“Perfect,” he replies, extending one hand; I take it and let him pull me up to my feet. The moment I stand straight, he grabs me by the waist and presses his body against me, his lips finding their way to mine. We lose ourselves as we start to kiss, my cum coated lips eagerly devouring his; I push my tongue into his mouth and, with it goes the flavor of his own semen.
I know, I know—this is supposed to be a job, not a way for me to have fun. But who cares? I would just beat myself up for the rest of my life if I didn’t take the chance to let myself be used by a man like this. Because that’s what happened. Ethan used me, and I loved every second of it.
As I pull back from him, I look into his eyes once again, and there’s a sudden pang of regret in my heart. In his eyes I see happiness, and I hate the fact that I’ll be the one crushing it. But what options do I have? There’s no other way—if I don’t do this… I don’t even want to think of it. Whatever it takes, I have to do this.
It’s just a job, I think to myself, and I can’t help but feel that the more I repeat these words... the more they sound like a lie.
117
Ethan
"I have some marketing ideas I'd like to run by you," Cheryl says. We're sitting in the conference room going over the product launch for Illicit Escape, the technology that we're banking on to revolutionize the porn industry—actually, the whole fucking world seems to be banking on it too.
At least that's what we're supposed to be discussing, this product launch, but I can't fucking focus.
Instead of thinking about how to launch this product, I'm thinking back to the restaurant—Top of the Rock—with Brittney. I'm thinking about her dress. Her perfect curves. Her smell. The way her blonde hair framed her face and caught the light just right.
The way I commanded everyone to leave the dining room. The way the city stood tall in the background, a symbol of success and power. And how I felt like I had all of that power in the palm of my fucking hand.
I'm thinking about the look that formed on her face the moment she realized we were alone. The way she screamed when I pressed my hand against her bare pussy. The way her fingers rested on my waistline in anticipation, her eyes pleading me to allow her to go further. And I'll never forget the way she grabbed my shirt, crazed with lust, and I watched as the buttons popped off and rolled to the floor. That was a first.
I suddenly realize that if I'm not careful, my cock is going to start tenting my pants in the middle of this meeting. Not fucking ideal.
"I was thinking we could build off of your press release pitch," Cheryl continues, oblivious to the images playing out in my mind. I nod my head in vague agreement. I'm only partially paying attention, and honestly, every time she starts talking, my mind changes tracks. Like I said, I can't fucking focus.
"We could do a montage of cavemen scribbling porn on caves walls, and then show ancient civilizations scrawling it on stone tablets and papyrus," she says. "And we can continue down that evolutionary chain until we reach the early days of VHS and the Internet—and then we can have the screen pan into a modern-day man and woman. Maybe they're sitting in a park, or sitting at home, and no one knows, but they're actually, privately watching porn. It's not obscene. It's just normal. That's the revolution. The story always has to come back to the people."
Cheryl takes a drink of water from a nearby glass and continues. "We can show how discreet this technology actually is—how it's the next evolution of porn. What do you think about that? Ethan? Ethan—hello, is there anybody home? Are you following me?" She says this and laughs, but deep down you can tell she doesn't think me drifting off is funny at all.
"What? Oh—right—yes, I'm fine. I think that sounds like a great idea," I say, snapping back to the present. What was she just fucking offering again? I'm losing track. I'm literally fucking losing my mind.
"Do you even know what I was talking about?" she asks.
"Sure, porn, porn, and more porn," I laugh.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.
If I'm honest, I rarely see that look on her face—and I've known Cheryl forever. Seriously. I better get my shit together. I've got to get my head screwed on straight... and quick.
I don't know what the fuck has come over me. One minute I'm fine. I'm Ethan fucking Kane. The one man in this city that not a single woman can keep. And the next minute, I'm fawning over some woman. Sure, she's hot—but so are a fucking hundred other women throwing themselves at my feet. And what's more, I can't get this particular woman out of my fucking mind no matter how hard I try.