by Vi Keeland
It might’ve been the strangest thing I’d ever considered. Nevertheless, I did as he instructed and spread my legs wide enough to straddle the machine, one leg hanging over each side.
Weston smiled. “Now, lean forward a little bit.”
I gripped the front edge of the washing machine and shifted my weight from my ass to my hips. The sensitive skin between my legs met the cold metal, but I quickly realized why he wanted me to tilt forward.
Oh my God.
Oh wow.
My eyes wanted to roll back into my head.
The empty washing machine vibrated and bumped around. When I tilted forward, all of the sensation hit my most sensitive spot. It felt like I was holding a vibrator between my legs, only better. For the first time in my life, I might’ve felt all eight-thousand nerve endings firing at once. My jaw went slack, and a sheen of sweat broke out over my skin.
Weston’s eyes were glued to my face. The heat emanating from him blazed off the charts. I thought for sure this was just a quick bit of foreplay, but then he walked over to one of the out-of-service washing machines on the far side of the room and climbed on top.
“Wha… What are you doing?” I asked. With the vibration between my legs, I could barely string together a few cohesive words.
Weston reached above his head to the ceiling and started screwing with the tiles the plumber had left displaced.
“Fixing the ceiling.”
“Now?” I screeched.
He chuckled. “Trust me, we both need a few minutes. Seeing you with that douchebag got the best of me. That machine is giving you foreplay you wouldn’t be getting from me. You have no idea how much I need to pound the thought of that guy from the bar out of your head. Plus, I was on edge already and wouldn’t have lasted for very long.”
Since I was in no condition to argue and it felt so damn good, I closed my eyes and figured I’d enjoy the ride. A few minutes later, I felt Weston’s hot breath on my neck.
“We still playing by your rules?”
The question confused me because it seemed like Weston was the one making up the rules for whatever game we were playing.
He must’ve seen the question on my face.
Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, he said, “No kissing. Only from behind.”
In the moment, I really wanted him to kiss me. Yet something inside me felt like that wouldn’t be a good idea. So I swallowed and nodded.
Weston’s lips flattened to a line, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. Yet he gave a curt nod, lifted me off the washing machine, and set me on my feet. “Turn around. Bend over the washer.”
My skirt had fallen into place, so he hiked it back up to my waist. The sound of his belt unbuckling, zipper teeth separating, and the foil of a condom wrapper tearing coiled tension in my lower belly. Weston leaned over me, covering my back with his front, and I felt him nudge at my opening. He settled his mouth at my ear and bit before grumbling, “Dumb fucking rules. You better hold on tight.”
***
Remember the first time you walked into your house after you’d been out drinking with your friends at age fifteen and you found your parents in the living room, still awake? You weren’t sure whether you should do a quick wave and attempt to escape to your room or if that in itself might raise suspicion. But if you went and sat down on the couch, there was a distinct chance your parents would either smell the alcohol on you or you’d slur your speech.
Well, I might’ve been twenty-nine now, and Scarlett might’ve been my best friend instead of my parents, but that was exactly how I felt walking back into the restaurant from the laundry room.
I’d been gone for over an hour, so I wasn’t even sure if Scarlett would still be at the bar. She was, though I was relieved to find her alone now.
Her back was to me as I approached, so I smoothed down my hair and did my best to act normal.
“I’m so sorry. That took way longer than I expected.”
Scarlett waved me off. “No problem. Our friends just left five minutes ago anyway. So I had good company.”
I settled into the empty seat next to her and relaxed a little. Okay, maybe Mom and Dad won’t suspect a thing. “You must be starving by now,” I said.
“I had a…” Scarlett trailed off and her eyes roamed my face. They suddenly widened. “Oh my God. You just shagged that tall glass of testosterone!”
I debated denying it, but felt my skin starting to flush, even as I went over my options.
Scarlett clapped her hands. “I almost went looking for you. That gorgeous man’s face was murderous. Now I’m relieved I didn’t, or I would’ve walked in on him putting that anger to good use.”
