by Sierra Dean
“My room it is.”
By the time Ethan swiped his card in the door of the Provocateur Suite, Sam’s tummy was doing backflips of nerves and excitement. On the elevator ride up she had questioned her decision a good three or four times, switching between best idea ever and what are you thinking? As the door swung open she was settling on best idea ever, but there was still a chance she’d change her mind five more times before they got to the bedroom.
“Do you want me to call for room service now, or wait a bit?” He was giving her an excuse to buy some time.
Sam’s heart thudded. Maybe they should eat first? It might give her an opportunity to settle down and make a pro-con list in her head. Once she did that, she’d definitely be able to deal with the situation a little more rationally.
Don’t be an idiot, she scolded herself. The only pro you need to focus on is the incredibly sexy, shockingly thoughtful, giant-dicked man standing in front of you. You should ask him to… “Take off your clothes,” she finished out loud, listening to the inner voice and speaking without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth the moment the words were out, like she might have been able to stop them or at least block anything else foolish from escaping.
Ethan looked equally surprised by her words, his dark brows rising and his blue eyes shining mischievously. “Why, Miss Hart. That’s very forward of you. Don’t you think you should offer to buy me dinner first?”
“I…uh…”
He unzipped his jacket slowly, almost lazily, then shrugged it off each shoulder before letting it fall to the floor. His boots were next, kicked off to the side without him even bending over to untie them. When his fingers touched his belt buckle, her rational brain shouted, Make him stop! But the part of her mind that had started this whole show running countered, No, no, let him keep going. This is getting good.
Ethan seemed aware of her warring thoughts and paused with the belt in his hands, giving her a chance to stop him if that was what she wanted.
Sam swallowed hard and lifted her chin in a jerky movement, as if to say, What are you waiting for?
He undid the belt and tossed it onto the couch beside him.
“What next?” he asked, his voice low, more of a growl than she was used to from him. He was staying at a distance, but there was an energy coming off him that made her wonder what would happen if he got any closer. She, too, stayed back because she suspected Ethan had the gravitational pull of a planet, and once she was in his orbit, she would crash into him like a helpless meteor, all frenetic desire and compulsive heat.
What a lovely way to burn.
“Sh-shirt.”
The garment was off with such speed and fluidity she knew he’d made that same motion a thousand times before. Probably literally. The man could get his clothes off fast and still look good doing it. He didn’t have the cheesy gestures of a stripper—no hip thrusting or booty shaking—but he still made removing his clothing an art form of sorts.
“Pants,” she added, her voice calmer.
He undid the top button of his jeans, then the next, and with each subsequent one she was greeted with more of his fine, muscular stomach and the trail of dark hair that was going to lead her down a path of no return. But as she saw more hair and more muscle, she realized she wasn’t seeing the band of any boxers.
“Are you…? You’re not wearing any underwear,” Sam squeaked. She’d been hoping that—much like strip poker—she’d have one last frontier of clothing to buffer her from his inevitable nudity. One last hand to play.
“I am not,” Ethan agreed.
“Oh my.” But still, she didn’t stop him. In fact, the voice in her head that had been shouting at her for decorum and propriety had gone silent at about the same moment he parted the fly of his jeans. She could see the base of his shaft teasing her with its presence.
It was one thing to see a man naked on television. Quite another to see the goods in person.
“Huhh,” she said, not sure if she meant to say hold on or some other exclamation. Unfortunately, only the rasping, unladylike noise came out.
Ethan smirked. “You okay, baby girl? Something stuck in your throat?”
“Not yet,” Sam replied, and again gasped in horror at her words. Who was this creature taking over her body? And where had naughty Sam been all her life?
Ethan, who was no stranger to dirty talk in all its forms, beamed at her, giving a lascivious wink that made her tremble. He pushed his pants down over his hips and then off, kicking his socks along with them. Then he stood before her in all his toned, tanned, naked glory, and Sam’s palms got damp.
He wasn’t fully hard, but even so his cock was intimidating in person. Her gaze veered to the orgy-sized bed, then back to his naked form, and she wasn’t sure if she should move towards the bed or him first. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. She licked her lips as Ethan followed her gaze to the bed.
“I don’t think you’re up to that one just yet,” he told her. “Besides, there’s no TV in here.”
“Why do we need a TV?” she asked, grateful her voice didn’t croak.
“We’re going to finish what you started yesterday.”
He strode towards her, confident and totally at ease with his nudity. Taking her hand in his, he led her away from the big bedroom and past the bathroom, into the smaller suite with the queen bed and the flat-screen TV. Modesty told her she shouldn’t want to watch porn with a man, especially not the man who starred in it, but at this point modesty was no longer in control. She felt vaguely embarrassed to be reminded of him busting her, but if he wasn’t bothered by it, why should she be? In fact, Ethan seemed turned on by the idea of her touching herself to his movies, so this might be…well, it might even be fun.
Ethan stopped her in front of the bed, backing her up until her thighs bumped the mattress. It was difficult for her to keep her attention on his face with so much glorious nudity to be distracted by, but somehow she managed.
