Marco's voice cut through the hum like a blade. "Rolling." The red light on the camera blinked to life, and Scarlett felt it like a physical weight—the crew's eyes, all of them, sliding over her skin, settling into the places Dominic's hand had already been. Her pulse hammered in her throat, but she kept her gaze locked on him, on the gray eyes that had seen her, truly seen her, and hadn't looked away.

"You hear that, Scarlett?" His voice was low, a private thing wrapped in public performance. His thumb traced the waistband of her jeans, a lazy, deliberate circle that made her breath catch. "They're watching you now. Not the camera—you." His other hand came up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face toward the lens like he was framing a shot. "Give them something worth filming."

She should have been terrified. She was a photographer, not a performer—she'd spent years on the other side of the glass, watching, cataloging, never being seen. But his hand was warm on her skin, his thumb pressing just below her ear, and the fear in her chest had a new shape now. It wasn't the fear of being watched. It was the fear of how much she wanted to be.

"You want me to perform for them?" Her voice came out steadier than she felt, a small defiance that made something flicker in his eyes. "Or for you?"

Dominic's smile was slow, a predator's patience. "There's a difference?" His hand slid from her jaw, trailing down her throat, over the collar of her shirt, stopping just at the first button. "They get to watch. I get to touch. Seems fair to me."

She could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric, the weight of his attention like a second skin. The crew was silent, but she could hear the soft whir of the camera motor, the click of a lens refocusing, and somewhere behind them, Marco's low, satisfied chuckle. She'd spent her whole life hiding behind her camera, and now it was pointed at her, hungry, waiting.

"What do you want me to do?" The words came out before she could stop them, and she hated how small they sounded, how eager.

Dominic's thumb hooked the first button of her shirt. "I want you to stop thinking about them." He undid it, slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. "Stop thinking about the lens, the lights, the crew. I want you to think about what I'm going to do to you when this is over." The second button went. "And I want you to know that they're all going to see it on your face before I even touch you."

Her breath was coming shallow now, her chest rising and falling against the open collar of her shirt. She could feel her nipples harden against the lace of her bra, could feel the damp heat gathering between her thighs, and she knew—she knew—that the camera was catching every second of it. The thought should have horrified her. Instead, it made her want to arch into his hand.

"And if I don't?" she asked, but her voice cracked on the last word, betraying her.

Dominic leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, his breath hot and slow. "Then I'll make you." His hand found her hip, fingers digging into the curve of it through her jeans. "And you'll thank me for it. You'll thank me in front of all of them, with that pretty mouth, while I'm inside you."

Scarlett's knees went weak. The work light hummed, the camera rolled, and she felt herself tipping forward into him, into the promise of it, into the weight of his hand on her hip and the heat of his words in her ear. She didn't pull away. She didn't want to.

"Then do it," she whispered, and this time her voice didn't shake. "Show them what I'm for."

Dominic's eyes darkened at her words, something raw and hungry surfacing in the gray. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His hand left her hip and came up to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he held her gaze. "That's what I've been waiting to hear." His voice was a low rumble that she felt in her chest, in the space between her thighs. "You've been hiding behind that camera for three shoots, watching me like I couldn't feel it. Now you're going to stand here and let them watch you come apart."

The third button went. Then the fourth. The shirt fell open, and the work light caught the lace of her bra, the shadow between her breasts, the way her stomach tightened when his gaze dropped to her chest. She heard a sharp inhale from somewhere behind the camera—one of the crew, maybe—and it sent a thrill through her that she couldn't name. Dominic's thumb hooked the lace of her bra, pulling it down just enough to expose one nipple, already hard and aching in the cool air.

"Look at you," he murmured, not to the crew, not to the lens—just to her. "So fucking wet for me already, and I haven't even touched you where you need it." His palm flattened against her breast, rough and hot, and she gasped when his thumb dragged across the peak. "Tell me I'm wrong."

She couldn't. The word stuck in her throat, because he wasn't wrong—she could feel the dampness soaking through her jeans, the ache that had been building since the moment he'd first looked at her through the lens. "You're not," she breathed, and the admission felt like giving him something she'd never given anyone. "You're not wrong."

Dominic's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Good girl." The praise hit her like a physical blow, heat flooding her cheeks, her chest, the place between her legs. He released her breast and stepped back, just enough to look at her—really look at her, from the flush on her chest to the way her hands hung uselessly at her sides. "Now take the rest of it off. Slowly. Let them see what I've been looking at all this time."

Her fingers found the button of her jeans, and she didn't hesitate. The zipper rasped down, loud in the silent room, and she pushed the denim over her hips, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. She stepped out of it, standing in nothing but her bra and the damp lace of her panties, and the work light made her skin glow like something precious. She heard the camera motor adjust, the soft whir of the lens refocusing, and she felt—for the first time in her life—like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

"Good," Dominic said, and the word was a reward. He reached for her, his hand sliding around the back of her neck, pulling her close. "Now come here and show me how grateful you are."