I covered my face with both hands and shook my head. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind losing mine, too. Any chance your man has a pissed-off friend for me?” She smiled.
The bartender came over. “Can I get you another vodka and diet cranberry, Ms. Sterling?”
I was about to say yes. Alcohol sounded exactly like what I needed at the moment. But Scarlett responded before I could.
She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Sean, my love, any chance we could persuade you to slip us a bottle of the wine I’m drinking, a bottle of vodka, and one of those diet cranberries? I haven’t seen my best friend in a while, and I think we could both use a change into our pjs and some room service.”
Sean smiled and nodded. “I’ll do you one better. Why don’t you ladies head upstairs, and I’ll send the bottles along?”
Scarlett leaned across the bar and planted a kiss on Sean’s cheek, leaving behind a smear of her trademark red lipstick. “I love America. Thank you, darling.”
I thanked him and dug a fifty out of my purse. “Please put everything on my room.”
“Not necessary.” He shrugged. “The gentlemen left their tab open for you ladies. They said to make sure all of your drinks and any food you ordered were put on their bill.”
Well, now I just felt like shit. Nevertheless, Scarlett and I headed up to our rooms. She went to change in hers, and fifteen minutes later knocked at my door wearing Duck Dynasty footie pajamas.
I chuckled as she walked into my suite. “I’ll never understand how the woman who abhors television and walks around like she just stepped off the runway could be so obsessed with those pajamas.”
“You’re just jealous I can rock it.” Scarlett settled into the couch.
Room service had delivered a tray with a bottle of wine, two silver cocktail shakers filled with chilled drinks, an unopened bottle of Tito’s vodka, a full bottle of diet cranberry, and an assortment of nuts, pretzels, cheese, and crackers.
She grabbed a handful of cashews and tossed a few in her mouth before pouring a drink for each of us into glasses. “Tell me again why you weren’t living in one of your hotels in London? Because I can surely get used to this service. Especially if there’s a resident stud who takes care of the hotel’s and my pipes.”
I took my drink from the coffee table and sat down on the chair across from her. Tucking my legs beneath me, I sipped. “Trust me, that life sounds more glamorous than it is. Living in a hotel turns into a very lonely existence pretty quickly.”
“Oh? You weren’t looking very lonely when you walked into that restaurant. Seriously, Soph, Liam used to stay over at our house. I don’t recall you ever looking as properly fucked by that bore.”
I sighed. “I guess that’s because sex with Liam was never half as good as sex with Weston.”
Scarlett smiled. “I am over the moon for you. This is exactly what you needed.”
I arched an eyebrow. “To canoodle with a sworn enemy of my family while trying to come up with the winning bid that will allow me to force him out of any management of the hotel?”
“First off…canoodle? Now I know you’re American, but as far as I know, you are not over the age of seventy. So let’s give what’s going on the proper amount of respect, shall we? Shagging, fucking—I’ll
even permit getting it on from that car-accident-waiting-to-happen of a show you Yankees loved, Jersey Shore. And secondly, it’s your grandfather’s ax to grind, not yours, correct? Did the angry Adonis ever do anything to you personally? Other than give you what I assume are spectacular orgasms?”
“Well, no… But…we aren’t even nice to each other.”
Scarlett sipped her wine, looking at me over the brim. “Being nice isn’t a requirement for good sex.”
“I know. But…”
Ever since the moment Scarlett figured out what was going on, the smile hadn’t left her face. Until now.
She set her drink on the coffee table and shook her head. “You’re growing feelings for him, aren’t you?”
I shook my head. “No… Definitely not… I mean, I don’t know.”
Scarlett sighed. “It would be easier if you could keep feelings out of it.”