“You’re a little overdressed for the occasion, Samantha.” The way he said her name sounded like a cross between a threat and a delicious promise. Either way she wanted him to follow through.
“Then do something about it.”
“My, my.” He stepped closer, his fingers finding the hem of her shirt. “You talk an awfully big game for someone who was adamant we not have sex.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, playing dumb. “Why would I ever make such a silly rule?”
He lifted her shirt, and she yielded to him, letting the flimsy cotton fall away as his hands moved to the button on her jeans. Her breath hitched from the sudden warmth of his fingers against the delicate flesh of her abdomen, but she didn’t try to stop him.
Ethan tugged at her jeans until they were past her hips, and she wriggled free of her denim shackles, kicking her shoes off as he’d done earlier. She wasn’t into going commando, so she was still sporting her baby-blue bra and matching cotton boy shorts. All the same, she felt very, very naked in his presence.
He reached past her, his arm hairs grazing her hips and sending a gleeful shudder through her. With him so close, the coarse hair on his thighs was brushing against her smooth skin, tickling her in a delightful fashion. She resisted the urge to run her fingernails through that hair to tickle him back.
Once she touched him she’d never be able to stop, and she wanted to see what it was he had in mind.
“Lie down,” he instructed, giving her a gentle nudge to send her tumbling back onto the fluffy white duvet.
She moved to put her head at the pillows, but he clamped a hand down on her thigh and in a commanding voice told her, “No, just like this.” He kept her as she’d fallen, her legs half off the bed, and stepped between her knees.
He had the remote in his hand and turned on the TV, going straight to the Adults Only content. Instead of picking the same movie he’d caught her watching the previous night, he scrolled until he found a title that appealed to him. Wet Video Presents the Best of Kenne
dy Sweet. Resting one palm flat on her belly with the heel of his hand putting the faintest pressure on her sex, he continued to navigate the menu until the movie began.
A pretty girl, her dark hair artfully styled and big brown eyes made larger by fake lashes and lots of makeup, stared coyly into the camera, touching her breasts casually as if it were normal for a woman to play with her nipples while having a conversation.
“Have you been a bad girl?” a voice asked from off camera, and Sam recognized the rough tone of it immediately. It was the same voice that had just told her not to move.
Ethan tossed the remote aside and placed both hands on her inner thighs, spreading her legs open wider.
“Have you?” he asked in real life, raising his brows in question.
Sam’s attention pivoted from the movie to the real man. “I have a feeling I’m about to be.”
He grinned. “Oh yes.”
On screen a fully clothed version of Ethan entered the scene, the girl kneeling on the carpet in front of him.
“Am I going to have to punish you?” TV Ethan asked.
“Yes,” the girl replied, and Sam fought the urge not to say it too.
Real Ethan was working his fingers up her thighs until he was touching the sensitive core of her body through the thin barrier of her panties. Sam squirmed and looked at him, but the second she took her eyes off the TV, he stopped.
“Watch that, not me,” he scolded.
Sam did as she was told, turning her attention to the television, where the girl was on her knees taking off TV Ethan’s pants. In real life, Ethan was the one kneeling, his fingers looping through the waist of her underwear, pulling it off even as he lowered himself so his face was level with her pussy. It was distracting to say the least, but every time her focus began to wander from the screen, Ethan would stop what he was doing.
The on-camera Ethan was the one to do all the talking. He told his on-screen partner a litany of nasty things, calling her dirty and telling her to suck his cock, but with each snarling syllable, Sam got wetter. In real time, Ethan was otherwise occupied, making speech impossible. He started subtly blowing cooling breaths over the sensitive flesh of her mound, so she was hyperaware of every move. When his tongue finally lapped over her, the sensation speared her like an electric shock, causing her whole body to twitch.
“Keep watching,” he warned, before returning to slow, torturous strokes. She writhed under him, struggling to pay attention to what was happening on screen. On TV, Ethan’s facial expressions as the girl sucked on his cock drew Sam’s attention, and soon she forgot the other girl was even a part of the equation. She watched Ethan take pleasure, softening from the mean dominator to a man who could yield some of his power to the hands and mouth of a woman.
Sam could have that kind of power over him.
She focused on what he seemed to like, what made his eyes roll back in his head a little, and which gestures caused him to tighten his grasp on the girl’s hair to hold her there longer.
When he speared Sam with his tongue, a rough cry caught in her throat and her hips bucked. He wrapped his arms under her legs, pulling her closer to the edge of the mattress and using his wide, strong hands to keep her torso pinned in place. As his attentions became more intense, Sam was no longer able to concentrate on what he was saying on the television, or what was being done. She locked her focus on his face on screen since his real face was buried between her thighs, and as the climax built inside her, she watched him echo it in the movie. When he closed his eyes, she let herself follow suit, and the real man brought her crashing into an orgasm so intense it nearly broke her.
He continued to lap at her gently while the shudders of her climax rocked her body and left her feeling like a puddle of euphoria amongst the soft linens.
She raked her hands lazily through his sweat-dampened curls and in the background was faintly aware of the animated cries of another woman from the television, but she ignored them. He raised his head and bit the pad of her thumb, making her yelp.
