We stare at each other, memories silently traded back and forth while her fingers grip my jeans. Mine slip between her knees for the warm skin I wanted. It only makes me crave more.

Remi must too because she follows my thoughts without me needing to lead. “So then, what do you want from me, director?”

The words go straight to my cock, and I lower my eyes to the viewfinder. “You know what I want, Remi.”

She was standing in front of a full-length mirror before, face partially obscured with swirls of black and teal and silver. She’s right in front of me now, all the pieces together.

“Let me see,” I said before. Now I tell her, “Show me.”

The hold on my jeans vanishes. Those same fingers start where her shirt tucks into her skirt. They ascend, button by button. My attention bounces between them and her teeth denting her bottom lip. Once she reaches the top, though, her other hand joins, and they gain my entire focus. She pops the third button while her thumb glides across her collarbone and dips beneath the fabric.

A fucking tease from when I couldn’t touch her. She’d do the same damn thing when I could only watch.

As she works her way down, someone screeches from elsewhere in the house. Neither of us cares. My porcelain cocoon has become ours, the rest of the world separate from us. We’re not even on the same timeline anymore.

Remi reaches the last button before her skirt. She doesn’t untuck the shirt, letting the front create a V on her hand’s slow drag back up. More and more smooth skin and then the swell of her breasts.

By the time the rest of the fabric falls open, her chest’s rising faster. Pouty lips part as she tries to regulate her breathing. I’m struggling myself, having her right here and not touching. My pulse thrums, but lingering resolve keeps my eyes on the screen.

She dances her fingertips over the skin above her red bra. Glimpses of it through her white shirt tormented me all night. Remi appears more than pleased to pick up the taunting.

“You still like red, Foster?” she asks, toying with the top edge.

Fuck, my dick can’t take her saying my name right now. It’s pressing into my zipper hard enough to border on painful.

“Mmm. I do, but…” I rub the bare skin beneath my thumb. “I’ll like it more if they match.”

I gently lift her knee until she takes over, spreading her thighs to expose the tiny scrap of red fabric at the apex. Locking onto the wet spot in the center, I groan and am officially beyond not touching.