She felt it before she understood it—the weight of other eyes, colder than Dominic's. The boom operator's gaze slid over her like a clinical instrument, measuring the arch of her back, the bounce of her breasts, the wet sound of her riding. No heat in it. Just assessment. Just cataloguing. Her rhythm stuttered, hips faltering mid-roll, and she tried to slow down, to hide herself in the motion.

Dominic's hand snapped to her jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. His gray eyes were hard, almost angry, and the set of his mouth made her breath catch.

"Don't you dare look away from me," he said, low and hard, his hips driving up to meet hers with a brutal thrust that made her gasp. "They watch because they're jealous. You're mine to watch."

The words landed somewhere deep in her chest, and she felt the fear crack open, felt something hungrier spill out of the crack. Her thighs tightened around his waist, and she started to move again—faster this time, chasing the approval in his eyes, the way his pupils blew wide when she rolled her hips just right.

"That's it," he growled, his hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her down until her forehead pressed against his. "You feel them watching? Let them. Let them see exactly what you do to me."

She could feel the crew's silence pressing in from all sides, a suffocating blanket of observation, but his gray eyes held her, and she found she didn't care about the rest of them. She cared about the way his breath hitched when she clenched around him, the way his hands trembled slightly on her hips, the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

"You like that," she breathed, not a question. "You like watching me fall apart on your cock while they watch."

His smile was slow, predatory, and he thrust up into her hard enough to make her cry out. "I like watching you stop pretending you're not exactly where you belong."

The words hit her like a slap, and she felt her cheeks flush, felt the heat crawl up her chest. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but her hips kept moving, kept chasing the friction, and the sound of their bodies slapping together filled the silent room.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough, his hand tightening on her neck. "Tell me you're mine to watch."

She opened her mouth to refuse, but what came out was a moan, broken and desperate, as he drove up into her again. "I'm—" she started, and then his thumb pressed against her throat, just a hint of pressure, just enough to remind her who was really in control.

"You're what?"

"Yours," she gasped, the word torn from her. "I'm yours to watch."

The confession hung in the air between them, and she felt something shift inside her, something she couldn't name. His eyes softened, just for a moment, and then his hand slid from her neck to her hip, gripping her hard as he took over the rhythm, driving into her with a possessive urgency that made her see stars.

She was his. And the crew was watching her fall.