Page 72 of The Influencer

“Oh, no. We have got to get you in a better hair care routine.”

He lifts a brow. Was it the “we?” I give tips to friends, too.

“Do you ever wear it down?” I ask, like I hadn’t just assumed I’d be seeing him again.

“I prefer it up.”

“Why not cut it then?”

“Because I like it long. I look stupid with short hair.”

“You could never look stupid,” I say, more certain of that than I am of Madonna’s status as the greatest artist of all time.

“Do you hate it?” he asks.

“No!” In fact, I bury my face in it. Well, that and his neck as I inhale his cheap but surprisingly nice-smelling conditioner.

Meanwhile, he’s working my costume over my shoulders. I take one last deep inhale of him before sitting back and shrugging out of the top. “I keep almost forgetting about these,” he says, brushing his fingertips over my nipples and leaning down to pull one into his mouth.

I gasp. His teeth are sharp, and his suction powerful. I arch into the bite, loving the burn. Craving it. I have large nipples for a man, and my penchant for clamping them has made them even more of a physical landmark. My fans love them, but Instagram doesn’t know what to do about them sometimes. I’ve had plenty of “perfect tits” comments. But frankly if Asher likes them, then I love them. And he knows exactly what to do to pull every sensation imaginable from them.

My hands dive into his hair, not to force anything, just to feel the way he works to suck on me. His beard scrapes my pec, but the coarseness only makes it better.

I’m so hard, I’m surprised the cheap costume is able to hold in my erection. If I had a piercing, there’s no doubt it would have ripped through the fabric by now.

I should talk. I should say something. Vocalize all the dirty things I’ve been thinking about with him to encourage him to do more with me—keep touching me in all these ways I like so much. The attention is intoxicating, especially after a night like last night where I played a bit part in two other men’s fuckery. I should be more appalled that I’m so deliberately participating in such purposeless sexual activity, but I can’t help how much I like it like this.

With no lights. No cameras. Just the two of us enjoying each other in private. “Are you good at everything?” I breathe against his neck.

His suction breaks with a loud pop. “I don’t know. Am I?”

“You’re good at this,” I assure him.

He moves over to my other nipple.

I continue with my thesis. “You’re good at blow jobs. Good at fucking. Complete perfection at eating me out… What are you bad at?”

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers dig into my hips, probably to shut me up. I let him torture me for a few more minutes until I literally can’t stand not being able to wrap a hand around my dick any longer. “Please take off my clothes, Asher. Please.”

Like I weigh nothing he picks me up, puts me on my back on the bed, and strips the costume the rest of the way off. He nods at the head of the bed “Get comfortable,” he says. I shimmy up until my back hits the pillows and part my thighs so I can give myself a few firm strokes to relieve the ache.

He peels off his undershirt and shucks his pants, kicking off his boots as he does. He’s stepped up his underwear game with tight black Calvins, but those come down with his jeans since his cock is already exposed. Standing at the foot of my bed, he looks like a fucking rockstar. A straight, pussy-eating rockstar, but I know better.

“What’s your kryptonite, Superman?” he asks.

Oh, God, I don’t know. I couldn’t tell him where I wanted him right now if someone held a gun to my head. I want him everywhere. All over me. He crawls up to me, his necklace dangling, the gold catching the lamplight. Settling between my spread legs, he presses a kiss to my mouth. I quickly become very involved in it. All his kisses are like first kisses, stealing my breath, my sanity, making my heart race, and I never want to let go of his mouth.

I think he found my kryptonite. That wasn’t too hard. He tilts his head to sink in deeper, his tongue fucking rhythmically into me. It’s the deepest kiss of my life. I didn’t even know two people could get this close with their faces, but he’s the right key to my lock, that’s for sure.

My toes curl, digging into the plush bedding as he robs me of breath after breath. Our chests press together, and I’m clinging to his shoulders, desperate to stay close. He takes both our cocks in his hand, doing nothing more than holding them together as we move ever deeper into the kiss.

Feelings threaten, and I have no defense against them. He’s taken a battering ram to the walls around my heart, and in this moment, they’re all down. I’m letting him in even though my mind screams at me to stop—I fucking can’t. No one’s ever made me feel like this.

How was I supposed to know?

“I need you now,” he grumbles, sounding almost put out with the fact.

I nod, reaching for the lube.

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