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Authors: Stylo Fantôme

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Contemporary

Separation (28 page)

BOOK: Separation
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She felt betrayed, by
everyone
. How could Ang go two and a half months, and not say anything!? All those phones calls, all those times he had bailed on her; he had been sneaking off to see Ellie –
ditching Tate for Ellie.
So many opportunities to say something.

That's what hurt the most. More than him picking Ellie of all people to date, was him keeping it a secret for
so long
. Despite everything that had happened, Tate had thought they were closer than that; she still told him everything about Satan. She thought he would have returned the favor. Apparently, she had
thought
wrong.

Just like always, stupid girl.

“Tatum, open the door,” Jameson's voice was loud. She shook her head.

“Just go away,” she sighed, pressing her face into her knees. He banged against the door.


Open the door,
” he demanded.

“I want to go home,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“I am going to count to three, and then I am coming in there, whether you like it or not,” he warned her.


Please. Just let me go,
” she was barely breathing, her lips hardly moving.

There was silence for a second, then a loud crack. The door flung wide open, bounced off the wall. Tate could hear him striding into the room, but she didn't look up. He grabbed her wrists, pulled her up so she was standing. She was waiting for him to tell her to shut up, to calm the fuck down. But he didn't. He pulled her into him, wrapped his arms around her.

“Baby girl, the things you get yourself into,” he sighed.

“Why did he have to sleep with
her?
” Tate whispered, sliding her arms around his waist, curling her fists tightly into his t-shirt.

“Life takes some interesting turns – especially when it comes to the people we wind up sleeping with,” Jameson pointed out.

“You're not allowed to make me feel better. You're an asshole.”

“True. But I'm an asshole who used to be very good at making you feel better,” he reminded her. She sighed, pressing her face into his chest.

“And making me feel like shit.”

“You like that almost as much.”

Not when it's for real.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Tate whispered.

“Because I didn't know.”

“Liar.”

“He asked if he could bring his girlfriend. I said I didn't care. I didn't ask who the girlfriend was, why would I ever care who
Angier
is fucking?” Jameson asked her.

Liar
.

“Sanders knew,” Tate breathed. She felt his fingers dig into her hips.

“He didn't. Stop trying to find someone to blame. Shit happens.
Get over it,
” he instructed her.

Shit doesn't happen. Jameson fucking Kane happens.

“Why did you do this? To rip me and Ang apart? To make me hate him, so I would like you more? Or to teach me a lesson? That I shouldn't forget my past? Shouldn't forget what a horrible person I am? Trust me, I'll never forget that. You made sure of that last time,” she told him, visions of water dancing through her head. So much water. So cold. All around her. Only this time, there was no Ang to save her.

“You're not a horrible person, baby girl,” Jameson whispered. “I'm not playing with you. No more games.”

Liar
.

It was always games between her and Jameson. She had lost sight of that for a little while. It was easy to do, when a person was surrounded by sweet words and sweeter lies. She felt like being with Jameson was like living from one panic attack to the next. She didn't know how much more her pysche could take, if she let it go on. It wasn't fair. His ego wasn't even bruised. Wasn't even scratched. Wasn't even
touched
.

Of course it isn't. He's Jameson Kane, the goddamn devil. What did you expect?

~14~

Tate sat at a bar just off the lobby of the hotel. It was a little after midnight. Sneaking out of the room had been difficult – Jameson was suspicious by nature, and had watched her carefully after her little break down in the bathroom. But after she had calmed down, she had found a way to distract him.

Sex always was my favorite weapon. Time to wield it with a vengeance.

She sipped at her drink, then went back to the what she had been doing – she had a cocktail napkin in front of her, and she was writing tiny notes on it. She chewed on the end of her pen, trying to figure out what else she wanted to add, when someone next to her cleared their throat.

“Excuse me,” a voice with a heavy French accent asked, and Tate turned on her stool to see a handsome, older gentleman standing beside her. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, go ahead,” she offered, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. The man smiled and sat down.

“It is very late to be having a drink. Are you here alone?” he asked, and she laughed. An evil sound. Almost as evil sounding as Jameson's.

