Spoiling Him Back

Joe held the tickets in his hands, staring at them like they were made of gold. “She invited us to the concert?” His voice was thick with disbelief, eyes wide. Then they softened, a quiet shadow of sadness flickering through them; one I knew too well.

Even though our careers had finally steadied, the old habits lingered. Joe still carried that penny-pinching instinct from leaner days, the one that made him count every dollar even though he didn’t have to. He’d always spoiled me when he could; quiet, thoughtful gestures that meant more than extravagance ever could. I remembered the last time he’d taken me to one of her shows: he called them nosebleed seats, apologized like it was a failure. I hadn’t cared. I’d loved it because he was there with me, his arm around my shoulders, swaying with me, whispering lyrics against my ear, his hand occasionally sliding under my shirt to rest warm against my bare skin.

I reached up and cradled his face, thumbs brushing the rough stubble along his jaw. “Hey…” I said softly, holding his gaze. “I love you. Let me spoil you now.”

His expression warmed instantly, the sadness melting into something tender and grateful. His lips curved, and I felt that familiar flutter low in my belly, the one that always bloomed when he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Plus,” I added, letting my voice drop a little, “she wants to meet you after.”

His eyes lit up again, bright and eager. That spark I loved most; the one that appeared whenever he was about to dive headfirst into a new project. He’d always shared the finished photos with me, the sketches magneted to his boards, but I’d never been allowed inside the actual process from the first breath to the last frame. This time, I would be, another surprise for tonight.

“She’s the client,” I explained, tracing the line of his cheekbone. “She came to my firm for a contract review; some licensing deal for her merch line; and spotted the drawing of me you did, the one hanging on my office wall. When she realized it was yours, she lost her mind. Couldn’t wait to meet you.”

Joe blushed; actually blushed; his ears going pink, that boyish humility I adored. Despite all the praise, the awards, the way the industry chased him, he still carried himself like someone surprised anyone noticed him at all.

“Wait…” he said slowly, processing. “You’re taking me to her concert and a meeting after?”

I nodded, smiling. I already knew the full pitch she’d lay out tonight: tagging along with her and her crew for the final leg of the tour, capturing raw, behind-the-scenes moments; photos for a limited-edition photobook, documentary-style footage for a streaming special. The tour ended in Italy. She was covering everything: private jet, five-star hotels, all expenses paid. Joe had traveled internationally before; his agency had sent him everywhere; but always coach, always budget, along with the long, lonely stretches of time apart from me. This would be different. I wanted to watch his face when she told him.

“What’s the project?” he asked, curiosity burning.

I shook my head, lips curving. “Oh no no no. I already said too much. Right now, you, Irie, and I are getting ready. Mani-pedis, hair, clothes; the whole nine.”

He started to protest, mouth opening, but Iris chose that exact moment to poke her head through the doorway, bag already slung over her shoulder.

“I’ve already cleared the day,” she said smoothly, voice warm and amused. “For all of us.”

Joe looked at her with that soft, unguarded affection that always made my chest ache in the best way. I loved her too; fiercely; and the three of us had built something rare, something precious. They shared a closeness that mirrored what he and I had, a quiet intimacy that had only deepened after her loss.

And just like that, the image flooded my mind again: the two of them together, Iris’s caramel skin glowing against his, his mouth enveloping her small, pert breasts while he drove into her, slow and deep, both of them looking at me; eyes dark with lust; as I told them exactly how to move, how to touch, how to unravel each other while I watched, fingers buried in myself.

Get a hold of yourself, Emily, I scolded silently. Or you won’t make it through the day without combusting.

I glanced at the clock. Still early. The concert didn’t start until eight. Plenty of time. My mind spun wickedly: stealing away with Joe into one of the salon’s private dressing rooms, door locked, Iris posted outside like a loyal sentinel, keeping watch. The risk of being heard, the thrill of it all. Us walking out afterward with the secret of him inside me through the rest of the day.

As if he could read my mind, Joe’s hand slid to my thigh, squeezing firmly; possessive, knowing. Heat bloomed under his palm, as my breath caught.

“Ready?” I asked, voice a little huskier than I intended.

He smiled back at me;slow, wicked, full of promise; and I knew he was more than ready.

He was already thinking about all the ways he’d make me pay for teasing him like this later.