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Chapter One
Ethan Silver didn’t want to be a prick or anything, but he wasn’t to blame for letting his mind wander mid-blowjob.
The woman currently polishing his knob was certainly enthusiastic about the task at hand, but she was putting too much porn-star flourish into it for his taste. He considered himself a blowjob connoisseur. A fellatio foodie of sorts. He’d gotten head from the best mouths in the business, and this woman…
Well, she wasn’t as skilled as the twinkle in her eye might suggest. She moaned and wriggled and told him how big he was, but the whole thing felt…dirty. Wrong in a way he couldn’t shake long enough to actually have any fun.
He brushed her hair back and looked at her face. Her upwards-turned gaze demanded a positive acknowledgment from him to tell her he was enjoying himself. She needed an ego stroke.
“You’re doing real good, baby,” he lied, laying it on thick with his best bedroom voice. He’d cultivated a career with those dirty, husky whispers, so he knew what she wanted.
What she was paying for.
The woman bobbed her head, trying too hard to mimic some move she’d probably seen in one of his movies. He made an appreciative groaning sound before letting his mind wander again.
He was going to call Sam the second he got out of here. Julian had already implied Ethan’s presence would be expected at a party the next week in Vegas during the awards.
The woman stopped and stared up at him. Her expensive eye makeup was smudged slightly around the edges, giving her a rode-hard, put-away-wet look. But Ethan hadn’t ridden her anywhere, and that wasn’t part of their deal.
“Where do you want to finish?” she asked, flicking her hair back off her shoulders and smiling. “I don’t swallow.”
Ethan resisted the urge to grimace, propping himself up on his elbows to give her a good long stare.
“And not on the face,” she added, doing nothing to hide her disgusted expression. He ignored the way she said it and absently stroked himself, hoping his own hand might yield better results than her mouth had.
Finally, when she began to appear impatient, he gave a halfhearted shrug and said, “Tits.”
She edged forward on her knees, and instead of offering him any assistance, simply stuck her chest out and closed her eyes.
He might have been offended or put off in another situation, but this was par for the course with the whole scenario. He closed his eyes as well and fondled himself until he came. Once he was through, he handed her a towel that had been neatly folded on the bed.
Julian was ever the gracious host. He’d thought of everything.
Ethan cleaned himself off and did up his jeans. “Thanks,” he said, and held out his hand to help her to her feet. She stood before him, a glowing example of what plastic surgery and a trainer could do for a middle-aged woman.
“It was my pleasure.” She giggled, and he tried not to cringe, the gesture unbecoming of a woman who was likely a judge or politician in her daily life. She’d come here to play a role, though, and he was letting her fulfill her fantasies. Most of the time those fantasies involved pretending to be someone they weren’t. Just like they didn’t want the real Ethan. They wanted the version they’d seen on their clandestine DVDs and hotel-room, pay-per-view rentals.
He grabbed his shirt off the bed and left her to get dressed privately. In the hallway outside the door, a couple was making out, the girl a bottle blonde Ethan was intimately acquainted with, and the man was a stranger. Ethan had to wonder what Ellice—the woman—owed Julian that she had found herself here tonight.
Money.
It all came down to money.
After jogging down the staircase, he paused at the entrance to the living room. Everywhere he looked people were engaged in various stages of fucking. Some of the people he knew personally. Others were minor D-list celebrities he recognized from the pages of gossip magazines. All of them were blowing, being blown or being screwed. The sounds—the wet smack of skin on skin, grunting men and moaning women—were those Ethan imagined filling the air of Sodom and Gomorrah.
A waitress wearing a French maid’s uniform passed by, her tray heavy with champagne flutes and full tumblers of whiskey. He grabbed one of the short glasses and swallowed the amber liquor in one shot.
