Page 109 of The Influencer

We’re still sleeping in his bed, and each morning, he’s just as insatiable as he was the night before, taking the real me deeper and deeper into Asherland where I’m falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of love with him. It’s getting harder every day to pretend like this is all fun and games for me. That I’m the same happy-go-lucky fuckboy he met when he pierced my septum.

In four days, I’ve turned down six offers for OnlyFans collaborations and have been focusing instead on getting social media sponsors and modeling work.

For tonight, I’m planning a gayer scenario, meaning I won’t be wearing women’s clothing. I keep thinking one of these days I’ll figure out which version of me he prefers, but so far, it seems like as long as whatever we’re doing ends with his cock in my ass, he’s perfectly content with whatever I’m wearing. Still—everyone has a favorite, right? I mean—if they really care about something.

And that’s the main thing about Asher I haven’t been able to figure out. Heading into the weekend, where we’ll be together all the time (ideally), I’m hoping I can get closer to picking away at what he’s actually feeling regarding the two of us. If anything. Most of all, I hope that he feels at least something.

I’m wearing a policeman costume someone once sent me to film a private and very specific masturbation scene. Since the fan sent the clothes and paid me seven hundred and fifty bucks, I’d been more than happy to make him the video. The costume has been gathering dust in the back of my closet ever since, but the quality is decent—highly realistic, which made me wonder if the dude was a closeted cop himself. It fits me perfectly, especially now that my upper body muscles have filled out some since the last time I wore it. And despite the scratchy polyester pants, my ass looks amazing.

Asher is taken aback.

“What’d I do this time officer?” he grins, taking my latest costume in.

“Stop kidding around, Haas,” I snap. “We’ve been partners for years.”

“Ah. Got it.”

I follow him to the kitchen where he drinks a bottle of water while I watch him from the other side of the island contemplating how to get the most out of his performance. He looks good tonight. I always like him when he’s sweaty from the gym, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m completely gone for him. His black tank clings to his well-built chest and his legs fill out a pair of gym shorts like no one’s business.

He studies me with a curious expression, like he’s not quite sure what he just stepped in to.

I’ve got my hair pulled into a very small ponytail, trying to make myself look as straight as possible. No foundation or illuminating powder on my face or anything.

“You look like you need to talk, partner,” he finally says.

The cue to go into the bedroom. I fake a heavy, depressed, burned-out sigh and let him lead the way.

“Wife’s pregnant again,” I say once we’re in full view of the rolling cameras.

“Congratulations,” he says, eyes narrowed as I begin to pace.

“You know how she gets when she’s pregnant. Everything pisses her off. Even the way I breathe. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for a week.”

He’s still trying to catch on. I can tell by the line between his brows. Hopefully this scene won’t hit too close to home for him.

“You must be pretty backed up,” he says, like the words are a toe he’s dipping in to test the waters.

He nailed it. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I get it, man. When my old lady’s on her period she’s a bitch on wheels. Wants nothing to do with me.”

I deliberately scan him up and down, clear my throat, and shake my head.

“What?” he asks. “What was that look, Sloane?”

“Nothing,” I say gruffly.

“Nothing? Because it looked like you were just checking me out.”

“Fuck you, Haas. No way.”

“Good. Because I don’t do men.”

“Neither do I.”

We stare at each other. My desire for him churns in my core. Sometimes, even in an improv, the characters back themselves into a corner. While it hasn’t happened in this bedroom yet, I can acknowledge that this particular scenario might not pan out. But then he laughs.

“Ha. I saw the way you checked out that perp’s ass when we collared him today.”

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