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But whenRustcalled me good girl? I just melted. Did that make me a hypocrite? Maybe, but I didn’t care, because it felt so good. I didn’t know why I loved it so much, but something inside me very badly wanted to please him, to be his good girl. Could he tell? Was he even aware that he’d called me “good girl” several times now? I doubted it. It seemed so natural to him.
Of course, I was afraid of telling him all that. Especially after I made a fool of myself last night. So I replied in the only way I felt comfortable—by speaking in emoji. I replied with a pair of halo emojis flanking a smirk emoji.
Rust read the message but didn’t reply.
He probably didn’t understand. He was a little older, after all. I’d only seen him use that one emoji the whole time we’d been texting. He was probably trying to relate to me when he used it, and I bet it felt weird at the time.
But speaking in emoji? He didn’t sign up for that. He probably had no idea what I was hinting at with my short emoji sentence.
A few minutes later, his text pinged my phone again.
“Sorry I lied, Isabelle.”
Rust lied? That was news to me. I tapped out a reply. “Lied about what?”
“I told you I deleted your photo.”
Wait, what? Was he saying what he thought he was saying? My heart startedpoundingin my chest.
“So you didn’t delete it?”
“No. I saved it on my phone.”
I wanted to get my hopes up—but I still didn’t quite believe this was real. Maybe he was saving it to show my dad? To prove to Dad he’d raised an immoral tart?
“You saved it? Why?” I asked, nervously biting my lip.
“It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I let out an elated squeal. I was so thrilledhe’d saved my picture, I couldn’t stop smiling. That meant he’d actuallyliked it all along! Oh, man! I was so happy I thrashed about the mattress, my limbs flailing in a fit of pure joy. It’s funny, in a way, that I took that kind of picture all the time—it was myjob, after all—but I never really cared that much what people on the other end thought of them. I mean, sure, I wanted them to like my pictures, but that was because I wanted their money. This didn’t feel like that. This was something else entirely.
“Wow, I guess you really liked it then, huh?” I replied, still feeling a little cautious.
An eternity seemed to pass before he finally replied.“I can’t stop looking at it. You look amazing.”
“Rust!!! Are you looking at it right now??”
“Maybe,”he said, and added a smirk emoji. My insides stirred at the thought of Rust, shirtless in his hotel bed, looking at my photo. Was he touching himself?
“OMG! That’s so hott,” I wrote, adding a couple flame emojis.
The hottest part about all this, though, was that he’dtoldme about it. I didn’t know why. It was just so surprising, so breathtakingly honest. I guess I was used to boys treating me like shit and lying to me constantly. I had no idea the truth could be so sexy. Rust made mewant to be honest, too.
I tapped out a confession of my own. “Rust, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I lied too,” I said, adding a frown face.“Sorry.”
“Oh no. About what?”
“It wasn’t an accident.” My heart rocked against my rib cage as I came clean. It was so hard and scary, and yet it felt exhilarating to tell him the truth. “I sent that picture on purpose.”
“I kinda wondered about that,”he said.“You’re such a bad girl, Isabelle.”
Don’t get me wrong, I loved being his good girl—but the thought of being bad for Rust got me so worked up, I’d trade the halo for a pair of horns in a second. I squeezed my thighs together, fanning the embers of pleasure that smoldered between my legs.
“Did it make you hard?” I asked.