I nodded. “Trust me, I’ve tried. And it started out that way. I didn’t like him the slightest bit when this first started—well, that’s not true. I might’ve liked some parts of him. But it was purely physical. Every time we argued, we’d wind up having pissed-off sex. He’s the absolute last person I’d ever pick to go out with. Aside from the fact that we’re competitors and our families have been at war for a half century, he’s a playboy, arrogant, not exactly stable, and has more emotional baggage than I do.”
“Well, you’ve spent the last ten years picking men you thought would be good for you. How did that turn out?”
I made a disapproving face. “Thanks.”
“As much as you thought Liam checked all of your required boxes, I always thought he was a selfish slug. Whenever we all went out together, it was on his timeline and to a place he liked. He never seemed to ask what you wanted. We’ve never discussed your sex life, but I would venture to guess he wasn’t generous in that arena either.”
She wasn’t wrong. Toward the end, it had been a special occasion if Liam put in more than three minutes of foreplay. And him giving me oral sex was essentially a birthday or Valentine’s Day gift, even though he knew my orgasms from that were incomparable to any other. I worked weekdays. He worked weekends. Yet the only time we ever went out late was on the days he didn’t have to get up, even though I did.
“I’ve definitely noticed that Weston is more attentive sexually. He pays attention and figures out what works for me. Liam had his little routine, and it worked for him—sometimes it worked for me, too. But I can chalk that up to experience. I haven’t asked for a headcount, but I’m certain Weston has been with more women than Liam.”
Scarlett pointed to my drink. “How is that with the diet cranberry?”
“It’s great. You don’t even taste the difference.” I held the glass to her. “You want to try it?”
Scarlett tilted her head. “Did Liam ever stock his fridge with what you liked?”
I knew what she was getting at. “That was very thoughtful of Weston. But…”
“Listen, Soph. I don’t know this man from Adam, so I could be totally off base. But I get the feeling that if you really think about it, you’ll see there’s more to it than just Weston ordering diet cranberry juice and making sure you finish first. And the same goes for Liam. If you think back, I have no doubt you’ll see you were second on his priority list. Liam was always number one.”
Chapter 15
* * *
Sophia
Oh no. Nothing good could come from this pairing.
The next morning I walked over to the seating area off the lobby, where Weston and Scarlett were having coffee and laughing.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Scarlett sipped from her mug through her grin.
“This is late for you,” Weston chimed in. His eyes gleamed. “Must’ve been worn out last night.”
“What are you two doing?”
Scarlett feigned an innocent face. “Having coffee. What does it look like we’re doing?”
I rolled my eyes. “I need coffee to handle you two at the same time. Be right back.”
“I’ll take another caffè macchiato with one pump of vanilla, please.” Scarlett held up her mug.
Weston shrugged. “I’ll take a tall, black coffee.”
I squinted. “Not that I asked...”
I heard them chuckle as I walked away.
After a long wait in line, I put all three drinks on a plastic serving tray and walked back to where Weston and Scarlett were still looking cozy.
“What are you two talking about?” I handed Scarlett her coffee and then Weston. “You look like you’re enjoying yourselves a little too much.”
“I asked Weston if he knew of any good clubs nearby. We need to go out dancing. He told me about a place a few blocks away that’s become a celebrity hangout.”
“Oh really? I didn’t realize Weston was a club hopper.”
He sipped his coffee. “I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. Church is owned by one of my buddies from grad school. He built it in a closed-down cathedral. It’s all he posts about on social media.”
“Wes is going to get us in, so we don’t have to wait in line.”
“Wes?”
Weston grinned. “It’s what my friends call me. Maybe someday you’ll get around to calling me that, huh, Fifi?”
I sighed. This new bond made me a little nuts, which they clearly enjoyed. “When is this happening? Going clubbing, I mean.”
“Tonight.” Weston stood. “I’ll make sure both your names are added to the VIP list and let them know you’ll be there about ten. How does that sound?”
“That sounds fabulous,” Scarlett said.
“All right, then. I need to get upstairs to the conference room.” Weston buttoned his suit jacket and gave a slight bow in Scarlett’s direction. “Thank you for your company, Scarlett. It was enlightening.”
