The Influencer (The Manhandled Series Book 4) by August Jones

Author:August Jones [Jones, August]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: August Jones Books
Published: 2024-02-26T18:30:00+00:00

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.

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