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“Because they were for you! I didn’t want other people to have what youhad. It feels more intimate if they’re foryoureyes only.” I shrugged. “I dunno, maybe it’s not a big difference to you and you think I’m crazy. But as a content creator, giving away the best of your work is kind of a big deal.”
A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Really?”
“Really,” I insisted. “And anyhow, the vast majority of the pictures I sent you last weekweren’t from a shoot for my OnlyFans; they trulyweretaken just for you and shown to no one else. It’s just that,whenI took photos for my OnlyFans, I wanted to share those with you, too.” I patted his cheek. “Feel better now?”
Trying to hide a smile under his hand, he nodded. “I do.”
I could tell something else was still bothering him, though. “But?”
“But even if we set aside all the other stuff—your dad, our age difference—I don’t know, Isabelle. I hate to say it. It makes me sound callous and cold as fuck.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I’d come here prepared for heartbreak, right? Might as well get it over with.
“Just say it,” I said.
“I’m a private guy who happens to have a career that puts me in the public eye. My privacy is important to me, Isabelle. That’s why I don’t want pictures of my house on the internet. And … I hate to say it, but for those same reasons, I wouldn’t want naked pictures of the woman I’m dating on the internet, either.”
“Ouch.” I frowned, but I couldn’t say I was shocked. “Well, it probably doesn’t matter much, but FYI, I’mnotnaked on the internet.”
He cocked his head. “Huh? What about your OnlyFans?”
“Have you evenlookedat my page?”
“Only for a moment at the bar, when Cale showed me.”
“I don’t do nudes, Rust. That’s my whole shtick.” I grabbed my phone again, pulled up my page, and handed my phone over to Rust. “Here. Have a look for yourself.”
I leaned against Rust’s big shoulder, my arms hugged around his bicep. I watched as he scrolled through my feed, my stomach twisting into knots. I felt so vulnerable—it was always a scary moment when you shared something you created with someone you liked and respected, and someone you wanted to like and respectyou, too.
What if he didn’t get it? Worse than that, what if he “got it,” but outright rejected it? What if it made no difference at all to him if my pictures were lewds and not nudes, and he still saw me as this shameful, dirty slut or something?
Rust stopped scrolling when he got to the very first picture: me, climbing out of his pool in a micro bikini. For a second, my heart stopped beating, as my fate seemed to hang in the air.
“Damn,” he muttered quietly. “That swimsuit … is …” He finished his sentence with an audible swallow. He pinched the screen, zoomed in, scrolling up and down every inch of my body. “You lookamazing.”
He did the same thing for the next picture, and the one after that—on and on. Every time, he had the same jaw-dropped reactions, he had to zoom-in to see more, and he had the same kind of breathless comments, like:
“Holy fuck!”
“Ohh my God …”
“You’re so sexy, Isabelle.”
I couldn’t stop smiling—he really seemed to like it! I stroked the back of his head, running my hand against the prickly grain of his short salt-and-pepper hair.
“So now do you see?” I asked. “I don’t do nudes. I only do lewds.”
I wasn’t sure if he heard me. He was in another world, still scrolling, still muttering and grumbling about howincredibleI looked.
At last, my words registered, and he looked over at me.
“I get it now. ‘The art of the tease,’” he said, quoting me from last week.
“Yes! Exactly.”
“How much do you charge for this?” he asked.
“Five bucks a month.”
