by Vi Keeland
Though when his hand glided from my hip around to my ass, there was no misunderstanding his intention. He was not trying to help me stay on my feet. In my head, my immediate reaction was to scream at him, but somehow my throat felt too clogged to speak.
I made the mistake of looking up from his jaw into his blue eyes. Heat flickered, turning them almost gray, and his eyes dropped to my lips.
No.
Just no.
This was not happening.
Not again.
My heart thundered in my chest, and the blood in my ears roared so loudly I almost didn’t hear the ding of the elevator announcing that we’d arrived at my floor. Thankfully it snapped me out of whatever moment of insanity I’d slipped into.
“I…I need to go.”
It took all of my focus to put one foot in front of the other, but I managed to walk down the hall and make it to my room.
Though…
I wasn’t alone.
Again, Weston was behind me. Close. Too close. I fumbled in my bag, trying to find my room key when a hand snaked around my waist and rubbed along the top of my skirt. I knew I needed to nip this shit in the bud, but my body reacted insanely to his touch. My breathing grew shallow.
Weston’s hand traveled up my stomach and stopped at the underwire of my bra. I swallowed, knowing I needed to say something before it was too late.
“I despise you,” I hissed.
Weston responded by cupping my left breast and squeezing hard.
“I despise you, and that thing you call a dick that is trying to flatter me with a half-ass, lame erection pushing against my ass right now.”
He leaned closer and reached around to cup my other breast. “Feeling’s mutual, Fifi. But I know you remember that thing I call a dick is a fuck of a lot bigger than the little playwright had tucked between his legs—the little playwright whose inadequate dick is probably buried inside your cousin right about now.”
I clenched my jaw. Fucking Liam. “At least he didn’t have diseases. You probably have every STD in the book from whoring around Las Vegas.”
Weston responded by pushing his hips into my ass. His hot erection felt like a steel pipe trying to burst through his pants.
But, God, it felt good.
So hard.
So warm.
Twelve years ago came flooding back. Weston was hung like a horse, and even at eighteen, he’d known exactly what to do with it.
“Let’s go inside,” he growled. “I want to fuck you so hard that you have trouble sitting in our meetings tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes. A battle waged within me. I knew it would be a colossal mistake to get involved with Weston, especially with the war raging between our families. But damn…my body was on fire.
It wasn’t like we had to be friends.
Or like each other, for that matter.
I could just use him this once.
Get my rocks off and go back to keeping my distance tomorrow.
I shouldn’t.
I definitely shouldn’t.
Weston pinched my nipple, and a spark shot through me.
Fuck it.
Fuck Liam.
Fuck my father.
Fuck Weston. Literally.
“Ground rules,” I rasped. “Don’t kiss me. And only from behind. You don’t come until after I do, or so help me God, I’ll snap that thing between your legs right from your body. And you use a goddamned condom, because I don’t want whatever you’re currently on antibiotics for.”
Weston nipped at my ear.
“Ouch!”
“Shut up. And I have some rules, too.”
“Rules? What rules do you have?”
“Don’t expect me to stay after. You come. I come. I leave. In that order. You don’t talk, unless you’re telling me how good my cock feels inside of you. And those pointy-as-fuck shoes you’re wearing stay on. Oh, and if I make you come more than once, tomorrow you wear your hair up.”
I was so aroused I couldn’t even stop to think about what I was agreeing to. I just wanted it…wanted him. Now.
“Fine,” I bit out. “Now get inside, and let’s get this over with already.”
Weston took the key out of my hand and opened the door. He guided me in, not very gently, and pushed me against the wall. We were barely inside, and my cheek was already pressed against the wallpaper.
“Take my cock out,” he growled.
I hated being told what to do, especially by him.
“Am I supposed to be Houdini? I’ll need to turn around to do that.”
Weston’s chest had been leaning firmly against my back, and he released some of the pressure, taking a half step back so I could turn around. I wrapped my hand around his thick, bulging erection through his pants and squeezed. Hard.
Weston hissed.
“Take your own cock out,” I growled.
A wicked smile spread across his face. He reached down, unbuckled his pants, and yanked down his zipper. Then he grabbed my wrist and slid my hand into his boxers.
Oh God.
The smooth skin was so hot and hard. And thick. I’d never been so turned on in my life. Though I wasn’t about to let him know that. Reining in the emotions sparking through me, I locked my eyes with his and gave him a rough jerk up and down.
Weston’s eyes gleamed. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and spoke with a strained voice. “We’ll call it even for sticking me with the tab for your dinner and drinks.”
My brows drew together. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about until he grabbed my silk blouse with two hands and yanked. It ripped open, the fabric tore, and more than one button pinged against a wall somewhere.
“It’s a four-hundred-dollar shirt, asshole.”
“I guess I’ll have to buy you more dinners then.”
His big hands groped at my chest. He used his thumbs to push down the lacy fabric of my bra, and my breasts eagerly spilled over.
