Page 35 of The Influencer

Jade

…

Jade

Anyway, if you want to self-destruct…

He sends me a mirror selfie, and I nearly pass out. He’s dressed in what looks like a complex, strappy, black bikini top and skintight leather pants. For the picture, he’s pulled up his top to reveal a clamped nipple and I instantly have to put my hand on my cock to keep it from hardening up too fast.

The angle of his face is fucking perfect. The strong jawline and soft curve of his mouth, the jade-green eyes studying his screen in a side-glance. How is he so hot?

Asher

Is that an invitation?

Jade

It’s a selfie.

Asher

So you don’t want company?

Jade

If you want to come over, just say so.

Asher

I want to come over.

He sends me his address.

10

jade

So sue me, I changed clothes. If he wants to self-destruct, who am I to judge? I’ll take whatever I can get tonight, I’m so fucking pissed. Nothing triggers me like being stood up. Abandoned. I’m in the mood for a little destruction myself.

The look on Asher’s face when I open the door for him is worth everything I’ve gone through tonight, though. He takes his time examining me—my shocking slitted skirt, the casual drape of my arm on the doorframe, the dangly diamond earrings I put in for him. My nod to my masculine side is the combat boots. It’s a debut look I haven’t taken out yet.

The way he rakes his gaze up my body from head to toe is gratifying to say the least, arousing to put a finer point on it.

“That’s different.”

I slide my knee through the slit and strike a slightly different pose. “Feeling slutty. Thoughts?”

“Mission accomplished?”

I grin and step aside to let him in. He looks like a snack himself tonight in faded jeans with an ironic (I’m assuming) wallet chain, and the kind of button-down shirt I associate with bowling teams. It works on him though—this rockabilly look. I link my arm through his to walk him through the foyer and into the open living area, swaying my hips as I go. “Aren’t we adorable together… A match made in curiosity corner.”

“That’s a place?”

“Apparently.”

We stop walking near the couch, and I spin to look up at him. His hair is wet and pulled back into his usual messy bun thing, but his eyes are what strike me. A potent mix of hunger and misery that makes me want to take a step away, but I hold still. “Rough day?”

His Adam’s apple jerks in his throat, and I feel that wash of pity for him again. I sigh. “Did you want to talk about it?”

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