She let me do it

The listing in the Highlands was a goddamn goldmine—a mid-century modern time capsule that just needed a little polish and the right narrative to fetch a cool two-point-five mil. I’d just finished the final walkthrough with the stagers, the scent of fresh paint and new carpet hanging in the air, and my phone buzzed. It was my aunt, Lisa. Again. Third time this week. Something about her router, something about her streaming service. You know the drill. Normally, I’d delegate this kind of hand-holding to a junior associate, but Lisa… Lisa was different.

She’s my mom’s younger sister by a good fifteen years, which put her right in that sweet spot at forty-two. Divorced, no kids, and let’s just say she’d invested the alimony well—yoga-toned, with this head of dark hair she always wore up, and these librarian glasses she absolutely did not need. She had this nervous energy about her, this vibe of someone who’d followed all the rules and was now realizing the rulebook was a sham. I’d been… aware of her for a while. Let’s leave it at that.

I swung by her place around seven, my suit jacket swapped for a well-fitted henley and jeans. I fixed her Wi-Fi in about thirty seconds—the password was wrong—and she was flustered and grateful, pouring us glasses of a surprisingly good pinot noir.

“I feel so stupid,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She was wearing these soft-looking leggings and an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder. The view was premium.

“Don’t,” I said, giving her my most disarming, client-friendly smile. “Technology’s a pain. It’s why they pay me the big bucks to manage it in my buildings.” A little humble brag never hurts. “What were you trying to watch anyway?”

“Oh, some silly horror movie. I can never watch them alone, though. I get too scared.” She laughed, a little too high-pitched, and took a long sip of her wine.

The opening was so clear it might as well have had a fucking neon sign above it. “Hey, I’m done for the night. No plans. I could stay, suffer through it with you. Moral support and all that.” I leaned back on her couch, projecting an easy, casual confidence I’d used to close a hundred deals.

She blushed. Actually blushed. “You wouldn’t mind? Ian, you don’t have to…”

“Lisa, relax. It’s either that or I go home and answer emails. This sounds way more fun.” And just like that, the deal was in motion.

Twenty minutes later, the room was dark except for the flickering blue light of the TV. Annabelle was doing her creepy doll thing. Lisa had curled up on the other end of the couch, a blanket pulled up to her waist. The wine was doing its job, loosening us both up. We were laughing at the jump scares, and I slowly, incrementally, began closing the physical distance between us. A classic maneuver. I shifted, stretching my arm out along the back of the couch behind her. She didn’t pull away.

About a quarter of the way in, there was a particularly loud music sting, and she jumped, instinctively leaning into me. “Jesus!” she gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

“Easy there,” I said, my voice low and calm. My arm came down from the back of the couch and rested around her shoulders. She stiffened for a half-second, then melted into me with a soft sigh. I could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of my shirt. Her hair smelled like coconut. “It’s just a movie.”

“It feels so real,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes not on the screen at all. “It does.”

My heart was starting to hammer against my ribs, a primal rhythm that had nothing to do with the movie. The chemistry was there, palpable in the dark room. I let my hand, which was resting on her far shoulder, drift down, my fingers gently tracing the line of her arm. She shivered. I kept my movements slow, deliberate, giving her every opportunity to pull away, to shut it down. She didn’t. She just kept breathing, a little quicker now.

I moved my hand from her arm to her leg, just above her knee. The material of her leggings was impossibly soft. I let my palm rest there, a solid, warm weight. I felt her leg muscle tense under my touch, but she didn’t push me away. She let me do it. That was the first green light. I began to move my hand, a slow, gentle stroking up her thigh, heading north. With every inch I gained, the air got thicker, hotter. My cock was already hard, straining against my jeans, but this wasn’t about me. Not yet. This was about her. About seeing how far she’d let me go.

I think she knew exactly what was happening because she subtly shifted her posture, tilting her hips just so, making the path easier for me. Another green light. My fingers reached the warm junction of her thighs. I could feel the heat emanating from her even through the leggings. I paused, my pinky finger just brushing the seam of her. She let out a tiny, shuddering breath. Her eyes were still fixed on the television, but she wasn’t seeing a damn thing.

I said fuck it. I didn’t ask. I just acted. I slid my hand firmly between her legs, palm cupping her entire sex through the fabric. She gasped, a sharp intake of air, and her eyes finally squeezed shut. She was so warm, so soft. I could feel the faint outline of her lips, the promising swell of her. I applied a little pressure, a slow, circular grind of my palm against her core. A low moan escaped her lips, and she bit down on the bottom one to try and stop it.

That was all the confirmation I needed. My fingers found the waistband of her leggings and the elastic of her panties beneath. I didn’t fumble. I’m a man who knows how to execute a plan. I slid my hand underneath both layers, down into the incredible, wet heat of her. Her head fell back against the couch cushion, a silent surrender. She was completely shaved, smooth as silk, and so fucking wet it almost took my breath away. Her moan this time was louder, unfiltered.

“Ian…” she breathed, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

“Shhh,” I murmured, my mouth close to her ear. “Just watch the movie.” I let my fingers explore, mapping her territory with a confident touch. I found the swollen, slick lips of her pussy, parting them easily. She was dripping. My middle and index fingers slid through her wetness, finding her entrance with an unerring accuracy. She was tight. I pushed one finger inside her, then a second, and her inner muscles clenched around me in a velvet vise. Holy shit.

I started a slow, rhythmic thrusting with my fingers, curling them slightly to find that spot deep inside her. I watched her face in the flickering light. Her glasses were slightly askew, her mouth was open, and she was panting. Her own hand had crept up under her sweater and was kneading her breast roughly over her bra. She was trying so hard to be quiet, but these little whimpers and gasps were keeping time with my thrusts. She was lost in it, completely given over to the sensation. I could feel her body starting to coil, getting tighter and tighter. Her hips began to move, meeting the thrust of my fingers. I increased the pace, my thumb finding her clit and applying a firm, circular pressure.

Her back arched off the couch, her eyes flew open, wide and unseeing, and a guttural, choked cry was torn from her throat as she came, shaking violently around my fingers. I held them inside her, feeling the incredible, fluttering pulses of her orgasm until they finally subsided into weak tremors. I slowly withdrew my hand, slick with her. She collapsed against the cushions, boneless and breathing ragged.

We sat in silence for the rest of the movie. The credits started to roll, and she slowly, awkwardly, sat up, pulling her leggings back into place. She couldn’t look at me.

“I… I should go,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’ve got an early meeting. A… a conference call.”

It was a weak excuse, and we both knew it. I just smiled, that warm, genuine smile that closes deals. “Of course. No problem at all, Lisa.”

I stood up, and she walked me to the door, still avoiding my eyes. As I stepped out into the night air, I turned back to her. She was standing in the doorway, looking young and vulnerable and thoroughly fucked-out.

“We should finish the sequel sometime,” I said, my voice dropping back into that intimate murmur. Her eyes finally met mine, wide with shock and a dark, dawning hunger. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no. She just bit her lip and slowly closed the door.

I got in my car, the scent of her arousal still on my fingers. The next goal? Getting those pretty, glossed lips wrapped around my cock. And something told me the closing date on that was coming up very, very soon.