She never got tired of it. His body, his mouth, his hands. And especially his voice. Each time was was still exciting. Different. Intense.

“Is this the point you wanted to prove?” she asked in a breathy voice as she backed up onto a table full of flowers.

“I don't have to prove shit to you,” he growled, pulling at the top of her dress, forcing it down under her strapless bra.

“Maybe not to me,” she panted, practically ripping apart his belt and whipping it away from his pants. “But you sure feel the need to prove yourself to a lot of other people.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”

“And to a lowly junior broker? Pathetic, Jameson.”

A hand was in her hair, yanking back hard. She let out a cry of pain, then groaned when she felt his teeth against the side of her neck.

“I thought I told you, this is all fun to me,” he hissed, both his hands moving down her body and working their way under her skirt. When his finger curled around the top of her underwear, she pulled back a little.

“Jameson, the door is open,” she whispered, glancing at the exit to the backyard. He didn't answer at first, instead taking the time to rip her panties away from her body.

“See? So shy,” he chuckled, his face buried in her cleavage.

He wasn't entirely wrong – Tate was growing more reserved in her “old age”, as he liked to joke. Crazy sex was still okay, but the possibility of getting caught had lost its shine. She liked it best when she was certain they couldn't be interrupted. When she was positive she would have him all to herself, from start to finish.

Not that it would stop her, though. As his hands forced her legs wide apart and his fingers made themselves at home inside her, she forgot all about the door. She moaned again and fell against the window behind her.

“What's … the hurry ...” she gasped. His fingers were moving so fast, she couldn't quite catch her breath.

He didn't answer, but he did remove his hand from between her thighs. He stepped into the V of her legs and she didn't hesitate, she immediately began pushing and shoving at the top of his pants.

“Not so worried about getting caught now,” he chuckled at her eagerness. Then it was his turn to groan as her hand wrapped around the base of his dick.

“Keep poking fun at me and I'll go find my new best friend, Rich Klimas,” she teased, stroking up and down his hard length.

Those seemed to be the magic words. Jameson's hand was suddenly on her chest, shoving her back into the window again.

“Your fucking mouth,” he growled, shoving her hand out of the way. “Always fucking pissing me off.”

“You love it,” she started chuckling, but it was cut off by a shriek as he slammed into her. The potted plants began to shake and rattle on the table as he pounded away.

He is in a hurry tonight.

“Yeah? You want to know what I love?”

“What?”

“When you shut the fuck up.”

She managed to laugh again and she pressed her hands to his chest, then clutched at his shirt.

“Some day I really will shut up, and you'll be sorry,” she warned him. He grabbed her wrists and held them together before raising her arms, slamming them against the window. A pane of glass cracked, but luckily didn't break completely out.

“That day will be a blessing. Fuck, Tate,” he grunted, grabbing her knee and lifting her leg up against his hip. “Why so wet so fast? Do barbecues turn you on?”

Tate smiled to herself.

God, I love pushing his buttons.

“Only certain guests at certain barbecues,” she whispered.

All movement stopped and Jameson's hand was back in her hair. He pulled hard enough that she was forced to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes watered from the sting and she took quick breaths through her nose while she felt his other arm coiling around her waist.

“Goddamn Tatum,” he snarled. “Always making me do things I don't want to fucking do.”

“Liar,” she squeaked out, then she gasped as she was yanked flush with him. He stepped away from the table, carrying her with him. He slowly turned so his back was to the window, then he lowered them to the floor.

“If you say one more thing just to piss me off,” Jameson warned. “I will fuck your mouth.”

“Promises, promises,” Tate moaned as she adjusted her position on top of him, rotating her hips in a circle over his lap. She almost went cross eyed. When she was on top, he hit spots that shut down her brain.

But after a while, the silence got to her. Orgasming was only fun when they got to do it together, and while she was perilously close to coming, she knew Jameson still had a ways to go. She licked her lips and pressed her forehead to his, pumping her hips faster.

“This is what you wanted,” she panted, scratching and pulling at his shirt until she was able to pull it free from his body.

“Always,” he breathed, dragging his nails down the length of her back.

“You think people will think you're a big man because you fucked your own wife at some party?” she asked. He managed a chuckle.

“You'd rather I was fucking someone else?”

“Might be more interesting.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“If you wanted to make a statement, why not just fuck me on the buffet table?”

“Because I don't like seeing trash served on my table.”

She laughed out loud.

“I know someone out there who doesn't think I'm trash”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate,” he growled.

“Maybe I should help him climb the corporate ladder, as it were,” she whispered.

“Stupid slut, you better shut the fuck up.”

“I can't remember the last time I fucked someone my own age. Could be fun.”

Apparently she'd gone too far with that comment. She let out a shriek when Jameson suddenly rocked forward. She fell backwards, her legs kicking straight up, and suddenly he was on top of her. Propping himself up so he could pound her straight through the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

“God, yes, this,” she groaned. Her legs fell and struck the table, her calves catching on the edge and leaving her legs propped up in the air. Just when she thought it all couldn't get any better, she felt his hand on her neck, squeezing tightly.