Page 90 of Strut

He fucked me until I ached to come. Until his black eyes burned a hole so deep in mine that stars swam between us.

And then he exploded into my body and straight into my heart, shattering every flimsy defence I had left in his path. He shuddered in my arms and I came on a strangled cry, spilling between us in waves of pleasure that rolled through my body, leaving me sated and boneless and so fucking in love I could barely stand myself.

And when he rolled to his back on the cool sheet, his chest heaving, I found Alec’s hand and threaded our fingers together. We lay in silence as our hearts calmed and New York rumbled in the distance—red and white lights playing across the ceiling, the hum of the heater kicking in, the blare of horns, and the whistle of the sharp wind off the Hudson teasing our window.

It was Alec who finally broke the silence whispering, “Holy shit, Hunter. What the hell was that?”

I rolled my head with some inane quip on the tip of my tongue, only to be rendered speechless by the soft look of wonder in his eyes. I kissed him instead and whispered against his lips, “Surrender, baby. I think that was surrender.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Alec

Early Monday morning,I called Cara at Cage to tell her I was skipping the morning castings to get some legal advice. What I didn’t say was that I’d received a call from the Model Cooperative regarding my email and they wanted to see me at nine thirty.

Cage replied with a decidedly frosty response that another two options I had in place for future jobs had just been dropped. One by a London suit label for an editorial piece, and the other a Los Angeles shoot for a fragrance line. At the end of the call, Cara gave a tart reminder that I should weigh my options carefully moving forward.

All I could do was roll my eyes and try to not say out loud what I was thinking.Go fuck yourself.

Once Hunter heard about my appointment, he immediately postponed his mid-morning meeting until noon so he could come with me. The man was a constant surprise. By eight forty we were showered and dressed and on our way to the cooperative’s tiny office on a quiet street close to Union Square.

Traffic was chaos as a thick fog swamped Manhattan, the damp air salty on my tongue. We ditched the idea of an Uber and headed for the subway instead. Exhaust fumes and the sour tang of trash lay heavy in the moist air, but they were oddly balanced by the mouth-watering morning aroma wafting from the bakeries close to the station. New York was nothing if not a freaking conundrum. I smiled and shook my head, grabbed Hunter’s hand, and we ran for the packed train.

Thirty minutes later we stood outside a small, red-brick, 1950s-style building. We looked at each other and I let out a slow breath. Hunter squeezed my hand and led me inside and up the dim narrow stairwell to the small network of offices on the second floor. The cooperative worked for fair treatment and equal opportunity in the modelling industry through lobbying, raising awareness, and policy development. Its goal was to increase legal protection for models from workplace sexual harassment, discrimination, unfair contracts, and any number of related issues.

I immediately recognised the stunning Puerto Rican ex-model who greeted us with a kiss to the cheek, followed by a warm smile for Hunter who she obviously knew. Tina Keegan had been huge in her day and was still sought after. She’d been a co-founder of the Model Cooperative and had been one of the first models to successfully prosecute an agency for sexual harassment and one of its agents for sexual assault.

She led us into a small cheerful room with a desk and four comfortable chairs, offered us coffee and then simply listened. When I was done, she asked if she could hug me. I was taken aback for a moment, but then stood and let her enfold me in her slim arms and tried not to fucking cry... again. She was just so damn nice, and knowing what she’d been through meant so much.

Tina wasn’t forthcoming about whether an accusation against Darcy Fenchurch had been raised before, but the slight roll of her eyes and thin set of her lips told me it wasn’t the first time his name had crossed her desk. As to the chance the prosecutor would press charges or win a case against the bastard with our current evidence, Tina tried to keep the doubt out of her tone as she recommended legal advice, but we all knew the score. Nothing we didn’t already know.

Tina shared her own story, which I really appreciated, and just spending time with her calm and measured demeanour buoyed my spirits. She gave me a list of lawyers, therapists and other contacts that could come in useful, in addition to their own in-house services. She also offered some guidelines regarding our social media idea, agreeing it was worth a try as long as we kept in mind any repercussions if we attached any names, and to get some legal advice. Depending on what the final post actually contained, Tina said the cooperative would consider reposting and sharing it. That was hugely encouraging.

An hour later and we’d gleaned a wealth of useful information, including Tina’s personal number in my phone, and we promised to keep her in the loop. She walked us to the elevators and hauled me in for another hug as Hunter watched, clearly amused.

When Tina finally let go, she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I know a couple of people with... similar stories.” She held my gaze and I could only assume she meant about Darcy. “I can reach out to them, tell them there’s been another instance but keep your name out of it. I can’t guarantee they’ll want to talk, but if they do, they can come through me. It’s entirely up to you.” She dropped her arms and took my hands.

I sucked in a slow breath and nodded. “Thanks. And yes, I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Good. Then I’ll see what I can do.” Tina dropped my hands and turned to Hunter. “Look after him.”

Hunter wrapped an arm around my waist and nodded firmly. “I will.”

And my heart might’ve melted just a little bit more.

After sharing an early lunch of coffee and a quick sandwich at the nearest café a block from the cooperative’s offices, Hunter headed off to call Kip with Tina’s suggestions before getting on with his day casting for aVanity Fairshoot. I hopped the subway across town to make my afternoon castings—the first in Lower Manhattan, then Midtown East for the second. With time to spare, I got off at Spring Street and snagged a seat on a bench amongst the busy lunchtime crowd in La Petrosino Square.

I loosened my scarf and called Lachlan who chewed me out for not talking to him myself, then bemoaned the state of our parents, followed by a worryingly convincing threat to personally end that bastard’s life, meaning Darcy. All in all, he hit all the bases. Then I called Tui, making good on my promise to keep in touch and caught him in the milking shed again. I told him I was doing fine and all the usual crap. He swore and called me out on my bullshit, laughed and cried with me, and we were good. I hung up with a smile on my face.

A smile that didn’t last long.

The minute I walked into the first casting it was obvious the gossip mill had been running full steam. The mass turn of heads when I walked in was the first clue. The sign-in person looking me up and down with narrowed eyes when I said my name was the second. She shot a questioning look to a guy in a blue check jacket who I recognised as the casting director forSidewalk Magazine. He’d booked me before, so it was somewhat of a shock to see him stare at me for a long minute wearing an expression that looked like he’d swallowed something nasty. Eventually, he gave the woman a brief nod and looked away.

Fucking hell.I signed in, handed the woman my comp card, and got in line with the other models, most of whom I knew or at least recognised. As New York-based male models, we were always running into each other. But rather than the usual exchange of head nods or quick smiles, every one of the models was blatantly staring at me with either sympathy or barely hidden glee.

Great.

There were only a dozen or so models ahead of me, which meant the wait wouldn’t be too bad, but the photog looked to be taking his time. I sighed, put my back to the wall, and pulled out my phone, ignoring the stares.

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