“Alone enough,” she replied, letting her eyes slowly trail over his body. She hadn't exercised her slutty-flirting muscles in a while, but they seemed to be working just fine – the man sat up straighter, adjusted the tie he was wearing.

“Interesting answer. May I ask what you are working on?” he questioned, leaning towards her napkin. Tate laughed again.

“I am working on a revenge plan,” she answered coyly. He raised his eyebrows.

“Revenge?”

“Yes.”

“And why are you seeking revenge?” he asked. She sighed.

“Because, people I trusted did something bad to me. Continually. I think it's time for payback,” she replied. It was almost surreal, the conversation she was having. Of course, her
life
was surreal. Tate was pretty sure her brain had gone on vacation, possibly permanently.

“Ah,
oui
, of course,” the man chuckled, and it was clear he thought she was joking. “So what is your plan,
ma chère?

“Well, to give them a taste of their own medicine, of course! I'm going to do to them what they did to me,” she told him, laughing again.

“And what, exactly, did these people do?” he asked for clarification.

“One of them lied to me, a lot. Then slept with my sister, a lot. This person has already slept with me,” she explained, picking up her drink, playing with the straw with her tongue. His eyes followed the movement.

Still got it.

“Oh, that's horrible,
ma chère
. And the other people?” he asked. Tate cleared her throat.

“Obviously, my sister needs to pay.”

“Of course.”

“And then there's Satan,” she added.

“I'm sorry. Did you say '
Satan
'?” he repeated her. She laughed.

“Oh yes. I'm involved in a very interesting relationship with the devil. You see, he won't leave me alone. He likes to play these games, where he tells me one thing, gets me to believe he's a good person, then he pulls the rug out from underneath me. He's the worst,” she finished.

The man stared at her, a small smile playing on his lips. He thought she was playing a silly game. He didn't realize he was dealing with a woman who had lost one too many games already. She wasn't about to lose to anyone else. Not him, not Ang, and most-fucking-certainly not Jameson.

Play time is over.

“So what are you going to do, in order to exact your revenge?” the man asked, his voice low and sexy. Tate slid off her bar stool, slowly, and stood so she was brushing against his knees. She leaned close to him, pressing her lips against his ear.

“Anything I want,” she whispered.

And then she walked away, leaving him staring after her.

Abso-fucking-lutely anything.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

 

CONTINUE READING FOR SCENES FROM THE
CONCLUSION
The Kane Trilogy:

REPARATION

Acknowledgements

So many people to thank. Separation was written in April/May of 2014, and mainly consisted of me hunched over my laptop, yelling at it in frustration. This story did not come easy. How do you make the devil likable!? I didn't want a trilogy, but there were so many things that I felt needed to be said. Sanders had a story that demanded to come out, and Jameson needed some understanding. So thank you to everyone who read it early on, and encouraged me to keep at it.

As I said in the dedication, big thanks need to go to my “street team” – you help me, promote me, answer questions for me, critique things for me, help me figure things out, make me laugh, anything, everything. There are no words. I am very blessed to have met all of you.

To the author friends I've made a long the way. The list isn't very long, but your help and friendship is invaluable.

To EVERY blog that has read and reviewed for me. To ANY blog that has posted something on my behalf and supported me. Without all of you helping Degradation to get where it's at now,
this
book might not ever have been published.

To Becs at Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews – thank you for taking a chance on a book that caught your eye, and on an author that didn't really exist. Seeing Degradation chosen as one of your top reads of the summer, and it came out at the tail end of July, shuffled in amongst other more famous books, more famous authors …, I don't think I'll ever get over it. So thank you for that, and for your continued support.

Once again, to Najla Qamber at
http://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
, the amazing woman who designs my covers. You are able to take my millions of e-mails and random pictures, and then turn them into gold. Your designs are better than anything I could ever picture. I'm so glad you were recommended to me, because I think you are truly one of the best cover designers out there.

