The Virgin Gift(26)

I swallowed roughly as I read that last one again and again. I wanted to do everything with her. Every last thing. And since we were being so open about our bedroom wishes, I needed to open the door for her to back out. That was the last thing I wanted in the universe, but I cared too much about her not to ask. I had to.

Adam: Are you still good with this? Do you still feel okay about working through your list? What you told me this morning stayed with me. It resonated. I listened. We don’t have to cross that line if you don’t want to.



Nina: Adam, I’m so good with this. I promise you. I’m ready. I feel like I’m finally breaking free of my head.



Adam: Your head must be a wondrous and filthy place.



Nina: It is. That’s the good and bad of it. I’ve lived all my sexuality in my mind and in my bed by myself. I’ve only ever had sex with myself and with my fantasies. And now my fantasies are becoming reality. It’s like I’m understanding who I am in a whole new way.





This was another text that called for a second read, a third, a fourth. Because this one touched a different part of me. It touched my mind. It touched my heart that cared deeply for this woman. And it stirred up something new for me too—a deep and powerful sense of privilege. It was such a privilege to be the one she trusted. I never wanted to betray that trust.

Adam: Who you are is incredible, and I want to be the one to help you explore all your desires. So I’m going to ask now, and I’ll ask again tonight, because I want you to be 100 percent certain—here goes. Will you give me your virginity tonight?





14





Nina





He didn’t say fuck.

Or sleep with me or make love to me. There would be no making love. I didn’t want that. We weren’t those kinds of people.

But even though I liked it hard and rough, I also discovered something new as I read his last message.

Every now and then, I liked a little tenderness. Maybe it was the occasional soft kiss like he gave me before bed, or perhaps it was his devoted touch, like in the shower this morning. Or maybe it came in the form of words.

Like now.

Will you give me your virginity?

He didn’t say he wanted to take it.

He wanted me to give it. And give it to him. He knew it was my body, my innocence to give away. It wasn’t his to take. It wasn’t anyone’s to take. It belonged to me, and I had the power to choose when to walk away from it.

He understood that deeply.

That was what his question told me. In a message about sex, I saw there was so much more to this man. And I feared when I gave my virginity to him, the act might be more than sex for me.

I’d have to do everything I could to focus on the physical, and only the physical.

Thank God I had a shoot in a few minutes. That was what I needed. Bodies, images, pictures. A world I knew intimately.

Me in my zone. The more time I spent in a space I knew well, the better off I’d be later tonight. Because I didn’t want to lose myself when I entered new territory with Adam.

Photography would center me, as it always had.

I didn’t need to write a long reply.

All he needed was one word. And one word was all I gave. It said everything.



Nina: Yes.





Today the woman wore white. Stockings, garters, white lace panties, and a demi-cup bra.

“You look like an angel,” I told Melanie, who’d arranged the shoot as a surprise gift for her bride-to-be.

“I feel so awkward,” my client confessed as she sat rigidly on the lush cranberry-colored velvet lounge in my studio.

“I know that feeling well,” I said with a soft smile. “But this is a safe place. You look beautiful, and I want you to feel beautiful for your shoot. So, we can do that a couple of ways. One is wine.”

She laughed. “I like wine, but it is only ten in the morning.”

“True, wine o’clock doesn’t usually start till after noon. So here’s the other.” I stepped away from the couch, headed for the nightstand in my studio, and reached into a drawer. I took out a photo album. I kept it here for this very reason—when clients had a crisis of confidence.

“What do you have there?” Her curiosity was piqued.

“I’ll show you,” I said, returning to the lounge, where I flipped it open for her.

She brought her hand to her mouth and laughed at the first page.

“Exactly. Let it all out,” I said, encouraging her.

“I’m sorry, but that’s so funny.”

“That’s why I included it.”

I looked down at the page and the pictures of myself in a red bra and panty set. They were self-portraits, shots of me trying to look sexy and failing miserably. All the shots that would never see the light of day were in here. The ones where I squinted or made duck lips, or where my sexy pose looked more like a crab walk.

“This is the clay. The rough, unmade clay.”

She nodded as I moved through the pages, shot after unusable shot. “I see where you’re going.”

“We need the clay to make the sculpture.” I flipped to the final one.

The pièce de résistance.

Me, stretched out on this very couch, my head leaning back, my hair tumbling over the pillow. My back arched. Breasts perking up. Skin shimmering. A look of bliss in my eyes.