Threshold of Desire

Iris’s POV

Joe’s body is pressed tight against mine, solid heat and muscle, and I feel him shift; thickening, hardening even just a little against my waist. It’s impressive, obscene, the way his cock swells through the thin fabric of his pajama pants, pressing insistently into my hip. My mouth waters at the thought of wrapping my fingers around it, testing how thick it really is, how it would stretch my lips, my throat, my cunt. I want him to grab me, lift me like I weigh nothing, drag me inside this room and fuck me senseless against the nearest wall. I imagine my nails raking down his back, tracing the faint red lines Emily surely left earlier tonight, while he drives into me deep and hard, grunting my name, calling me his filthy little secret, his cock slamming home until I’m shaking and coming around him.

The kiss is short; maybe ten seconds, maybe less; but it’s electric. I taste him, the faint salt of his skin mixed with the lingering sweetness of Emily on his tongue. Then his hands are on my shoulders, gentle but firm, pushing me back until my heels flatten against the floor and reality crashes back in.

His eyes are wide with shock. Guilt. Confusion. My own hands fly to my mouth like I can erase what just happened.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He just proposed to Emily tonight. I carried that ring in my own luggage for days, praying fate would let her make it here. I’m the one who moved heaven and earth to get her on those flights, into his arms, onto that stage so he could slide it onto her finger. And now I’ve kissed him. The man who belongs to my best friend.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Joe,” I stammer, voice cracking. “I don’t know what came over me.”

But I do know. It’s desire. Years of it, locked away, finally breaking free.

“I do.”

The voice is soft, certain, and achingly familiar.

I turn. Emily stands at the end of the hallway, robe loose and slipping off one shoulder, hair tousled from sleep and sex, eyes dark and glittering. She’s walking toward us with slow, deliberate steps, like a predator who’s already decided what she wants.

Joe takes a small step back. “Emily…”

I open my mouth to explain, to beg forgiveness, to swear it wasn’t his fault, that I’m the one who lost control, that I’ll fix this somehow. I brace for the slap, the tears, the end of everything between the three of us.

What I don’t expect; what I could never have imagined; is Emily closing the distance, cupping my face with both hands, and kissing me.

Hard. Hungry. The same fire I just let burn through me.

She pushes me back against the doorframe, pinning me there with her body. One hand slides up under my tee, finding my breast, squeezing firmly, thumb brushing over my already hard nipple. The other hand; God, the other hand; dips beneath the waistband of my shorts, beneath the soaked lace of my panties, and finds my center instantly.

I gasp into her mouth as her fingers slide through my slick folds, circling my swollen clit once, twice, then pushing inside. One finger first, curling deep, stroking that spot that makes my knees buckle. Then a second joins it, stretching me, pumping slowly while her thumb presses against my clit piercing, tugging just enough to send sparks up my spine.

She breaks the kiss, lips brushing my ear. “I know what this look is,” she whispers, voice low and forceful, dripping with heat. “I know what your body was doing before I even got here. You’re soaked, Iris. Dripping for him. For us.”

She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with Joe over my shoulder. A slow, wicked smile across her face.

Through half-lidded eyes, I see Joe’s expression shift; shock melting into something darker, hungrier. He’s smiling, and watching Emily finger me like he’s seeing her for the first time.

Emily curls her fingers harder inside me, and I feel the cool, unmistakable press of metal; her engagement ring, still on her finger, sliding in and out of me with every thrust.

Joe closes the gap in two strides, pressing his body against Emily’s back, sandwiching me between them. His hands settle on her hips, holding her steady while she works me open.

“I think we better get her inside this room, baby,” Emily says, loud enough for me to hear every filthy word. Her fingers never stop moving, pumping steadily, making wet sounds that echo in the quiet hallway. “And give her exactly what she’s been wanting for so long.”

My head falls back against the doorframe. I’m trembling, thighs slick, breath coming in ragged gasps, caught between shame and the most intense arousal of my life.

And all I can think is: yes.

Please.

Now.