The Private Dinner

The Escalade glided to a stop just outside Noda on 37th and 20th. The street was largely quiet now; city lights reflecting off wet pavement, a faint hum of distant traffic. Inside the restaurant, every light was low and intimate, the place completely empty except for a skeleton crew of staff and sushi chefs. Sabrina had rented out the entire space; the promise of photos and autographs keeping the team happy to stay late. She’d gone above and beyond: gift bags stuffed with jerseys, tees, hoodies (ours were waiting in the car), and a few bottles of her new perfume “Sweet Tooth.” Iris and I were both wearing it tonight, the scent wrapping around us like a second skin. Joe had caught it earlier in the box, leaning in close to my neck and murmuring, “Undertones of coconut and vanilla,” his voice low and appreciative. Iris and I had stared at him, stunned; he’d picked out the exact notes without even trying. He just smiled that quiet, devastating smile of his.

As we stepped inside, the glow off Iris’s silver dress caught every stray light, casting tiny sparkles across her skin like she was made of starlight. She was still carrying the high from the back of the Escalade; when Joe had pulled her into his arms, held her tight, like she was something sacred. She walked ahead of us now, hips swaying gently, radiating that same soft, dazed bliss. I caught Joe watching her; his eyes tracing the curve of her back, the way the dress clung to her ass, the subtle shift of her thighs. He understood exactly what I’d meant earlier, when I’d whispered about who else might be there when we celebrated tonight after dinner. What man would deny that opportunity? But this wasn’t going to be some fleeting threesome to scratch an itch or check a box. This was deeper. I wanted to watch Joe worship her the way I knew he could; until she shattered around him. I wanted to worship her too; taste her, feel her tremble under my tongue while Joe filled her, his love pouring over both of us. Hear her moans mix with mine, see the way their eyes locked in that perfect, unguarded moment, then lay between them afterward; tangled and ready for whatever future we built together.

Joe smiled as our eyes met; knowing, a silent agreement. We’d both been checking Iris out all night. We were led through the main dining room, past empty tables, behind a heavy dark curtain into a private alcove. A circular table waited in the center, low and intimate, a single sushi chef standing ready at the center; knife gleaming, rice steaming, fish sliced paper-thin. The space felt like a secret; dim lights, velvet walls, the faint scent of soy and fresh ginger.

I let go of his hand and caught up to her, slipping my arm through hers, pressing close so my breast brushed her side. Iris’s eyes widened slightly as I leaned into her again, lips brushing her ear. “I need to talk to you about something... for later tonight,” I whispered.

Her lips parted on a soft inhale. Her grip tightened on my arm; fingers digging in just enough to make my skin tingle. I felt her pulse jump against my side, quick and unsteady. She turned her head just enough to meet my eyes; searching, hopeful, a little scared. But she didn’t pull away. She leaned in closer instead, breasts brushing mine through our dresses, breath warm against my cheek.

I didn’t say the words yet. I didn’t have to. She read it in my gaze; the certainty, the want, the love. Not a one-night experiment. Not a fling. A real place beside us. Not just in our bed. In our life.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a second; long lashes against flushed cheeks; then opened again, darker, hungrier. She swallowed hard, throat working, and nodded once; small, trembling, but sure.

Joe stepped up behind us, his presence warm and solid. He didn’t say anything; just rested a hand low on my back, the other brushing Iris’s hip, connecting the three of us in a quiet, electric circle.

The sushi chef cleared his throat politely. We moved to the table; Joe pulling out chairs for both of us, ever the gentleman.

Sabrina would arrive soon. The pitch would happen. But all I could think about was later; back at the suite, door locked, clothes gone, wrists bound; the pink handcuffs were still in the car. No more wondering. No more holding back.

Iris sat beside me, thigh brushing mine under the table. Her hand found mine beneath the linen cloth; fingers lacing tight, trembling just a little.

Joe sat to my other side, eyes moving between her face and mine.

The night was far from over. And when it ended, we wouldn’t be three separate people anymore. We’d be one.