There’s Something Different About Iris (Joe’s POV)

The next morning, Emily and I got ready together under the soft light of the bathroom.

She was still feeling the residual effect of our lovemaking; a delicious heaviness in her limbs, a faint rawness in her voice that made something deep and possessive in me swell with pride. I fared much better. The Voyeurs’ gift of unlimited stamina had left me clear-headed, energized, and still faintly humming with the memory of her body.

When I got a little too handsy in the shower, pressing against her from behind as the water cascaded over us both, she turned with a playful but firm finger pointed at my chest.

“Keep that thing away from me. I can barely walk, you machine,” she laughed, the sound still a little hoarse from the night before.

I leaned down and kissed her slowly, last night still lingering on her lips.

“Guess I’ll have to just use my hands then,” I murmured against her mouth.

My fingers slipped between her folds; still swollen and sensitive; yet she moaned softly into the kiss, hips giving a small, involuntary roll against my hand. Good thing we had gotten up early.

I was the first one in the office that morning. Not unusual, but today I was absolutely wired. Images from the Domain kept replaying with perfect, tactile clarity: the sharp scent of gunpowder, the solid recoil of the pistol in my hand, the wet heat of Cataleya’s body clenching around me. Layered over all of it was the taste of Emily’s skin, the way she had trembled and sobbed my name for hours the night before. My enhanced senses made every memory vivid enough to feel real again.

I was several pages deep into new storyboards; the lines flowing faster and cleaner than they ever had; when I noticed the hot cup of coffee placed carefully in front of me. Café Bustelo. Two sugars. Warm milk. Exactly the way I liked it.

I breathed it in deeply, eyes closing for a moment.

“Perfect, Irie. Thank you.” The nickname came out naturally.

I opened my eyes to meet Iris’s. She smiled down at me, but there was a subtle shift in her expression; warmth mixed with something carefully held back. Something I couldn’t quite name.

“You’re welcome, Joe,” she said, her tone softer than usual, almost cautious.

“You okay?” I asked. For a second I wondered if using “Irie” had stirred something. I had used it before, but it also was the name I had whispered against her neck that night years ago, when she had shuddered beneath me. I pushed the memory down hard. We had closed that door for good reasons; Emily, the partnership, everything we had built together.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Zoe wants a lunch meeting today. We were thinking Guantanamera on 8th Avenue?”

Clever. Keeping the Cuban theme going.

“What would I do without you?” I said, meaning it completely.

She smiled again; smaller this time; and I winked before turning back to my sketchpad. The creative pull took over once more, but part of my mind stayed on the quiet tension I had felt in her voice. I didn’t push, she’d tell me if she wanted.

The ride to Guantanamera’s was quiet. Low clouds blurred the city’s lights into soft streaks of gold and neon. Iris stared out the passenger window, her profile thoughtful, almost distant.

“You know you can always talk to me, Irie,” I said with a touch of hesitation. There was something different about her today.

“I know.”

We stopped at a red light. I glanced over at her, studying the set of her jaw.

“I know this is all happening so fast. But it wasn’t Zoe’s trust in me that convinced me I could do this.” Our eyes met. “It was yours. I can’t do this without you, Irie.”

A brief silence hung between us. Then she smiled, her voice quieter than usual.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I took one hand off the wheel and placed it over hers. Her skin was warm. Her pulse was racing under my fingertips; another gift of the heightened senses. Something was still locked inside her, something she wasn’t ready to share. I hoped she would, eventually.

As we pulled up to the valet outside Guantanamera’s, I caught a soft, sweet scent rising from her skin.

“You smell nice,” I said. “Is that a new perfume?”

I wondered, briefly, if I’d allow myself something from the bar tonight. The day already felt charged in ways I couldn’t fully name.