“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.