Of course thanks go to my husband. Shoved to a back burner at times, forced to listen to gossip about the indie world, rants about formatting troubles, jokes about street team antics. There are few people more understanding than my husband. You are an amazing person. Thank you for always listening to me, always supporting me, always encouraging me. Some day, I will buy us that mansion (read: shack on the beach) in Lagos, and it'll all be worth it.

And of course, thank you to everyone who read Degradation and liked it enough to read this book. Bigger thanks if you liked this book enough to stick around and read the excerpt for Reparation (I swear, it's right after the soundtrack!). And HUGE thanks if you took the time to rate and review this book, or any book I've written. Without reviews, books don't sell. If books don't sell, then we can't write. It's that simple. You keep us in business.

So thank you.

Soundtrack

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/Separation/100006155

 

 

    1. Things We Lost in the Fire – Bastille
    2. Don't You Want Me – Human League
    3. How You Remind Me – Nickleback
    4. Harder to Breathe – Maroon 5
    5. Change your Life – Iggy Azalea – speed boat and New Year's Eve
    6. F**k U Betta (explicit) – Neon Hitch – VIP section at the night club
    7. I Need You Tonight – INXS
    8. Lonely No More – Rob Thomas
    9. Locked Out of Heaven – Bruno Mars – New Year's Eve
    10. Slow Hands – Azealia Banks
    11. Tous Les Memes – Stromae – dancing with Sanders
    12. I Don't Trust Myself – John Mayer
    13. Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional
    14. Pretty Girl (The Way) – Sugarcult
    15. Barracuda – Heart – ending song
To Be Released

COMING 12/08/14
REPARATION
:

The Conclusion to The Kane Trilogy

 

 

“Jameson has a heart. He has shown it to me many times. You, however, have been purposefully blind to it,” Sanders said.

“It was always more sex than anything. He's said that a dozen times, maybe a hundred times. He just wants me for sex, I was only ever supposed to be sex to him, just sex, sex, sex. Can you understand how that makes me feel?” Tate asked, tilting her head back to look at him.

Sanders was sitting stiffly in a chair, and had taken off his jacket. His arms were folded across his chest, bunching up his tie. She was stretched out on the bed, wearing her underwear and a loose tank top. Normal evening wear for the pair.

“You wanted that relationship as well, in the beginning. You changed it, and he went along with it. It was never entirely about something as ridiculous as sex,” Sanders told her. She laughed.

“Sandy, there is nothing ridiculous about the sex Jameson and I have,” she snickered. Sanders frowned.

“Not everything is about sex, Tatum. The world does not revolve around it.”

“It kinda does.”


You
make it that way.
He
makes it that way. But it doesn't have to be.”

“It's hard with a person like him. He makes me feel like that's all I'm good for, all I'm worth to him, so I feel guilty, but then it's
so good
, I can't stop wanting it, so I feel even guiltier. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever had sex like that?” Tate asked, putting her hands behind her head.

“No,” Sanders finally replied, after a long pause.

“Well, okay, but like ..., you've had really good sex, and it's basically like that. Imagine the best sex you've ever had, and then imagine that person treating you like trash,” she urged. He was silent for a long time.

“I can't do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't.”

It hit her like a lightening bolt. She sat upright. Turned her head to face him.

“Sandy ..., are you a
virgin!?
” Tate exclaimed. His neck turned bright pink, but he didn't look at her.

“There is nothing wrong with that,” he said quickly.

Oh. My. God.

It made complete sense. If anything, the idea of Sanders having sex was actually weirder than the idea of a twenty year old virgin. But he was right, a large chunk of Tatum's world revolved around sex. She just assumed
everyone
had done it, including him.
Especially
him.

He was wealthy and he was good looking; those two things alone would make women overlook his personality quirks and social oddities. Tate had
watched
women overlook them. Why had Sanders never taken the leap!? Tate was shocked that Jameson hadn't simply hired a hooker and locked the two of them in a room together.

Kinky.

She suddenly felt so guilty. For touching him inappropriately. For parading her body around in front of him, for flaunting her sexuality.
God
, all the times he had walked in on her and Jameson. She had thought it was funny. She had assumed that none of it was anything he hadn't seen, and done, before. It must have made him so uncomfortable.