“You need a minute?” he asked.
“For what?” Sam tried to balance herself on her elbows but found her limbs unwilling to comply and sagged back into the mattress.
“Oh, sweetheart, we’re not done yet. We’re just getting started.”
Chapter Ten
Ethan liked Sam.
Not just in the way he liked the girls he costarred with, and he did like most of them. Not in the way he liked the women he usually found himself sleeping with in his personal life. No, he liked Sam a lot. He liked her in ways he hadn’t liked a woman in a very long time.
She was different from anyone he’d known since moving to Los Angeles. She had a genuine sweetness that bordered on innocence sometimes, and it was a quality so rare in L.A. they had to commercialize reproductions of it.
She was curled up against his side dozing lightly, the duvet tucked around them both. Apparently he’d done her in with his oral, and she’d asked for a brief rest before they launched into anything else. He sometimes forgot how overzealous he could be and that Sam wasn’t like the girls he worked with.
An hour later her rest had become a full-fledged nap, and he was watching a reality cooking show on TV with the volume kept low. He stroked absentminded fingers through her auburn waves and from time to time would look down just to watch her sleep.
Who was this girl, and how had she stumbled into his life?
On the nightstand his phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call. With Sam wrapped around him, he didn’t want to risk waking her when he moved, so he ignored the call and watched the on-screen celebrity chef shout at someone for not cooking their lamb shanks properly.
Another chime announced he had a voicemail.
Ethan tilted his body slightly, reaching for the phone with imploring fingers, all the while trying to keep Sam from waking up. She mumbled and stirred, but when Ethan moved back into place, she nestled into him and continued snoozing.
The display told Ethan he’d missed a call from Antoine, Julian’s partner in crime when it came to the sex parties they threw. There was no way hearing from Antoine could mean anything good.
Lowering the volume on his handset, he called his voicemail and listened to Antoine’s message. “Hey, big boy, Jules tells me you might have a little trouble paying up on time. If you need some wiggle room, I have a party planned in a suite at the MGM tomorrow night after the awards. Your participation would be…advantageous. Ta-ta.”
He didn’t need to listen to the voicemail more than once because the message was clear. Show up at the party, or else. Ethan had gotten away with skipping Julian’s last party in L.A., but he didn’t think he’d be able to pull off missing a second one.
He put the phone down and tried to focus on the TV but was suddenly a lot less interested in who made the best gazpacho. For a few hours he’d been able to forget his troubles, and that had been all due to Sam. Now his problems had found him even as she slept in his arms. He looked down at her, pushing her hair back so he could see her face, her lips parted in sleep as if waiting for a kiss.
Couldn’t he have this? This nice moment in time, without it being ruined by all the garbage Kelly had sucked him into? And when was he going to stop placing all the blame on Kelly? He’d known it was a bad idea to get into bed with Julian, and now he was proving himself right.
Sam opened her eyes slowly and looked up at him.
“That’s a serious face,” she observed, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
“I want to ask you something.”
“If it’s whether or not I’ve been a bad girl, I think you know the answer by now.” She smiled but was still half-asleep, giving the gesture an unhurried quality he found endearing.
“Tomorrow night is the AVAs. I want you to come with me. As my date.”
Her eyes opened wider, and she bent her neck to better see him.
“Say again?”
Ethan sat up straighter, turning off the television. Seeing his serious
ness made Sam sit up and wrap the blanket around her waist so only her bra-shrouded upper half showed. It was sort of cute that she wanted to cover up her lower body, considering he’d had his face buried in it only an hour earlier, but her modesty was one of the things he liked about her.
“Will you be my date to the Adult Video Awards?” he repeated, making sure he was clear about what he was asking.
“Isn’t that a big deal?”
He shrugged and angled his head side to side. “I mean, it’s not the Oscars or anything. It’s not a super high-class red carpet event, but it is covered by bloggers and some different websites. I don’t think your parents are going to see you on TV, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She shook her head. “No parents.”
“Sorry.” And he was. Both his parents were still alive, and though they weren’t necessarily thrilled about him abandoning Stanford to star in dirty pictures, as his mom called them, they still loved him and made him come up to Palo Alto every December for Hanukkah. He didn’t know what life would be like not having parents care about you and all the stupid shit you did.
He briefly wondered if he might ask his parents for the money. They had it, he was sure of that. But even as the idea flitted through his mind he ushered it back out. There was no way he could tell his parents he needed ten grand to give to some nefarious money-lender. They’d never get over that, nor would they ever be able to look at him the same, and if he had to spend every holiday seeing more shame and disappointment in his parents’ eyes, that would be unbearable.
It was bad enough he had to tell his Jewish mother at frequent intervals that he was still unmarried and not meeting any nice Jewish girls in the industry.
He’d lost himself in thought to the point where he couldn’t recall if it was his turn to speak or if he was still waiting for an answer from Sam, so he asked, “What do you think?”
She seemed to be debating it, wearing her conflicting emotions all over her face. Finally she said, “Would I have to dress up? I don’t think I packed anything appropriate for an awards ceremony.”