How did he know? All I wanted that morning after food and water was to get his giant cock inside of me to scratch an itch. But I was too much of a lady to say anything. Instead, I looked over at him once we crossed the street.
“Let’s wait till we get upstairs and I’ll show you,” I told him. He smirked at me.
He wasn’t smirking ten minutes later as his hands were grabbing my tits and squeezing my ass as I desperately shucked myself over and over on his thick, hard cock and came. Then, he turned me over on all fours and fucked me doggie until I had another orgasm. He fucked me on the sofa, then moved to the balcony where he bent me over the railing and drilled me, and then brought me inside and fucked me missionary where he came all over my tits. And he came in gallons. It was intense.
I scooped it all up with my fingers. Yummy.
Okay, yeah you’re done listening to my crazy sex life with my hot handsome stud, but this is the important part.
As we lay naked on the sofa together, Ethan turned to me.
“You have enough clothes for next week?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “I thought you like it when I’m naked,” I replied, doing my smart ass thing that I use on him sometimes.
“Yeah, but you know, to go to work and shit,” he replied.
“I’m usually naked at work, filming scenes for I.E.,” I told him.
> “Fuck, if you need to go to your place and get your shit, I’ll help,” he said, getting annoyed at me.
I turned over to him. I knew what he was going for. But I didn’t want to have that conversation.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked him with a pout.
I knew it would fuck with his head.
I know, why did I spoil the chance?
Because I was scared, I think.
I don’t know, hun. I’m fucked up in the head. After Robert. After running away.
Ethan just dropped the subject and went back to watching television. Which at the time was fine by me.
Now I’m wishing I had told him that it might have been easier to just move in—that this going back to my apartment over and over to get things was time consuming. Because an hour after our conversation, that’s exactly what I had to do. Trek all the way uptown and get my stuff.
But, no! Don’t you dare tell him that.
Seven.
That’s how many times I’ve had to go visit Simon. Go give him progress reports on the I.E.
Thank God Simon has no way of knowing that I’ve actually tried it on. That I’ve had sex with Ethan on the I.E. Thank God he doesn't know just how utterly realistic and life-changing that device is—how much it’s going to revolutionize pornography as we know it.
But still, he has questions. He has threats.
“Aren’t you telling me that you’re the one who's going to be the face of it?” Simon asked me on the last time that I went there to give him my report. “That you’re going to be the star?”
I nod my head. I didn’t know what else to tell him. He dipped his head onto his desk and used a $100 bill to do another rail. When he was finished, his eyes were bloodshot.
“So, you’re not only taking the money that I’m paying you to infiltrate Illicit Entertainment,” Simon said snidely before taking some coke and using his fingers to slide them over his gums. “But now you’re also going to be a star again?”
I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do to respond to him in a way that he’d be satisfied.
“I hired you for a job, Ms. Roman,” Simon said to me, getting up from his chair, his body already tweaking. “I expect you to carry it out or be prepared to face the consequences.”
I mean, each time I see Simon, it’s pretty much the same formula every time around. I give him my progress report, which isn’t that much progress, and then he gets upset at the lack of progress and follows by threatening me.