Page 306 of Rosetti Family New York
"I look..." I start, then stop, staring at my own image lost in pleasure.
"Beautiful," he finishes. "Desperate. Mine, even when you were trying to belong to yourself."
Watching myself through his eyes is both overwhelming and exciting. I can see what he saw, not just the physical reaction, but the emotional need. The way I'd whisper his name like a prayer, arch my back like an offering, giving in to memories of hands that knew exactly how to undo me.
Desire rushes through me as I watch my own desperate nights play out on his screens. But beyond the desire, I feel something else, a powerful awareness of strength I had forgotten I had.
"Turn it off," I say quietly.
"Why?" His hand moves higher, fingers finding the edge of my pajama shorts. "Embarrassed by how beautiful you look when you give in to what you want?"
"Not embarrassed." I stand slowly, intentionally, creating space between us while he watches me with intense focus. "Inspired."
Something changes in his expression, surprise turning into a hunger barely hidden beneath his calm exterior. "Inspired to do what?"
"To show you the difference between watching memories and experiencing reality." I move to the center of the room where multiple camera angles can capture every detail. "Between surveillance and performance."
His breathing shifts, becoming deeper, more controlled, as he takes in what I'm offering. "Mara..."
"You've been watching me," I continue, fingers finding the hem of my silk pajama top. "My responses, analyzing my patterns, learning exactly what I look like when I give in to needs I thought were private."
"Yes," he breathes, his knuckles white as he grips the arms of his chair.
"But you've never seen me perform just for you. Not in person." The top slides over my head slowly, the silk brushing against skin that feels extra sensitive under his intense gaze. "You've never watched me touch myself while looking directly into your eyes."
A muscle twitches in his jaw as he struggles for control. "What are you proposing?"
"A trade." I stand before him in just the matching silk shorts, letting him take in my exposed skin while I keep eye contact. "You get a show unlike anything your surveillance has captured. But we do this my way."
"Your way," he repeats, voice strained with want.
"You watch, but you don't touch. Not me, not yourself. Just watch." I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and let them drop to the floor. "You want to see me surrender? This is surrender on my terms."
He stares at my naked body, muscles tensed with hunger. But he stays in the chair. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to take control of the show I’m giving.
"And if I want to touch you?" he asks roughly.
"You don't get to." My smile is sharp as broken glass. "Not until I decide you've earned it."
The shift in roles sends a jolt through both of us, him forced to sit still while I steer every moment. I’d forgotten that surrender can be a weapon when you use it on purpose.
I glide to the leather chaise set in his sightline and settle into the pillows. I let my thighs open slowly, giving him a view. "I want you to see exactly what you've been missing."
My hands move over my body, not frantic like in the old footage, but slow and deliberate to drive him wild. I trace my breasts, circle my nipples until they stand at attention. He watches every response.
"Christ," he breathes, hands clenched so tight the leather creaks.
"Do you want to touch me?" I slide one hand lower while the other keeps working my breast.
"More than breathing."
"Too bad." My fingers find the wetness between my thighs, circling while I hold his gaze. "You forfeited touching privileges when you decided to watch without permission."
His sharp intake of breath shows I hit home. This isn’t just performance, it’s a reckoning.
"This is what you missed," I murmur, sliding two fingers inside while my thumb finds my clit.
He breathes hard as I move slowly, showing him exactly how his presence affects me, while he can only watch.
