Echoes Through Walls (Iris's POV)

"Oh fuck, Joey, YES!"

Emily’s voice sliced through the thin hotel wall like a blade, followed by a deep, guttural moan that made my breath catch. I’d booked the room right next to hers for convenience; easy access, quick coordination for tonight’s dinner. If I’d known the walls were paper-thin, maybe I would’ve picked something farther down the hall.

Maybe.

That word lingered in my mind as I lay on the bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. I’d always loved working for Joe. He was brilliant, driven, kind in a way most bosses never bothered to be; and yes, stupidly handsome. But the day he met Emily, something quietly closed inside me, a door I hadn’t even realized was ajar. I would never be the person who wrecked what they had. Never. They’d both been there for me when Mom passed; Emily holding me while I cried, Joe giving me space, time, support, without ever making me feel like a burden. Emily had become my best friend, my sister in everything but blood. I loved her. I loved them both.

But something had shifted the moment Kate Upton walked into Joe’s office.

One second he was leaning back in his chair, polite but uninspired, he'd quietly been stuck in the same creative rut he’d been fighting for months. The next; literally the next; his posture changed. He straightened, eyes sharp, voice commanding. I’d seen that look before, but never quite like this. Kate showed me her prototype vial earlier, her actual scent, intimate and raw, in a tiny teardrop shaped vial; and even I got goosebumps. I could only imagine what it did to him.

Then Joe grabbed a pencil and everything ignited. He drew her, redesigned the bottle into something brazenly erotic, turned the whole campaign into pure fire. Men and women everywhere would soon be holding Kate’s delicate pussy in their hands, and Joe was the genius behind it.

I’d seen that look on Kate’s face too; the one women get when Joe unknowingly flips a switch. He never seemed to notice (or care) how many models left his shoots a little breathless. If he were any other man, his “body count” would be legendary.

"Jesus, Joe," Emily laughed through the wall, breathless and giddy, "you're a fucking machine."

More moans followed; deep, rhythmic, unmistakable.

I shifted on the bed, pressing my ear closer to the wall without thinking. The wet slap of skin on skin filtered through, steady and relentless. He’d been at it for over an hour now. An hour. I'd seen Emily’s body before. Gym sessions, shared dressing rooms, a few wine-laced nights comparing tan lines. It was flawless, responsive, made for worship. And Joe… God, Joe was clearly giving it exactly that.

I still remembered the “accident” like it was yesterday. I’d let myself into his office early, trying to surprise him with coffee and a donut, restock his private shower. He was already in there; naked, steam curling around him, focused on shaving. The door had swung open before I could stop it. One glimpse: water trailing down his chest, over tight abs, to a thick cock hanging heavy, half-hard from the heat. I fled, if he noticed he never brought it up. Later, I confessed to Emily over one of our "ladies night outs", mortified. She’d just smirked and said, “Trust me, that wasn’t even half-mast.”

These sketches, though; the ones of Kate and the Hustler models; had reignited something I thought I’d buried. They were filthy, beautiful, unapologetic. And hearing Emily now, lost in him, that flame roared back to life.

Another groan from her; raw, ****; followed by Joe’s low grunt, the rhythm picking up. My hand moved without permission, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans, fingers brushing over damp lace. The other hand slid under my shirt, cupping my breast, thumb circling my hardening nipple.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I was touching myself to my best friends fucking. Joe was going to propose tonight, for God’s sake. Did I seriously think I could just… wiggle my way into their bed? Their life?

But the sounds wouldn’t stop; Emily’s breathless cries, the steady slap of bodies, Joe’s deep growls of pleasure. My fingers moved faster, circling my clit, imagining it was her mouth, his cock, their hands.

I gasped, hips bucking slightly against my own touch.

“I need a cold shower,” I muttered aloud, yanking my hands away like I’d been burned.

“And noise-canceling headphones.”