The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,9

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