Weston pinched one nipple hard and studied my reaction. A jolt of pain shot through me, yet I refused to give him what he was looking for.
“Is that supposed to hurt?” I mocked.
He growled and dipped forward to suck my nipple into his mouth. One hand grabbed the hem of my skirt and bunched the fabric, yanking it up to my waist. “Are you wet for me, Fifi?”
If he actually wanted me to answer, he didn’t give me any time. Before I could formulate a sufficiently sarcastic response, his fingers lifted the edge of my panties. They slipped beneath the fabric, and he stroked me up and down once, then unexpectedly plunged inside of me.
I gasped, and a look of primal satisfaction crossed Weston’s face. The bastard had gotten what he wanted—to make me lose control and react. It somehow gave him the unspoken upper hand, and we both knew it.
“So wet.” He pumped in and out of me once, then a second time. “You’ve been soaked since the plane, haven’t you, you little tease?”
My body was so on edge, I thought it entirely possible that I could come just from his hand, which had never worked for me before. Not with Liam anyway.
Liam.
That bastard.
Fuck him, too.
My anger level rose in unison with my arousal. Unable to focus on anything other than the way Weston’s hand was making me feel, I completely forgot that my hand was still wrapped around his erection.
I squeezed. “Get the goddamn condom out already.”
Weston’s teeth clenched. He dug into his pocket and managed to pull a condom out of his wallet with one hand. Lifting the wrapper to his teeth, he tore it open.
“Turn around so I don’t have to look at you.”
He withdrew his hand from between my legs and spun me to face the wall again.
I looked back over my shoulder. “This better be worth it.”
He sheathed himself and spit the wrapper to the floor. “Bend.” He pressed down on my back, folding me in half at the waist. “Hold on to that wall with two hands or your head’s going to be
banging against it.”
He hiked up the back of my skirt, and his arm wrapped around my stomach as he hoisted me up to my toes. My hands were splayed against the wall, palms sweating with the anticipation, when a loud crack echoed through the room. I heard the sound before I felt the sting on my ass.
“What the—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Weston thrust inside of me. The sudden, rough motion knocked the air from my lungs. He’d buried himself to the root, and I had to force my legs wider to ease the twinge of discomfort it caused. I could feel Weston’s hips, pressed against my ass, begin to shake.
“So tight,” he grunted. “So fucking tight.”
His hand shifted from my back to my hip, and his fingers dug into my skin. “Now be a good little girl and tell me it feels good, Fifi.”
I bit my lip and struggled to control my breaths. It was the best thing I’d felt in ages, even with just that one simple thrust. But there was no way I was admitting that. “It doesn’t. You know, screwing usually involves an in-and-out motion, not just standing there.”
“Is that the way you want to play it?”
I leaned forward, pulling three quarters of the way off of him and then slammed back, sucking him in fully again. It caused the most exquisite pain to shoot through me. “Shut up and move,” I told him.
Weston growled and grabbed a handful of my hair. Giving it a good, firm tug, he held on as he rocked into me once and then stopped. “Jesus, your ass jiggles a lot. I should make you do all the work so I can stand here and watch the show.”
“Lockwood!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled.
Though he finally shut the hell up and got to work. It was hard and fast, desperate and angry, yet it felt so damn good. I don’t think I’d ever gotten revved up so quickly—certainly not in the last year and a half of Mr. Rogers making love to me.
That thought, the thought of Liam, channeled all my anger toward the man currently pummeling my insides. Even though Weston was already pounding into me, I started to move with him, meeting every thrust, blow by blow. When he slid one hand around to massage my clit, I lost it.
Orgasms were something I usually had to work for. Like driving a car around the track for the Indy 500, I hoped I made it before my partner ran out of gas. But not today. Today my orgasm was more like a crash before I’d even made it through the first lap. It hit me with an intensity I hadn’t expected, and my body quaked as I let out a loud moan.
“Fuck.” Weston sped up his thrusts. “I can feel you squeezing my cock.” He pumped once, twice, and on the third time let out a ferocious roar and plunged to a new depth. My body enveloped him so tightly I could feel the pulsations as he unloaded inside of me, even through the condom.
We stood that way for a long time, both of us panting and attempting to control our breaths. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. I’d been so pent up with anger and frustration the last month, and suddenly it felt like the cork had popped off, and it was all about to come flooding out. Jesus. Great timing. No way was I going to let Weston see the flood I felt approaching. So I swallowed the lump in my throat and did what luckily came natural to me whenever I was around him. I acted like an asshole.
“Are we done? If so, you can leave now.”
“Not until you tell me how much you loved me inside of you.”
I tried to stand, but Weston spread his fingers between my shoulder blades and held me down.
“Let me up!”
“Say it. Say how much you love my cock.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Now let me go before I scream bloody murder and hotel security comes running.”
“Sweetheart, you spent the last ten minutes screaming. If you haven’t noticed, no one seems to give a shit.” Yet he pulled out and helped me upright.
