by Vi Keeland
Weston’s lip twitched, and his eyes flitted to me a moment. “Yes, you can sleep well at night knowing I’m not taking your daughter for a ride.”
Spencer leaned back in his chair. “I thought you were in Vegas.”
“Moved back to New York nine months ago. You’re slipping at keeping tabs on me, Spence.”
I had to hide my smirk. My half-brother loathed being called Spence.
“If you’re here,” Spencer said, “then who’s in Sin City keeping the strippers and casinos in business, Lockwood?”
Weston flashed a smug smile. “You mean like Aurora Gables? I hear she’s got someone keeping her busy.”
Spencer’s smile wilted. Interesting. It sounded like Weston had done some homework and had gossip I needed to catch up on related to my perfect half-brother.
My half-brother’s jaw remained clenched as he spoke. “What are you doing about the union issue?”
Weston glanced at me guiltily. “I met with them today. We’re close to reaching an agreement.”
My eyes widened. That little shit. He knew all about the union problem, yet he’d left me holed up, listening to the staff while he disappeared to take care of business. I’d underestimated him and assumed he was out screwing around. Meanwhile, he was two steps ahead of me, dealing with things we should’ve been working on together. Spencer and my father made me angry, but this? I was furious.
“You let a Lockwood go take care of business on his own?” my father snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you completely incompetent?”
Weston raised his hand. “Whoa. Hang on a minute. Take it down a notch, old man. There’s no reason to raise your voice. Don’t speak to Sophia like that.”
“Don’t you tell me how to talk to my daughter!”
Weston straightened his spine. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you raise your voice to any woman. I don’t give a shit if she’s your daughter or not. Have a little respect.”
My father stood and tossed his napkin to the table. “Mind your own damn business.”
Things were spinning out of control, and I didn’t like where we were headed. I stood, too. “Both of you, knock it off!” I pointed at my father. “I won’t tolerate you raising your voice and calling me names.” I turned to Weston and jabbed my finger into his chest. “And you—I don’t need you coming to my defense. I can take care of myself.”
Weston shook his head. “I forgot what a fun bunch you all are. I always knew the old man was a sadist. Didn’t know you were a masochist, Fifi. Enjoy your damn meal.” He turned and walked away.
My father and I were still standing, and I had no idea why, but I didn’t want to be the first to take my seat.
“I’ve been here thirty-six hours,” I said. “You need to give me some breathing room. If I need help, I’ll reach out. We’re all on the same side here, and I consider asking for assistance when needed a sign of a good leader, not a sign of weakness. Now, if you’d like to sit down and discuss the issues, perhaps provide some guidance from your years of experience, I’m happy to have that conversation. If not, I’ll be ordering room service upstairs in my room.”
My father grumbled something I couldn’t make out under his breath, but nevertheless, he picked up his napkin and sat.
“Thank you,” I said.
During the rest of our dinner, things were less heated, though the more I filled Dad in on the hotel’s issues, the tougher it was for him to keep from bulldozing me into having Spencer join me in managing things. My half-brother did his usual nodding and repeating of things my father said, but he had nothing of real value to add.
I declined coffee and dessert, hoping not to prolong things any more than we had to, and luckily, they followed suit. We said goodnight in the hotel lobby, and on my way to the elevator, I was very tempted to stop in at the bar and have a shot or two. But I needed a clear head for my next meeting—the one Weston had no idea we were about to have.
***
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a second go ’round.” Weston opened the door to his suite and hung on to the top of it.
I brushed past him and marched directly into his room. Turning around, I noticed for the first time that he had on nothing but an unbuttoned dress shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. I motioned to his outfit. “What the hell are you doing?”
He looked down. “Ummm… Getting undressed.”
I turned my head. “Well, put some damn clothes on!”
Surprisingly, he listened. He walked to where his slacks were draped over a chair and slipped them back on. He zipped up, but left the top button and his belt both open.
Turning to face him once he was decent, my eyes landed on a thin line of hair that ran from his unbuttoned pants up to his navel. I tried not to let it distract me, but that damn happy trail…well, it was sexy as hell. Which pissed me off even more.
Blinking a few times, I forced my eyes up to his face while my hands gripped my hips. “What the hell? You knew about the union issue and went to see them today? What kind of dumb game are you playing?”
Weston shrugged. “I didn’t see my cell phone ringing after you apparently found out.”
I scowled. “I only found out today, while you were already off holding a meeting!”
He inched closer. “Your father is a real asshole.”
That was obvious. Everyone knew that, especially me. And I could spout off about him all I wanted, but no one else could—especially a Lockwood. “Don’t talk about my father.”
Weston’s eyes widened, and his head pulled back. “Seriously? You’re going to defend him after the way he spoke to you?”
“How he speaks to me is none of your damn business.”
He smirked, but said nothing.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” I growled.
Weston tapped his finger to his front tooth. “You got a little piece of something stuck right here. Spinach or parsley, maybe? Did you have the oysters Rockefeller? They’re really good, aren’t they?”
