Desmond took his time with me in every sexual encounter we’ve had so far, always ensuring I came first, always asking me if I was okay after he entered me, and always making sure I was comfortable in any position he wanted to try. I’ve never experienced a gentle giant like Desmond before, and while neither of us are trying to label things, I know for certain that he is not someone I want to let go of anytime soon.
“Tell me what happened back in LA.” He searches my eyes like it’s his last-ditch effort to understand me. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your discomfort around a camera. Did someone hurt you?”
When he asked me to be his cohost earlier, my heart melted, and I almost caved. I wanted to explain everything to him right then and there. About the morning after my fall on the runway, about the creepy producer, about every nagging feeling I’ve had in my heart since I left LA. Maybe then he would understand why dipping my toes back in that world is so hard for me.
He asked me if I trusted him last night, and I said I did. This is my chance to prove my words and put it all out there.
While I drum up the courage to tell him my story, I pull him over to his desk and push him down into his chair before I climb onto his desk to face him. After a long, deep inhale, I release it then forge ahead. “I already told you how modeling was never my dream. I mean, I thought it was, but at some point along the way, I realized I’d never been given a choice. I grew up in front of the camera. It came so naturally. Obeying direction. Revealing just a little bit more skin. Making love to the camera. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention or the way looking at those photos made me feel. I felt beautiful and successful, and I worked damn hard at it.”
He nods, and I squeeze my lids shut before continuing. “So then you were just upset that it was a career chosen for you and not the other way around?”
“That’s a big part of it. I’ll never know if I would have chosen it myself. I didn’t have any other talents, but then again, I was never given the opportunity to explore.”
“So that’s why you’re here. To explore.” He looks down and then back up at me. “Does that mean there’s a chance you’ll go back to LA if you figure out modeling is, in fact, what you want?”
I search his eyes, my heart tugging with his question. “I’ll tell you this much. If I do decide to model again, it won’t be through my old agency or with the photographers I used to work for. I’m tired of being an object through the lens, something sexual they can manipulate to sell their products or business offerings.”
“Is that how you feel when I take your photo?”
I shake my head, not needing to think a second about it. “When you take my picture, it’s different. You see me.”
He places his hands on my thighs and squeezes. “I do, Maggie. It’s why I’m the way I am with you. It’s why I push you and tease you and dig for more. Because I see you, and I want you to see yourself too. You’re worth more than they ever made you believe.”
“I wish I could believe that. But those photographers weren’t the only ones that made me feel that way.”
He scrunches his face in question. “Who else?”
I go on to tell Desmond about my lame attempt to exit modeling through acting and about how I was approached by big-shot Hollywood producer, Regis Malone.
I swallow, wondering if it will always be this hard to talk about my experience. And then somehow, I manage to tell Desmond about that awful night in Regis’s hotel room when my fantasy turned into a nightmare. My throat is tight as I try to hold back the tears. “On that night, I made a promise to myself to stop looking for my worth through the lens. I came to Seattle to find it.” I shake my head and feel Desmond wrap his arms around my waist.
“Jesus, Maggie. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed. I went from being at the top of my game on the runway, with a