It would have been better if he’d pulled out and left me standing there for the cold air to replace his warmth. But instead, after he made sure I had my balance, he tugged down my skirt. “You good? I need to get rid of this condom in your bathroom.”
I nodded and avoided eye contact. It was bad enough my emotions were hitting me hard. The last thing I needed was niceties from Weston Lockwood.
He went into the bathroom, and I used the moments alone to pull myself together. My hair was disheveled, and my breasts overflowed from my pushed-down bra. I fixed both and grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar while I waited for Weston to come out of the bathroom. I didn’t have to wait long.
Trying to avoid whatever awkward goodbye would ensue, I stood near the windows on the opposite side of the room, gazing out at nothing in particular. I hoped he’d just wave and slither out.
Then again, a Lockwood never did what a Sterling wanted.
Weston walked up behind me. He took the water bottle out of my hand and drank from it, then wound a lock of my hair around his pointer finger. “I like your hair like this. It’s longer than you wore it in high school. And it’s wavy now. Did you used to make it straight?”
I looked at him like he was nuts. “Yes. I used to straighten it. And thanks for the reminder it’s time for a haircut. I think I’ll chop it all off.”
“What color would you say it is? Chestnut?”
The confusion lines in my forehead deepened. “I have no idea.”
He grinned. “You know your eyes turn from green to almost gray when you’re angry.”
“Did someone teach you your colors today in nursery school or something?”
Weston brought the water bottle back to his lips and sucked the rest of it down. He handed it to me empty. “Ready for round two?”
I continued to stare straight ahead. “There won’t be a round two. Not tonight or ever. Get out, Lockwood.”
Even though I’d been trying not to look at him, I caught his mouth curving into a smile in the window reflection.
“Care to wager on that?” he asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I needed a release. You were here. At best you were adequate. This isn’t going to become a habit.”
“Adequate? For that remark, I’m going to make you beg next time.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get out. This was a gigantic mistake.”
“A mistake? Oh yeah, I forgot you like scrawny dudes who are into literature and shit. Would it help if I brushed up on some poetry and recited it while we banged next time?”
“Out!”
Weston shook his head. “Okay…but like Shakespeare said, It’s better to have fucked and lost, than never to have fucked at all.”
I almost let a smile slip out. “I don’t think that’s exactly what he said. But close.”
He shrugged. “Guy was a bore anyway.”
“Goodnight, Weston.”
“Such a shame. Using your own fingers to the memory of what I felt like won’t be half as much fun as round two.”
“You have delusions of grandeur.”
“’Night, Feef. Great to see you again.”
“The feeling isn’t mutual.”
Weston walked to the door. It creaked as he opened it, and I watched in the window reflection as he turned around and looked back at me for a few heartbeats. Then he was gone.
I shut my eyes and shook my head.
When I opened them, the last thirty minutes or so really hit me.
Holy crap. What the hell did I just do?
Chapter 3
* * *
Sophia
I’d totally screwed up.
And I needed to fix it. Fast.
Before anyone else found out, and before I put what I was here to do in any sort of jeopardy.
Weston walked into the conference room the next morning at exactly eight forty-five. Our meeting was to start at nine o’clock. He grinned like a Cheshire cat upon finding me already inside.
“Good morning,” he said. “Beautiful day today.”
I took a deep breath. “Sit.”
He thumbed toward the door. “Should I lock it? Or do you want to keep things a l
ittle on edge—chance getting caught? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone walking in while your skirt was hiked up and my—”
I cut him off. “Shut the hell up and sit down, Lockwood!”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The jerk thought we were role-playing. But I was anything but playing. As far as I was concerned, my job was on the line. I waited until he sat and then took the seat across from him on the opposite side of the conference table.
Folding my hands, I said, “Last night never happened.”
A smug smile spread across his annoyingly handsome face. “Oh, but it did.”
“Let me rephrase. We’re going to pretend like nothing happened.”
“Why would I do that when I can close my eyes at any time and relive the moment?” He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. “Oh yeah, this is one I plan to watch over and over again. That sound you made when you came all over my cock? I couldn’t forget if I tried.”
“Lockwood!” I barked.
His eyes flashed open.
I got up from my chair and leaned over the table. It was a big table, so I couldn’t exactly reach him, but it made it easier to keep him focused.
“Listen to me. Last night was a mistake—one the size of Texas. It should never have happened. Aside from how much I dislike you, and how much my family and your family loathe each other, I’m here to do a job. And my job is very important to me. So I can’t have you lurking around, making inappropriate comments for the staff to overhear.”
Weston didn’t break eye contact, but I could see the wheels in his thick head spinning. He rubbed his thumb against his lip and sat up in his chair. “Okay. We can pretend last night never happened.”
I squinted. That was way too easy. “What’s the catch?”
“Why do you think there’s a catch?”
“Because you’re a Lockwood, and a narcissistic asshole who thinks women are toys put on this earth for you to play with. So what’s the catch?”
He adjusted the knot of his tie. “I have three conditions.”