At least this far

Eli didn’t breathe.

Not at first.

Emily stood before him, the last echoes of her blouse settling like paper on the hardwood floor. Her skin prickled beneath the open air. The black lace of her bra clung perfectly—too perfectly for this to have been unplanned, and yet she hadn’t planned anything. Had she?

She hadn't intended to undress. She hadn't intended this.

But now, standing there, hips still gently rolling to the low throb of bass, with his wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on her…

It didn’t matter whether it had been conscious.

She was here. And she wasn’t stopping.

He stared.

His jaw tight, his fingers clenched on his knees, his posture locked in place like if he moved he’d break something fragile.

Emily’s eyes dropped to her waist.

With slow, practiced grace, she let her hands drift over her hips—then to the waistband of her skirt.

She turned her body away and bent over just enough to let the fabric fall as she unzipped and show off her ass. The soft, sleek material slid down her legs in one smooth motion, pooling at her feet.

She stepped out of it.

And now he could see.

The lingerie set was matched: a deep black lace thong hugging her hips just above the delicate straps of a garter belt that sat snug around her waist. Thin satin suspenders clipped to her thigh-high stockings, their sheer shimmer catching the light as she moved.

She knew the layout well. Panties over the garters. Always. That had been drilled into her backstage during college. Made it easier. Cleaner. Let her tease without interruption.

“I wanted to give you something better,” she said softly, not looking at him yet. “Something you don’t have to associate with cold concrete and shitty lighting and cuffs.”

She paused.

“Something you get to choose.”

Eli’s voice broke when it finally came. “Are you—are you really doing this?”

Emily turned, slowly, eyes dark with heat but calm. “Yes.”

His breath caught audibly.

She leaned forward, hands on her thighs, body swaying again, the faint glint of her garter belt catching a thread of light.

“You don’t have to touch,” she added, as her fingers traced the tops of her stockings. “You don’t even have to speak. But you do get to watch. If you want.”

His lips parted, dry.

He nodded.

Just once.

It was all she needed.

She turned around fully, facing him again, and reached for the clasp behind her back—