Weston grinned at me. “Have a great day, Sophia.”
I plopped down into Weston’s chair and scowled at my friend. “Enlightening? What were you two talking about?”
Scarlett waved her hand in the air. “A little of this and a little of that. He’s lovely.”
“Please don’t try to matchmake. What Weston and I have—occasional, meaningless sex—is perfect the way it is.”
“I agree.” Her tone was totally patronizing.
“Scarlett…” I sighed. “Even if you’re right and he’s a great guy under all the layers of cocky arrogance, I just came out of a relationship. I’m not looking for another one. Especially not one where the new guy has baggage and our families hate each other. It’s too complicated. Sometimes things are better kept simple.”
She smiled wider. “Okay.”
I squinted at her and stuck out my tongue.
“Very mature,” she gloated.
“I actually need to get upstairs to the conference room where my team is working, too,” I told her. “What time is your fashion show?”
“Eleven. I’m going to head over to Bergdorf’s first, as soon as I finish this second cup of coffee. But I should be back tonight by about seven.”
I stood and leaned down to kiss my friend’s cheek. “You drive me nuts, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
***
That night, I realized it had been a long time since I went to a club. I put on a pair of jeans, a cute navy blouse, and a pair of wedges I knew I’d be able to dance in. Scarlett knocked on my hotel room door at nine forty-five.
“I thought we were meeting downstairs in the lobby at ten?”
She looked me up and down and walked in with her arms full. “We were. But then I realized you’d be dressed like that without my help.”
I looked down at my outfit. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Scarlett sighed. “You screwed a man in the laundry room yesterday. You’re not boring, yet you insist on dressing like you are.”
“This is an expensive shirt. And I’m wearing tight jeans and heels.”
She ignored me and held up a sparkly, flimsy silver bl
ouse that draped into a V-neck in one hand and a pair of sparkly, strappy silver heels in the other.
“I like this one best,” she said. “But this one…” She tossed the silver garments on the bed and held up a bright green halter-top in one hand and a pair of sky-high black shoes I’d never be able to walk in in the other. “This one would look fabulous with your hair.”
I knew better than to argue with Scarlett when she didn’t approve of my outfit. Plus, I couldn’t deny that both of her choices were more exciting than what I had on.
“Fine.” I picked up the silver items from the bed, acting like it was a sacrifice.
But when I looked in the mirror after I’d changed, I realized my friend was totally right. The other outfit was nice, but this one was fun night out clubbing. And if I were being honest, it was kind of exciting to be dressed a little sexier.
I turned for Scarlett’s approval.
She shrugged. “I’d fuck you, if you had a dick.”
I laughed and looped my arm through hers as we headed toward the door of my suite. “You know, I thought I missed you. But actually, I think I missed your closet.”
***
Weston had done more than get us skip-the-line entry. We had a roped-off table in the upstairs VIP area with a bucket of champagne waiting when we arrived. The waitress told us she was our personal attendant for the evening, and a VIP host handed us keys to a special VIP ladies’ room that was always empty.
Scarlett and I took full advantage. We sipped champagne while scoping out the bodies swaying to a live DJ on the dance floor below and getting the feel for the place. Then we hit the dance floor like it was nobody’s business. One song led to the next, bodies pressed close all around us, and my heart seemed to beat in rhythm to the thump of the bass. After an hour, the back of my neck was slick with sweat, and my hair had pasted itself against it.
Throughout the night, various men tried to dance with us, but we were enjoying our time together and not interested in meeting anyone. Most took the hint. Though, at one point, a very good-looking guy walked over to Scarlett during a song transition and said something I couldn’t hear. Whatever it was made her laugh, and he started to dance with us. Unlike some men, who think a woman smiling on the dance floor means they have a license to dry hump you, the guy kept a gentlemanly distance, and we formed a small circle together, even though he clearly had eyes for Scarlett.
