Page 73 of The Influencer

Where the condom comes from, I have no clue. He must’ve been palming it. He slides behind me while I’m stretching for the nightstand. He holds out a hand, and I give him three pumps of lube. He uses it to slick up my dick, and his touch is so overstimulating I cry out in shock.

“God, your little sounds,” he says. “You’d think you’d never done this before.”

“It feels—it’s—” Don’t say it. “Different with you.” Fuck.

He holds out his hand again, and I give him a generous five helpings for himself and my hole. He doesn’t waste a drop. What’s left over after he’s stuffed a glob of it inside me and spread it over his own dick, he rubs down my hip as he pushes my top leg forward to open my hole. His fingers breach me again, moving inside like they’re mapping me.

I groan when he brushes my prostate.

“That’s the spot?” he asks.

“One of them,” I exhale, taking my cock back in hand.

“That wasn’t that hard to find.”

“I like everything about having my ass stuffed,” I admit. “I’m easy. You know this.”

“I wish.”

I don’t have time to ask for clarification because within the next three seconds, he’s impaling me on his cock and knocking my hand off my dick to replace it with his.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper.

“That’s right, pretty boy. You’re all mine tonight.”

He slides his other arm beneath my head, and thrusts two fingers into my mouth before I have a chance to agree with him. He goes ahead and takes me over like no one man ever has before, and I’m fucking gone. Lost. Ascending.

He’s rough tonight, pounding into my hole and letting my cock slide into and out of his fist. I suck his fingers like I sucked his dick, getting off on the whole-body takeover thing he has going, and then—fuck my life—he finds a rhythm. Overpowering the suction in my mouth he begins to fuck his fingers into it in time with his thrusts. It is goddamned miraculous, and the entire world might as well not exist anymore. Consumed by this groaning, enormous man, my thoughts fail. Language is erased, nothing exists anymore but sex. This sex.

Sex with Asher.

I choke and convulse as cum spills from my cock. He curses behind me and takes his fingers out of my mouth so I can let one broken sob rip from my chest.

“So good… God, that’s so good… So. Fucking—” He grunts at the top of a thrust, and my ass clamps on his spasming dick, but I want more. I want his cum. Filling me and not the condom. I want to have to clench my cheeks to keep it in. I want him to suck it from my hole and fucking feed it to me. God, I want everything.

I’m still gasping for air as he pulls me close to him and turns my head. He owns my mouth with his tongue this time, but it’s rough and quick, leaving me wanting to beg for still more.

He’s turning me into a person I barely recognize, and it’s so not okay.

“I get tested every week,” I say, but the words come out breathless and nearly incomprehensible.

“What are you…? Are you uh…”

He’s only vaguely coherent. I’m glad to see his world was rocked a little too.

“I’ve never had a single STI,” I say. And I’m pretty proud of that. I choose my partners well, in general, and I’ve gotten lucky a few times, too.

“You want…”

“For you to stop using condoms, yes. With me, I mean.”

“Who else—I mean—yeah. Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll be careful. And you know you’re the only person I’ve been with. So far,” he adds like he’s afraid I’ll kick him out if I think he’s getting too clingy.

I mean—I wish that were the case, but it’s not in me tonight. I want him to cling, and I want to cling back, and so what does that make me now?

His?

That can’t be right.

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