Late Hours, Long Night (Iris's POV)

It was almost 9 by the time I pulled into my parking spot.

Joe had been a machine tonight; cranking out page after page of storyboards, detailed notes on lighting, lens choices, camera angles, and composition. I hadn’t seen him like that in years. I practically had to **** him to eat the pizza I ordered, and when he finally did, he declared it the best slice he’d ever tasted, eyes lighting up like a kid.

I smiled as I turned the key in my apartment door, the memory fresh and burning.

There was something different about him tonight. I’d seen him work hard before, drawing until his wrist nearly gave out, pushing through creative blocks with sheer stubbornness; but never like this. He didn’t complain once. Didn’t reach for an Advil. Didn’t slow down.

It was exciting. Intoxicating, even.

I knew he loved working at the agency, loved the projects that came through, especially the ones he could take under his freelance clause. But I knew he’d been in a quiet creative rut lately, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

This project with Zoe had awakened something in him; something raw, powerful, and hungry. And I was just as excited as he was to watch it come to life.

When the cleaning crew finally came onto the floor, he broke from his reverie, looking around gobsmacked at the time.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed, “it’s so late.”

I smiled, warm and proud. “I’m proud of you.”

He offered to drive me home, I declined, insisting I was fine, that Emily was waiting for him…

The truth was simpler, and far more dangerous. He’d walk me to my door, a gentleman to the core, and I didn’t trust myself to be alone with him tonight. Not after the way his thumb had traced my skin earlier. He did it without thinking, without malice or demanding. It was watching him light up with that creative fire I’d always found so attractive.

That low flame I usually kept carefully contained had started to burn hotter all day. If he stood outside my door, I was terrified I’d invite him inside… and do something very stupid.

He hugged me tight outside my car; strong arms wrapping around me, his familiar scent filling my lungs. He held me just a second longer than usual, or maybe I imagined it. Either way, I felt it everywhere.He watched me pull out of the parking garage, standing there until I was gone.

I closed the door behind me the moment I stepped inside my apartment, tossing my mail aside without looking. A sigh escaped me as I headed straight for the fridge and pulled out the chilled bottle of sparkling wine I’d been saving.

“Fuck me… I need a drink,” I muttered aloud.

Get ahold of yourself, girl, I thought, pouring a generous glass. You’re about to embark on the biggest project of both your careers.

Zoe and I hadn’t told him everything yet. Yes, the short film was a proof of concept… but not just for the studio to see if they wanted a sequel. It was for them to see what her choice in director could produce. She had handpicked Joe as her feature film director, but with only a handful of commercials on his resume, she knew they’d need convincing.

I had zero doubt he could do it. But I understood their hesitation, even if I didn’t agree with it.

The bubbles fizzed up to the rim of my glass. I took a slow, deep sip, letting the crisp, cold wine bloom across my tongue. I shrugged off my jacket, then started undressing ; it wasn’t long before I was on the couch, and my second glass, in just an oversized tee and a pair of soft boyshorts; the black panties that were damp from the day’s lingering tension in the hamper.

I was absent mindedly flipping through Netflix, when my phone buzzed.

It was Emily.

“Joe showed me some of the drawings! He’s so excited,” her text read. “He threw on the movie for ‘research’. LOL.”

I chuckled, the **** buzzing pleasantly through my head, and typed back:

“I love when he gets like this.”

And I did. I loved him; and her; so much it sometimes hurt.

“Thank you so much for everything, Irie. You’re the best. Love you.” Emily replied.

“Love you too, boo,” I sent back, then set the phone down and downed the rest of my wine in one long swallow.

My hand drifted almost unconsciously down my abdomen, tracing slow circles over the soft fabric of my tee. Joe flooded back into my mind; impossible to ignore. The way he’d looked at me earlier when he called me “Irie.” The warmth of his hand on mine. The memory of that one night; his body pressed against mine, stretching me open, his mouth on my neck as he fucked me slow and deep, cumming harder than I ever had or since.

He may not be mine… not in that way anymore. But I could still enjoy the memory.

I reached for the drawer in my nightstand, fingers brushing the smooth silicone of my vibrator, and let my mind drift back to that night three years ago.