Tasting of Home (Joe’s POV)

My skin was still buzzing from the marathon in my Domain. Even hours later, I could feel Cataleya’s smooth brown skin sliding against mine, the way her warm, silky walls clenched around me with every thrust, her grinding to take all of me. I could still taste her on my tongue; sweet, musky, addictive. The sound of her trembling voice moaning my name as she came, body slick with sweat, lingered like a vivid dream I didn’t want to wake from. The Voyeur’s gift of recall was better than eidetic. But it wasn’t just that.

I had drawn for nearly six hours straight, my hand moving with a fluidity and precision I’d never experienced before. No cramps. No fatigue. My new stamina extended far beyond carnal needs; it fueled me like never before. I stopped only because Iris had placed a hot pizza from my favorite spot in front of me. With the addition of my heightened senses, every bite was an explosion: the sharp tang of aged Parmesan, the perfect char on the crust, the smoky cure of the pepperoni, the subtle fennel in the sausage. I tasted it all.

Iris, God bless her, never complained. She’d stayed late with me, supporting me quietly like she always did. I’d have to thank her somehow; maybe fund one of her and Emily’s shopping sprees, something she’d never let me do for her; with the salary I’d earn.

Emily… The thought of her waiting for me made me smile. She’d probably be curled up on the couch in one of my oversized sweaters, hair in a messy bun, feet tucked underneath her, takeout food in her lap. The idea of devoting myself to her tonight; using these gifts to make her come undone again and again; sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I couldn’t wait to taste her, to feel her as she fell apart in my arms.

She was right where I imagined her; smiling with a container of Chinese food and chopsticks, watching an episode of Friends. “Hey baby,” she said, her beautiful brown eyes bathing me in love. I could smell the remnants of her perfume; flowery and fruity; as I leaned in, our lips pressing together in a slow, deep kiss. “Iris tells me you’ve got news.”

“Oh my god…” she whispered, eyes wide as she flipped through my sketchbook. Her fingers traced the lines almost reverently, as if trying to feel Zoe through the page. “These are amazing, Joe.”

Even I was stunned at how easily the drawings had leaped from my mind onto the paper. It was like my hand was tracing images projected directly from my imagination. I’d done live drawings before; bowls of fruit in art school, even some of the images I’d photographed; but the only other time I’d drawn with this level of realism was when I took my time drawing Emily’s naked body as she posed for me. That night had ended with her beneath me, when we’d said “I love you” for the first time.

Tonight, it felt like breathing. Like I’d been upgraded.

We didn’t make it through the opening credits of the movie I’d put on. Emily had barely texted Iris about the sketches when I scooped her up; her adorable squeal filling the room; and carried her into the bedroom.

Her skin tasted different tonight; more intoxicating. The salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her sex, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. I felt every shudder, every wave of her breath, every frantic beat of her pulse. We made love for hours; slow and deep, then fast and desperate. She came over and over, thighs shaking, nails raking down my back, moaning my name until her voice grew hoarse. Only when she was trembling and spent did I finally let myself go, burying myself deep and flooding her while our eyes stayed locked and our foreheads pressed together.

A perfect evening, with my perfect girl.