Page 96 of The Influencer

“Not as straight as you thought, huh?”

He laughs quietly. “Dude. I about shit myself when you said that.” He pulls away. “You think it’s just a Jade thing or a man thing?”

“It’s definitely a man thing,” I say.

“She really fucked with you, didn’t she?”

I refuse to put this all on Olivia. “No. It’s not about that. I’ve wanted to see what it was like for a long time. Probably longer than you have.”

“Really?” Adam looks at me like we’ve never even met. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because you always thought I was too big of a freak anyway. Why add to the list?”

“Ash… You’re not a fucking freak. You never were.”

I shrug, no longer comfortable in the conversation and wanting out of it. “I think I’ll take that change of clothes,” I say.

Adam sighs, recognizing my brush-off. “All right. Come up. You can pick out whatever you need. How long are you planning to stay?”

“Probably no more than a few days if that’s okay. We’ll see.”

“Whatever you need.”

27

jade

If he’s not going to contact me, I sure as hell am not reaching out to him. It’s been two days since Asher left my apartment, and I haven’t heard a peep from him. And I can tell myself that’s no big deal all I want, but it doesn’t stop my compulsive phone checking. Refreshing my DMs. My texts. Even my email.

Micah and Dennis have invited me out tonight, and I dress up in fishnets, short black shorts, a thin white tank, and black suspenders. Very Bob Fosse.

I drink and dance until my feet are killing me. I let all manner of men put their hands all over my body, leave hickeys on my neck, stroke my cock. But I decline all bathroom invitations and avoid the men’s room entirely. I don’t kiss anyone on the mouth either. I’m not in the mood to take anyone home, but I am in the mood to be asked, repeatedly. I’m in the mood to be wanted.

I take a hundred pictures. Easily. And I waste no time posting the best, most salacious ones—including one of me arched back between two men, my erection prominent in profile. Take me home? is the caption for the carousel that may or may not survive Instagram’s puritanical guideline Gestapo.

The likes and desperate comments pour in. My DMs blow up with propositions so filthy, I jerk myself off to them as I try to put myself to sleep while I lie in bed alone in my condo at three am. I double-check the list of likes on the post in search of Asher’s name. I even check to see if he viewed my story, but he hasn’t. Then again, he could be asleep. I can always check again tomorrow.

Spending myself in a hand towel to keep my sheets clean, I pant heavily into the pillow. I came on too strong. I tried to get close to him in a way he didn’t want. In a way I’m not sure I even want, but that right now I want really, really bad. My neediness—the worst quality of mine I try so hard to keep under wraps—has reared its ugly head.

Also—and I hate to admit this, but I have to if I want to process Asher out of my system—I’d wanted to help him. He’d looked as miserable that last morning as he had when we met, and it tugged at my lone, stiff heartstring. But I’ll get over it.

And I say that with the fun knowledge that the only thing I have planned for the next day is to edit and post the video of Asher fucking me.

Like I said—I’m processing.

At my desk in my office, I sit back in my chair with my arms crossed, watching the footage from a cold, critical mental distance.

At first.

My cock responds the second Asher whips his own out on the screen. The way I’d stared in wonder at all those piercings—Jesus. You’d think I’d never seen a penis before. I’ll cut that part out, but watching it reminds me of what I’m about to see. He’d fucked me face to face. My legs in the air and his dick grinding in my ass until I had to start reciting the alphabet backwards in my head to keep myself from coming too fast. I’d gotten to R when I couldn’t hold it in anymore. When the burn and pain twisted into the most torturous pleasure I’d ever experienced.

Clenching my jaw, I watch our first time unfold. The cock sucking. The way I’d sprawled and stretched for him in my slitted satin skirt. Boots on. Jock off. Dick lewd and leaking. I’d been attracted to him that night in a sort of reluctant way—like I thought I was glitching a little because he’s the opposite of a pretty boy. And I used to have such a thing for pretty boys.

Asher, I’d thought, was rugged and sexy.

But I don’t see that at all anymore. I see a godlike beauty in every hard line of his body, but especially his face. He never once took his eyes off me while he was inside me. He barely even blinked.

I tighten my arms over my chest, even as my cock throbs from the raw sounds we’re both making on the computer screen. I refuse to touch myself—to get off to this. Been there, done that. It’s business now.

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