Page 148 of The Influencer

“Mhmm.” I nod, kissing the tip of his nose. “That’s it.”

I wake up Sunday without a hangover thanks to the two bottles of water I drank and the ass-wrecking sex. I’m so fucking sore I can barely walk to the bathroom to shake out several ibuprofens from the bottle and check myself once again for any tears. There aren’t any, which proves my ass is just as amazing as I always brag that it is.

I take several pictures of myself while I’m in there, posing in my underwear, positive I’m glowing and look different, like a girl after losing her virginity. I feel born again. When I emerge, Asher is awake, looking hot and sleepy and staring at me like I’m breakfast.

“Get here now.”

He grabs me the second I’m within his reach, pulls me over him, wrestles me onto my stomach and buries his face in my ass. I whimper as his slick, warm tongue soothes the soreness and turns it into gut-twisting pleasure. He doesn’t quit until I’m biting a pillow and screaming through a quick and unexpected release brought about by the friction of the sheets and his ravenous rimming.

“Were you dreaming about that or something?” I ask a few minutes after I come, still working to catch my breath.

“Something,” he says, crawling over me and covering my back with his chest, nestling his face against my neck and sucking marks into my skin. “You’re fucking delicious, sweet thing. And you’re all mine today.”

I very, very much like the sound of that. My asshole is threatening a sex strike, but maybe once the medication kicks in, it’ll come around.

I return the marvelous favor he just did me by flipping us over and sucking him dry. We make it to the kitchen, but we’re all over each other in there, too. Kissing, groping, grinding, and begging. Seems we both woke up insatiable. The morning is a myriad of sex acts involving hands and mouths and nipples, and the one time I slide two fingers into his hole just so he can see how it feels.

“Fuck… Jade,” he grunts as he hovers above me on the couch. “More.”

So, I shove deeper and add a third.

Meanwhile he fists our cocks, jerking them together while I finger fuck him until we’re both covering my chest with cum again.

“How was that?” I ask when we’ve come down.

“I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t seem to.”

After that we cuddle and nap, and it’s fucking amazing. He doesn’t seem to want to let go of me, and I have no interest in being let go of, so it works out. I’m basking in his nearness. The warm enclosure of his arms. The lingering presses of his mouth.

And as difficult as it is to even contemplate, I’m mulling over all the things we said to each other last night about my work and his need not to interfere with it.

If someone had asked me a month ago whether I would ever consider quitting OnlyFans, I would have said fuck no, because as Asher so aptly pointed out—it’s how I make a lot of my money, which I am highly possessive of. And the fact that if Asher asked me to quit doing it, I would drop it like a bad habit and never look back as long as he and I are together is not like me at all.

But this is not a scenario I could have envisioned. Like I told Aven, my feelings about it are mixed, to put it mildly. I genuinely have no interest in any other man. Even last night on the dance floor, whenever I would realize the hands on me weren’t Asher’s, I’d get a small surge of revulsion and cringe away, only to regain my composure and go with the flow the way I’m known for. I doubt anyone noticed, but I definitely felt the difference.

This love has changed my body chemistry on a fundamental level, but there’s an inescapable truth that goes along with loving him. I have to at least try and respect what he’s asking of me—at least consider it. If I can’t do it, I can’t do it, but there was something in the way he asked last night—almost begged—that scared me into thinking I might lose him too soon if I don’t get my shit together and start acting like myself again. Or at least try. Maybe it will be just like going into work on a Monday morning… with a bad hangover.

“Ash?” I ask late that afternoon. We’re in the bathtub and he’s making out with my right nipple while his erection grinds against my thigh.

“Uh-huh?” he responds before going back to sucking on me.

“Be honest. Do you just want me to do it, or do you want to watch me do it?”

He lifts his head, his dry humping of my leg slowing down. “Be more specific. What are you willing to do and who with?”

I’ve been giving this some thought. I think I need to top someone. I find topping to be deeply impersonal and more of a showcase act than being penetrated. Also, since most of my recent posts have been blow jobs, I have to change things up.

“It’d be a guy named Devon. And I’d fuck him. From behind.”

Asher blinks, staring at me for the longest time before he finally says, “Yeah, I’d want to see that.”

“Really?”

“Hundred percent. Unless you don’t want me to. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“So will I,” I tell him.

---