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Did she have to pay?
Sam covered her face with both hands, shaking her head and letting out a giggle. No, he wasn’t American Gigolo, he was just a guy who had sex for money.
Wait, what’s the difference?
She couldn’t quite figure it out, but she knew there was a difference. One she could use to justify any romp she might have with him. Oh, it’s okay, he wasn’t a hustler, he was a porn star.
Sam sat upright, her head swimming from the sudden downwards rush of blood. Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t call Ethan. She’d humiliated herself around him, and she wasn’t the kind of girl to respond to a booty call, let alone initiate one. The crushing horror of his inevitable rejection would only further ruin her vacation.
Nope, no dice. It was settled, she was going to pretend the whole incident had never happened and grin and bear the remainder of her vacation alone. And sexless.
Nestling herself amongst the half-dozen soft pillows on the big bed, she flipped on the flat screen and scrolled through the limited channels the hotel offered. A preview bar on the bottom of the screen announced new release movies available for rent, and Sam figured if she couldn’t have a holiday fling, she could at least justify a pricey rental. Maybe she’d splurge big and order room service. Nothing said luxury like a twenty-five-dollar cheeseburger and a pay-per-view chick flick.
She selected the VOD option on her remote and perused the catalogue of options. There were a few cheesy rom-coms she’d been meaning to see, but nothing reached out to grab her.
Until she saw the Adults Only tab.
Sam cast a wary glance around the room as if there was someone there who might be silently judging her. She lowered the volume on the TV, half expecting a crescendo of orgasms to announce what she was up to once she selected the menu.
She had nothing to be concerned about. The Adult content menu was as silent as the others had been.
She gnawed on her lip, guiltily perusing the titles. Most were astonishingly filthy, like Cum Guzzling Sorority Sluts 12. How had there been eleven successful installments of a franchise like that? Surely after two or three they’d run out of semen-hungry sorority skanks.
Or Anal Invaders 22.
Yikes.
Each new title made her more and more nervous, and she began suspecting there would be a log of her search on her hotel bill even if she didn’t order anything.
Her remote stopped on P.S. I Fucked You.
It was impossible to forget a title like that, considering how much Sam had loved the movie it was spoofing. But more importantly it was a movie Ethan had told her he starred in. Sure enough, when the film’s description popped up, the blurb read: Porno spoof featuring Dakota Starr, Vixxxen Wilde and Ethan Silver. A woman experiences a sexual romp with her husband’s ghost and enjoys a sexy vacation with her best friends.
It sounded…terrible.
Like, really, really terrible.
Yet she didn’t immediately bypass it. Aside from the obvious allusions to a lesbian-orgy sequence, her interest was piqued by Ethan’s participation in the film. If she wasn’t going to let herself try to have real sex with him, what was the harm in taking a peek at what she was missing? Surely that wasn’t so bad, right?
She wiggled her nose and glanced around the room again, then announced, “I’m going to hit the button. I’m ordering the movie. If anyone thinks this will condemn my immortal soul, they should cut off the power or something.”
No higher power intervened.
So Sam ordered the movie.
It looked like there was a twelve-dollar production budget, and Sam feared the actress they’d chosen to portray the Hilary Swank role might topple forward from the weight of her massive fake boobs at any moment. The woman couldn’t have acted her way out of a wet paper bag, either, but Sam presumed the typical audience for this kind of feature wasn’t in it for the realism or storytelling.
Sam couldn’t grasp the attractive qualities of fake boobs. They were like skin-toned cantaloupes with weirdly tiny nipples. She was ready to admit she’d made a terrible decision, when Ethan strode onto the screen.
Even with the crappy camera angles and the unfortunate presence of the boob monster in the scene with him, Sam was entranced. He possessed a magnetic appeal, making it impossible for her to tear her gaze off him.
He had the swagger of an old Western movie star and the winking, smirking charisma of the most popular guy in high school. His confidence should have made him unappealing to her, it was almost overpowering, but the way he owned the screen made her feel weak in the knees.
She’d been alone in a bedroom with that man an hour earlier.
When her thoughts drifted to the memory of the triple-sized bed they’d stood in front of, a warm flush fanned through her. There was no harm in a little dirty imagining now that she was alone.
With the volume on the TV lowered to nearly mute, she had a hard time figuring out what he was saying, so she raised it a few bars. His voice was a low, nearly threatening growl, but the smile glued to his lips made him seem safe somehow.