“What? No! I didn’t have oysters!” I reached up and rubbed at my tooth.
“It reminds me of when you were a kid. Remember that big gap you used to have between your front teeth? It would’ve taken something pretty big to get stuck in that thing. Why did you get rid of that anyway? I liked it.”
I did have terrible teeth when we were kids. I’d spent countless hours in the orthodontist’s chair over my five years of braces. Though I was surprised he would even remember that.
Weston caught me off guard when he leaned forward and scraped at my tooth, removing whatever had been stuck for me.
“Got it,” he said, holding up his finger.
I have no idea why, but the simple gesture seemed so intimate, and it made me sort of warm. Thus, I countered that with as much frost as I could muster.
Smacking his hand away, I grumbled, “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Weston took a step forward. “You sure about that?” He reached out and rested his hand on my hip. “You look like you could use blowing off some steam again.”
I hated that my body immediately reacted to his touch. It pissed me off more than what he’d done or how he’d interfered with my father. “Screw you.”
He moved closer, and his fingers dug deeper into my hip. “We’re finally on the same page.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew about the union issue?”
He leaned closer and inhaled deeply. “What perfume are you wearing?”
“Answer me, you asshole. Why didn’t you mention the strike?”
“I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like the truth.”
“I don’t like most things that come out of your mouth, but that’s never stopped you from talking.”
“The president of the union doesn’t work well with women. If I’d told you there were issues, you would have insisted on coming, and the guy is a real piece of shit. He wouldn’t have listened to a thing you said, and then the minute you w
eren’t within earshot, he would have talked about your tits to me. Which would have pissed me the fuck off and made me punch him. It was best to avoid all that bullshit and just get it done.”
“The way to deal with a sexist asshole isn’t to give in to him. It’s to address it head on, in a professional manner.”
He seemed to consider what I’d said, then nodded. “Okay. My instinct was to protect you from the asshole, not subject you to his crap. But I get it.”
The tension in my face softened. “Don’t let it happen again.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”
He stared down at where his hand still sat on my hip, and my attention followed. Ever so slowly, his hand began to inch up.
Shit. An ache flourished inside me. I should’ve slapped his hand away and marched back out the door. But instead I stood there, watching as he caressed over my hip, traced along the dip of my waist, and smoothed up to my rib cage. When he reached the swell of my side boob, he looked up into my eyes.
I got the feeling he was giving me time to stop him—and I really, really wanted to. At least, my head did. My body…well, not so much. It had only been twenty-four hours since he’d touched me, and yet I felt so needy and desperate. The rise and fall of my chest sped up as I watched his hand lift from my side, graze over my silk shirt, and cup my breast and squeeze.
“God, I really despise you,” I hissed as my eyes closed.
“Yeah, your nipples piercing through your shirt look like they hate me, too.”
Weston dipped his hand inside the opening at the top of my blouse. He pushed down the lace of my bra and plucked one of my taut peaks. I hated that I let out a little mewl.
“You like it a little on the rough side, don’t you?”
I kept my eyes shut. “Don’t ruin the moment by talking.”
The hand inside my shirt moved to my other breast, while his other hand gathered both of mine. Circling my wrists tightly, he leaned to my ear. “Maybe we should have a safe word.”
Oh God. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does the idea of needing a safe word turn me on so much?
When I didn’t respond, Weston nipped at my ear. “Pick a word, beautiful.”
I opened my eyes. “Asshole.”
His soft laugh vibrated against my skin. “I think you need a word that isn’t already your pet name for me—one you don’t say at least ten times a day when I’m around you.”
“I don’t need one. I’m not into kinky stuff.”
Weston pulled his head back. “You despise me, and I’m about to tie your hands together behind your back so you can hate-fuck your day out of your system. Call it whatever you want, but you need a safe word, sweetheart.”
He took his hand out of my blouse and reached for his pants, grabbing his belt buckle. With one firm tug, Weston yanked the leather through all the loops. The whish sound was one of the most erotic things I’d ever heard.
He released my wrists and lifted the belt to show it to me.
“Turn around. Clasp your hands together behind your back.”
God, his voice was so raspy and thick. If sex had a sound, it would absolutely be this. Yet I hesitated to turn. It felt like a moment of truth. Was I really going to let a man I’d loathed for my entire life restrain my hands and do whatever the hell he wanted with me? Seeing the turbulence in my eyes, Weston cupped my cheek.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
“So if I don’t want you to tie my hands?”
“Then I don’t tie your hands.” He looked back and forth between my eyes. “But you want me to, don’t you? Stop thinking about what seems right or wrong and go with what you want, Soph.”
It wasn’t lost on me that he’d finally called me by my actual name. Taking a deep breath, I made the insane choice to throw caution to the wind. I held up a finger in warning. “Don’t leave marks.”
A wicked grin spread across Weston’s face. Without another word, he guided me to turn around. Pulling my hands behind my back, he wrapped his belt around my wrists and cinched it snugly.