“No, no, of course there's nothing wrong with that,” she agreed quickly. “I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“Why?”

“Just ..., because. I hate to tell you this, Sandy, but you're kinda hot. And the way you spend money -,” Tate started.


Jameson's
money,” Sanders corrected her.

“Doesn't matter to chicks, they love that shit. Sexy guy in an expensive suit dropping money, that's all they see. I just assumed ..., I figured ..., I mean, Jameson ...,” she stammered. He cleared his throat.

“Jameson hasn't questioned me on the matter. Just because he is promiscuous does not mean I am going to be,” he assured her.

'Going to be'. So he has plans to lose it someday.

“Why have you waited so long?” Tate pressed, swinging around and sitting cross-legged style, facing him. Sanders still refused to look at her.

“I ...,
am
uncomfortable
. Around people in general. Women in specific. I am also a perfectionist. I don't like to rush into things,” he explained. She laughed.

“I guess that's good,” she chuckled.

“I am also strange. I am aware of this, I just don't care. But women do. I don't want it to be an issue when the time comes. I want it to be ..., perfect,” he told her.

“Awww, that's kinda romantic,” Tate sighed.

“You're wrong. I don't mean perfect as in waiting for true love to come along. I mean perfect as in as soon as I have studied everything on the issue and am confident in my abilities,” Sanders clarified.

Oh my. He's going to study? For losing his virginity?

“You could hire somebody. I mean, I'm not saying that to be rude, just like ..., someone who has done it before, a lot. Someone who knows what they're doing,” she suggested quickly.

“I have thought of this. It is a very viable option.”

Someone who knows the ropes.

“Sandy,” Tate suddenly breathed, pushing herself to the edge of the bed.

“Hmmm?”

She stood up and walked towards him.

“I was seventeen when I lost my virginity,” she said softly.

“Yes, I know. Jameson has told me,” Sanders replied.

“Did he tell you it was awful? My boyfriend at the time, and I didn't even really like him. He was horrible in bed, but I didn't know that then, and he was horrible for a first time. I didn't know what I was doing, he didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't care. It was over before I even knew what was happening,” she told him. He frowned.

“See, that is what I am trying to avoid.”

“Jameson was the second person I'd ever had sex with, and he knew
exactly
what he was doing. It was
so much
better.
The best thing ever,
” Tate said. Sanders nodded.

“I'm sure. Sounds like a much better experience.”

“Sanders.
I
have a lot of experience.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“Excuse me?”

She stood in front of him.

“I have a lot of experience. I've been told I'm pretty good at it. I like you. I want you to feel good. I would want it to be special,” Tate whispered. He held up a hand.

“No.
No.
The very idea is repug-,”

Tate put her hand on his mouth and straddled his legs. Sat down on his lap. Sanders stared at her, wide eyed. She almost laughed. He looked absolutely terrified. Sure, they were very close. They cuddled, slept next to each other, and he had seen her in many various stages of undress. But this was different. She was pressed against him, in a very intimate manner. She could feel,
see
, his breathing pick up.

“First of all, telling a woman she is '
repugnant
', is a definite turn off,” she  hold him, then let go of his mouth.


You're
not repugnant, the
idea
is. Please get off of me,” he urged, his arms hanging rigidly at his sides. She ran her hands up his chest. He was very solid and firm.

“Second of all, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. Women are very fickle. One minute, you think you're getting laid. The next minute, she's yanking those panties up and stomping off. You should take it where you can get it,” Tate suggested. He squirmed under her weight.

“We can't do this.”


We can do anything we want.

“Jameson would kill me,” Sanders stressed, his eyes looking past her, at the wall. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.

“No, he wouldn't. He would probably congratulate you. Pat you on the back. Then you could swap stories,” Tate teased. Sanders shook his head.

“No. He would kill me. He loves me, but he loves you more,” he whispered.

Tate couldn't handle that, couldn't handle those words,
couldn't believe those words.
So she yanked him forward and kissed him.

BOOK: Separation
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