The answer didn't surprise me. In fact, it suddenly reminded me of something. "Hey, I've got something for you."

Despite our dire romantic status, I had nonetheless chosen twenty of the best pictures Bastien had taken of me and had Hugh print them this week. I hadn't known until now that I'd actually be able to give them to Seth. I found them in my bedroom, bound with a pink ribbon.

"Your birthday present." I started to hand the pictures over.

"Wait," he said. He opened up the messenger bag he carried his laptop around in. A moment later, he offered me several sheets of paper. I gave him the pictures. We sat in silence, each of us studying our respective offerings.

For half a second, I thought he was sharing a manuscript after all. A few lines into it, I realized it was addressed to me. It was the writing he'd promised me a while back. The detailed exposition of all the things he wished we could do.

Reading it, I sort of lost track of the world around me. What he'd written was exquisite. Some of it was like poetry. A beautifully crafted ode to my beauty and my body and my personality that made my heart swell. Other parts were brazenly explicit. Hot and steamy. They made O'Neill and Genevieve's elevator look like a kindergarten classroom. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I read.

When I finished, I looked up at him breathlessly. He was watching me, as the pictures had taken less time to peruse.

"I take it all back," he told me, holding up one of the shots. It showed me sitting crosswise in a chair, naked. My legs draped over the edge lazily, showing a nice view of my pink painted toenails. A hardbound copy of one of Seth's books sat on my lap. "Sex might be a requisite part of love after all."

I glanced down at the manifesto. "Yeah. It just might be."

We sat there a moment, then burst out laughing. He rubbed his eyes. "Thetis," he said wearily, "what are we going to do with ourselves?"

"I don't know. Do the pictures just make things worse?"

"No. They're wonderful. Thank you. They're a good way of having you…even if I can't have the real thing."

An idea slowly coalesced in my mind. The pictures just involved looking. Looking was safe. And one didn't just have to look at a two-dimensional image. "Maybe…maybe you can have the real thing." He gave me a quizzical look, and I hastily amended: "In a hands-off way. Come on."

"This seems dangerous," he said when I led him to the bedroom.

Sunset was filling the room with mood lighting. I pointed to a chair in the corner. "Sit there."

I moved to the opposite corner, hoping it was enough space.

"What are you— Oh." He bit off his words, swallowing. "Oh."

I slid my hands slowly up over my hips and breasts, over to the top button of my blouse. Slowly, deliberately, I unfastened the button. Then, just as carefully, I moved down to the next button. And the next. Then I unbound my hair, letting it fall messily over my shoulders.

A striptease is all about letting go of self-consciousness. And it's about pacing too, I supposed. Admittedly, doing a show in front of Seth, whom I loved, moved into a realm I felt a little unfamiliar with. Nervous energy twitched inside me, but I didn't show it on the outside. I was on the stage, and I moved through my steps with sultry confidence, watching my own hands sometimes and making eye contact with him at others. This was part of my gift to him. He obviously liked seeing my body, even if, for the moment, he watched like one frozen, eyes wide and face carefully controlled.

The blouse eventually fell to the floor, followed by the skirt. I'd had bare legs earlier today but had covertly shape-shifted on thigh-highs while we walked to the bedroom. Left only in those and a cherry-red bra and panty set made of satin, I languidly moved my body in smooth and alluring ways as I played with edges and straps.

The stockings came off next, each one rolled down with delicate motions that let my hands slide against my own skin. Left in almost nothing, I savored the shining satin, trailing my fingertips over the bra and panty's surfaces. At last they peeled off too, and I was left in only my skin, left fully exposed and with a surprising heat burning in my lower body. I had turned myself on as much as him.

I stood there a moment, like I was taking in applause before an audience, then started to walk across the room.

"No," he said, voice thick and husky. His fingers dug into the chair's arms. "You'd better not get too close."

I stopped, laughing softly. "You don't strike me as the assaulting type, Mortensen."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything."

"So you liked?"

"Very much." His eyes were drinking me in, ravenous and needful. "That was the best thing I've ever seen."

Pleased, I stretched out my muscles, holding my arms over my head a moment before exhaling and letting my hands fall. As they did, I ran them down over my breasts and thighs in a careless gesture I didn't really even think about. Yet, as I did it, I saw his posture stiffen slightly and that fire in his eyes flare up.

A slow, dangerous smile spread over my face.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't think the show's over yet."

I sat back on the bed, then slid myself up so I was propped up against the pillows in full view. Watching him and his every reaction, I moved my hands up to my breasts, feeling them. But these were not the touches that came with a sensual undressing. These were caresses of a different sort. A more urgent sort.

I want to see you in the throes of orgasm, Seth had written in his missive. I want to see your whole body writhing, your lips open as you drink in your own pleasure. Only yours, no one else's. Just you, completely given up to ecstasy.

I stroked my breasts, cupping them, feeling their softness and curving shape. My fingers moved and stroked my nipples, teasing them further, moving in lazy circles. I ran my thumbs over them, reveling in their sensitivity. When my breasts were finally taut and aching, I let my hands travel down over my smooth and flat stomach, examining and lingering on every part until I reached my thighs. Parting them ever so slightly, I slipped two fingers between the waiting lips so I could stroke that throbbing knot of nerves, moaning without even realizing it. Something about Seth watching aroused me more than I'd expected. I was dripping with wetness, aching and scorching.

I slid my fingers over and over that burning, swelling spot, stoking the rapidly growing need. Arching my body, hearing the soft cries escaping from me, all I could think about was Seth's eyes on me. Doing this for him, was in many ways, more genuine than actual sex with Bastien-turned-Seth had been. This was as intimate as he and I could ever be. It wasn't exactly the same as the honest communication we kept talking about, but in a way, I was opening myself to him after all. Exposing myself without inhibition.

I kept expecting the succubus energy-need to pick up on this scam, but either the distance or the fact that I was doing this to myself continued to trick it. We'd found a loophole after all.

As my fingers continued to rub between my lips, bringing me closer and closer to that crest, I moved my other hand down and thrust a couple of fingers inside of me. This elicited a moan of yearning, and I opened my thighs further, letting Seth get a full view. Faster and harder both sets of fingers worked, touching everything, building and building up that delicious pleasure until I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. Like I was going to burst.

And then, I did.

Sparks and lightning shot through my body, radiating from my core outward until every part of me tingled with life. I cried out again, loudly, my body writhing against the sheets as spasms racked my muscles. What had started as an ostentatious show had become something more. Doing this for Seth—with Seth—had reawakened something sleeping inside of me. I had lost control; my own body had taken over.