“Tug a bit,” he said.
I did my best to pull my wrists free, but they didn’t budge.
Weston walked me forward to a desk in front of the window. I’d assumed things would go the same way as the last time we were together—meaning I’d be bent over and he’d take me from behind. But again, I’d assumed incorrectly what Weston Lockwood was up to. He turned me around, gripped my waist with two hands, and lifted me onto the desk.
“Spread.”
“We have rules,” I panted. “Only from behind.”
Weston gripped my knees. “That applies to when I fuck you. But I’m not ready for that yet.”
I swallowed.
He edged open my legs. I didn’t even try to fight him.
“Last chance. Safe word, Sophia?”
“Countess,” I whispered.
He smiled. “Good choice.”
He took a step back. With my legs spread and my hands bound behind my back, I felt incredibly vulnerable. Trying to feel more in control, I huffed, “Just get moving. Let’s get it over with.”
Weston bit his bottom lip, and I swear I felt it between my legs. There was something so damn sexy about the way he looked at me.
“You’re going to look in my eyes while I finger you.”
My jaw dropped open. This guy had some nerve.
Amused at my expression, Weston closed the distance between us again. One of his hands pushed between my open legs, and he not so gently shoved my panties to the side. Two fingers rubbed up and down my center, and then one plunged inside, just like he’d done last night. Yet somehow, I still hadn’t been expecting it.
I gasped.
“So wet for me already.”
He pumped his finger in and out, and my eyes fell closed.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Have you forgotten what I told you so soon? Eyes open, my little Fifi.”
I started to say something, to tell him once again to stop calling me that, but then his finger glided in and out a few more times, and whatever thought I’d had disappeared faster than my inhibitions.
“Spread your legs wider so I can give you more. I love that you’re so tight.”
My head wanted to slam my legs closed, but my body craved the more he wanted to give me. Shamelessly, I opened my legs.
Weston smiled. He held my gaze as he slipped his finger out and pushed into me with two. I tensed for a minute, then relaxed as he continued to move in and out with methodical precision.
“One more…”
I’d been so lost in the moment, I wasn’t sure what he was referring to until I felt a third finger enter me. I moaned, and my eyes shut again.
Weston waited a few seconds, and then whispered in my ear, “You’re so beautiful when you’re turned on. Such a shame you only want me to take you from behind. I bet the sight of you coming with my cock instead of my hand is absolutely phenomenal.”
My breathing grew labored. His warm breath in my ear, along with the constant stroking inside of me had me so close already. Weston crooked his fingers and changed the angle of his pumps, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before my orgasm.
He reached behind me and threaded his fingers into my hair. Yanking my head back, he sucked on my exposed neck.
“Ohhh…oh God.”
He tugged harder on my hair, to the point that it hurt—but not enough to make him stop—and his thumb stretched to rub my clit.
“Eyes open when you come,” he groaned as he pulled back to watch me. But I was so lost in the moment, I barely heard him. He repeated his words again, this time with a stern tone. “Eyes fucking open, Sophia.”
My eyes flew open. On instinct, I went to grab for him, forgetting that my hands were bound behind me. The leather around my wrists had no play, and the more I pulled, the more it dug into my skin. Surprisingly, the feeling of being restrained didn’t scare me, it actually seemed to turn me on. So I struggled a few more tim
es in a vain attempt to get free, until I felt my body begin to climb over the edge. Oh God. With a guttural sound that was a cross between a moan and a yell, my orgasm ripped through me. Our eyes met, and the fire in Weston’s eyes while he watched me orgasm kept me riveted in place. When the last of the ripples ended, I leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder, allowing my eyes to shut.
It didn’t take long for me to feel vulnerable again. I kept my eyes closed.
“Take it off,” I whispered.
“You sure?”
I nodded.
Weston reached around and unfastened the buckle, freeing my hands.
I rubbed one of my wrists.
He looked down. They were red from friction burn, though it really didn’t hurt.
“You want me to get you some ice?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“Some cream or something?”
Him using that soft tone freaked me out almost as much as what I’d just let happen. I pressed my hand against his chest and nudged him to take a step back.
Righting my skirt, I snapped, “Don’t be nice to me.”
Weston’s eyebrows jumped. “You want me to be a dick?” He thumbed behind him. “I’m sure there’s some salt around here somewhere I could pour on. That will make it sting. Would that work for you?”
I narrowed my eyes and hopped off the desk. “You know what works for me? You not meeting with the union when I’m not present. We own equal amounts of this hotel, and you need my approval to ratify any agreements you make with them anyway.”
“Really? Two minutes ago you were moaning, and now we’re back to the union? Maybe we can put that on hold until after.”
I brushed the wrinkles from my skirt. I hadn’t planned on rushing out the door. Then again, I hadn’t planned on what had just transpired either. But it hit me that I had the upper hand now—a way to make Weston feel as screwed over as he’d made me feel earlier. A slow, evil smile spread across my face, and I arched a brow. “After?”
