Witness to Flame

(Kate’s POV)

The cake sat untouched on the plate, chocolate script curling across it like a whispered promise: Marry me, Emmy. The ring was already gone from its perch, now gleaming on Emily’s finger where it belonged. I’d watched Joe’s proposal with something close to awe. The way his voice cracked on the words, the raw emotion in his eyes, the steady hand as he slid the ring on… fuck, he was handsome, talented, confident, and sensitive? Emily had hit the goddamn jackpot.

And he was a phenomenal kisser too; I knew that now. The red carpet moment had started as a playful stunt, but the second our lips met, I’d melted. His tongue had slid against mine with just enough hunger to make my thighs clench, and I’d felt him harden against my hip. The words had slipped out before I could stop them: “Let’s go inside before they ask you to fuck me right here on the carpet.” Truth disguised as a joke. My pussy had been dripping the whole walk in; slick trailing down my inner thigh. I’d been thankful the cameras hadn’t caught that part.

Now, watching the models clustered around their phones; replaying the proposal, gushing over Joe’s tearful words, the way Emily had thrown her arms around him… I wondered how many of them had touched themselves to his sketches the way I had. Every night since he sent them, I’d spread my legs, thrust my vibrator deep, staring at the way he’d drawn my pussy; pink, swollen, glistening; and imagined those same hands spreading me open, that thick cock filling me while the models watched, touched, begged for their turn.

Joe carried himself with quiet power. He never flaunted it, never took advantage. The women he’d worked with had talked; Hannah Davis had told me that she’d nearly ripped her bikini bottoms off during her shoot just to show him how wet he’d made her. If he knew how many models would’ve dropped to their knees for him, he didn’t act like it. He didn’t let it go to his head.

Seeing Emily, I understood why. She was petite perfection; perky breasts, bright eyes, that infectious laugh. And Iris… Iris was tall, sculpted, bronzed skin glowing under the lights, that silver gown hugging every line like it was painted on. I’d meant it when I told them they were beautiful. They were. All three of them.

I glanced around, wondering where they’d wandered off to. The table had cleared a bit; models still buzzing, Carlo’s staff clearing plates; but Joe, Emily, and Iris were missing. I stepped toward the small outdoor alcove off our private dining area, curious, hoping I wasn’t interrupting something sweet.

What I saw stopped me dead.

Emily and Iris were locked together; lips pressed, bodies flush. Emily’s hands cupped Iris’s face tenderly, thumbs brushing tears away, but the kiss was anything but gentle. It was hungry, deep, tongues sliding, soft moans escaping between them. Iris leaned into it, hands gripping Emily’s waist, pulling her closer.

Then Joe appeared behind Iris. He moved silently, possessively; hands sliding to her hips, then one up to cup her small breast over her gown. Iris gasped into Emily’s mouth, arching back against Joe’s chest. He tilted her head toward him and kissed her; deep, claiming, tongue sweeping in while Emily watched with dark, approving eyes.

I stood frozen, breath catching, thighs pressing together as heat flooded me. Joe’s hand squeezed Iris’s breast; she moaned louder. Emily stepped closer, pressing her body to Iris’s side, one hand sliding down to grip her ass while she kissed Iris’s neck.

They were beautiful together; raw, real, completely lost in each other. I smiled to myself, pulse racing, pussy throbbing with sudden, sharp need.

Joe was a lucky man. Two women who clearly adored him, who clearly wanted him; and each other.

And if the way their bodies moved together meant anything, he was about to get even luckier.