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“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.
