Chapter 11
Addy
Looking in the hotel mirror, placing some moisturizer onto my skin before heading out to the sight of the modeling shoot, I feel one corner of my mouth curl at the memory of the other night.
He does want me. I just know it.
I was more forward with Trevor than with most men. Which is saying a lot. At least that’s how I’m justifying his words. Because it was clear I rattled him. Heck, for all he knows I’m this way with everyone. Yet I’ve never felt this undeniable yearning for one man.
There was a hunger in his eyes when I wrapped my mouth around his muscular finger. Man have I got a thing for a man’s hands. Arms and hands. And Trevor Laurence has them like no other. He’s not overly beefy but firm. Add in that domineering tone and I’m a goner. I may or may not have let my mind picture him with my hair wrapped around his fist as he took me from behind when I was trying to get to sleep last night.
I’ve never been into specific fetishes, but I have a healthy appetite for sex. I’m careful and don’t sleep around. But when I have needs, I don’t judge myself for going after what I want. So long as I’m discreet and don’t allow my heart to take a beating, it’s all good. Jeez, no one would judge a man. I’ve lived long enough letting other people dispense their opinions of me. Sex is a normal part of life.
But why is it that the thoughts of Trevor Laurence are so much naughtier than I’ve considered before? I like it rough. Or at least, I think I would with the right person. The short relationship I’d had with Marcus proved stereotypes could be wrong. I’d assumed he’d be one hot and heavy ride in the bedroom based on the gym-rat appearance. But he was kind of a mess—a lot of awkward fumbling, and his below-average-sized soldier frequently had a hard time saluting. Boy, nothing kills the mood quicker than a partner who can’t keep it up.
But there’s something about Trevor. The undisputable current sparking between us is ever present. When he stared into my eyes with that penetrating gaze, it’s as if he could see into my very soul. An immediate raw hunger grew in my belly. No man has ever affected me in this way.
Picking up a washcloth from the countertop, I dab my face. Thoughts of this decadent man have caused me to feel flushed. As much as I don’t enjoy modeling any longer, working with this client is a big opportunity. I need to look my best.
Early on, I didn’t mind it. Being in front of the camera, pretending to be someone else, was exciting. I’d wear extravagant clothing and hobnob with people I’d only read about in tabloids. Yet, I never enjoyed the lifestyle. I’m not a big partier. When I do, it’s because I enjoy spending time with the people I care about. Not attending lavish gatherings because I want to make contacts and get ahead. Or worse, name drop at a later time to impress people. And let’s be real. I’m well aware none of the socialites at those events really cared about me. Conversations there were about as shallow as they get.
These days modeling makes me feel more and more like Mrs. Donaldson’s prized cow at the county fair. Everyone wanting to take their picture with it, holding the blue ribbon for all to see. The cow had done nothing but eat and sleep to entitle it to such praise. And most days, I felt the same. I wasn’t any better at taking pictures than anyone else. I simply had ‘the look’ the fashion business was currently interested in. It’s hard to brag about that.
Landing a job at Alden’s bakery had changed so much for me. It opened a creative outlet I hadn’t realized I needed. And what’s more, I was good at it. I loved having pride in my work and feeling I’d accomplished something. It was freeing to remove the shackles the dyslexia had placed on me and express myself without fear. Getting paid for it was the cherry on top.
But running a business is hard. It takes a keen sense of numbers and the ability to communicate with others effectively. Whether by email or text, I fear how others interpret my messages. Sure, I could use a prepared document saved in my computer and fill in the blanks. But Sycamore was a small town. Businesses were built through genuine interactions, not some sterile form letter.
No. For now, I’ll have to accept my happiness is limited to working with Alden. I’ll put aside whatever money I can make with modeling for a rainy day. Perhaps one day I can find a way to make this work. But I’m learning a lot and have a sense of purpose at Honey Bunz. At least that part of my life feels fulfilled.
If only a relationship with a man could feel as satisfying.