan for the weekend, so I'll be bite free for a couple days,” she assured Ang. He thumped on her door and then took off down the hallway.
“Later, kitty-cat,” he called out.
“Bye!”
She did her makeup heavy, but left her hair to air dry – sometimes the unpolished look worked really well on her. She finished off her outfit with a pair of wedge boots that went to her knees and then grabbed a large jacket, covering everything up for the bus ride to work.
The bar she worked in was always popular, though Thursday wasn't as rowdy as the actual weekend. The next night was better, the Red Sox had won a home game, and the city went crazy. Tate wore a baseball jersey and Rus even got her to do a line dance on the bar top. They wound up getting wasted at a hotel party afterwards. Though she had a very tantalizing offer to join some guy for a sexual romp in the hotel's lobby bathroom, she declined. Even in a drunken haze, Tate held out. She would try to be a good girl till she heard from Jameson.
Her will power didn't hold out very long. Saturday night, she stood behind the bar, clapping and moving her body to the beat of the song that was playing. She was laughing at something one of the regulars was saying, when someone caught her eye.
Ang was walking through the room, a head taller than most people. It wasn't often that he came to see her at work, and she gave a broad smile in his direction. He was making his way towards the bar, but he wasn't looking at her. He was flirting and having eye-sex with some sexy Korean girl as he moved through the crowd.
Tate didn't think she was a nymphomaniac; she could go for long periods of time without sex, and had done so. But she did like it a lot and had a tendency to use it as a kind of therapy. Angry at someone? Have angry sex. Sad about something? Have fun sex. Just plain old bored? Have exciting sex.
And when she was in the mood, she had a lot of trouble resisting. It was like a switch that she couldn't turn off. She had been thinking about Jameson non-stop, remembering their night and morning together in vivid detail. Fantasizing about what she would do to him when he got home. What he would do to her. Her switch was halfway flipped already, and as Tate watched Ang work his magic on the girls in the bar, the switch completely flipped on.
He was wearing a long jacket, the kind with a stiff, stand up collar that buttoned all the way to the chin – he looked stylish and handsome. His hair was messy, as usual, and his grey eyes were smiling, as usual. He had an impish smile, one that some how managed to look innocent and naughty at the same time, and she knew it drove most women nuts. It was in full effect, and Tate wasn't immune to it – add that to the fact that his body was almost as familiar to her as her own, and it was hard to resist him. She took a deep breath through her nose, letting her eyes wander over his frame.
Sunday night is so far away ...,
When she dragged her eyes back up to his face, he was looking right at her. Smirking. He said something to the girl in front of him and then continued on his journey. He jostled and moved people out of the way, until he was leaning against the bar across from her. She stayed in her spot, still moving a little to the music.
“Well, well, sweetie pea, how're things?” Ang asked in his sexy voice, his eyes traveling up and down her body before going back to staring her in the face.
“Good. Busy,” Tate replied.
“You don't look very busy,” he pointed out. She shrugged.
“Lull in orders. We still going to the theatre?” she asked. He squinted his eyes at her.
“Hmmm, I don't think so,” he replied. She finally moved forward, leaning against the bar in front of him.
“Why not? I thought you wanted to hang out,” she said.
“I do. But I think little Tater-tot has something other than dinner and a show in mind,” he told her. She laughed.
“Oh, there will definitely be a show later.”
They didn't even make it till “later”. When Tate went on break twenty minutes later, Ang followed her in to the back of the bar and then dragged her outside. Pressed her up against a wall, raked his hands over her body. He had borrowed his roommate's car, and when it started to rain, he pulled her in to the backseat with him. As his tongue ran across Jameson's fading bite mark, she groaned and dragged her fingernails across his scalp.
