Page 31 of The Influencer

Pulling back to take a look at his work, he whispers, “So pretty,” before sucking my now swollen nipple back into his eager mouth.

His sex starvation is working for me—a hundred percent. I wasn’t expecting to have to edge myself, but that’s exactly what I wind up doing a few minutes later as his mouth devours me even more hungrily.

“That feels really good,” I say softly. He deserves to know, I rationalize. I’d been pretty brutal earlier, assuming he lacked talent in the intimacy department. I can now safely say, it’s not his mouth that’s the problem. Or the grumbly, rumbling sounds he makes either. No. Those all work just fine. I’m dangerously close to overheating.

Pressing closer to me, he grabs me by the ribs and tilts my upper body enough to grasp my left nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck,” I breathe, slowing my strokes on my cock so I don’t come in his hair.

The fabric of his shirt grinds into my other pec, further abusing my raw, wet flesh, and I’m such a slut for overstimulation. I bite my lips and catch a whiff of his hair. My eyes roll back in my head, and my grip on the phone falters. Christ, he smells good. Like ink and lavender and a trace of spicy cologne.

I re-center my shot the best I can and arch my chest into his mouth. “I like that.”

He licks my nipple with one broad stroke of his tongue and shocks me again by looking at my face, his eyes drifting to my mouth. Then my chin, and below…

Those were some dumb fucking geographical boundaries I’d set up earlier. I’m sort of dying for a kiss right now.

Now that I know how big his tongue is, I’d love to feel it against mine and find out whether he kisses mouths as good as he kisses tits. But I’m too proud to change the rules, especially not when I’m dangerously close to jizzing everywhere.

I should warn him.

“Close,” I whisper. “I don’t want to come in your hair.”

He returns to suck on my right nipple without argument, pulling it hard between his teeth until it stretches as far as it can go, and this in turn sends a sharp pulse through my groin resulting in an eruption of cum that shoots all the way to my breastbone. I grapple for control of the sounds I’m making, the camera angle, and the way my body ripples with one euphoric contraction after another. “Jesus,” I groan—the orgasm drawing itself out to the point of fucking torture, and for that I have one man to blame. Asher is sucking me relentlessly, and I swear to God there must be a direct connection from my nipple to my nuts with the way I keep going off.

“Enough,” I finally whimper, begging for mercy. “Enough.”

“Fuck,” he growls, not sounding pleased at all.

But he draws away and adjusts himself below the waist as he stares at my torso. At the stripes of cum. The puffy nipples. The bright red marks he left behind.

I can’t quite think straight, but I am trying, and the first thought I have is—did we say whether or how he was going to get off?

My body’s still shaking, and my mind isn’t in much better shape, but I don’t think we ever agreed on him coming or how or when or if there was an upcharge… shit. My brain is Jell-O.

“You can come on me,” I tell him, impulsively. Guess I’m feeling generous.

He draws away, not meeting my eyes. “I gotta go.”

“Asher…”

He rolls off the bed, picks his shoes up off the floor, and is out of the bedroom before I even manage to sit up. “Hang on!” I call after him.

“Thanks for that,” he calls back.

And then the door slams shut with me naked in the hallway and my phone still recording everything.

9

asher

I am the worst kind of asshole. A horrible fucking person. I am a desperate goddamn individual, and I don’t deserve a girlfriend, and maybe on some level, I’ve always known that.

Fuck me.

I’m such a piece of shit.

“Why aren’t you eating? Too much salt?”

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