The Showing
"She's his real estate agent—professional, experienced, and thick in all the right places. When she shows him a house with a very private master bedroom, she demonstrates features that aren't in the listing."
Renata wasn't what I expected from a real estate agent.
"Mr. Blake?" She extended her hand outside the first property. "I'm Renata Vasquez. I'll be showing you homes today."
She was maybe fifty-three. Dark hair pulled back in a professional bun. A tailored blazer that couldn't hide what was underneath.
And what was underneath was substantial.
Wide hips that tested the limits of her pencil skirt. Heavy breasts straining her silk blouse. An hourglass figure that belonged on a magazine cover, not in a real estate office.
"Nice to meet you," I managed.
"The pleasure's mine." Her handshake was firm, her smile knowing. "Shall we?"
She showed me six houses that day.
Each one, she walked ahead of me, and I watched her hips sway. Each one, she pointed out features while I nodded and pretended to listen. Each one, I cared less about square footage and more about how her skirt hugged her ass when she bent to check closet space.
"You're not paying attention," she said at house five, a colonial with hardwood floors.
"I am."
"You haven't looked at a single room." She turned to face me. "You've been looking at me."
"I—"
"Don't apologize. It's flattering." She walked toward me, heels clicking on the hardwood. "But it does make my job harder."
"I'm sorry. I'll focus."
"Will you?" She stopped inches away. "Because I've been doing this for twenty years, Mr. Blake. I know when a client is interested in the house. And I know when they're interested in something else."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we stop pretending." She reached up, undid the top button of her blouse. "House six has a master bedroom with excellent privacy. No neighbors. Thick walls." Another button. "Perhaps you'd like a... thorough showing?"
I couldn't speak.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes."
House six was a modern build on three acres.
Renata gave the tour in fast-forward—kitchen, living room, guest rooms, barely pausing. She led me to the master suite at the back of the house.
"King bed fits easily," she said, closing the door. "En suite bathroom. Walk-in closet." She pulled the curtains closed. "And as I mentioned, excellent privacy."
"Renata—"
"I've been divorced for eight years." She unclasped her hair, let it fall to her shoulders. "I've shown hundreds of houses. Smiled at hundreds of clients. And I've wanted exactly three of them."
"And I'm number three?"
"Number three." She removed her blazer. Laid it on the bed. "But you're the first one I've actually done something about."
She unbuttoned her blouse. Let it fall. Her bra was black lace—expensive, impractical. She unhooked it, and her breasts spilled free.
"This is unprofessional," I said.
"Extremely." She reached for my belt. "Do you care?"
"Not even a little."
I fucked her on the bed of a house I would never buy.
Her skirt pushed up around her waist. Her thick thighs wrapped around me. She moaned and gasped and begged for more while I pounded into her on Egyptian cotton sheets that belonged to someone else.
"Yes—god, yes—" She clawed at my back. "Harder—harder—"
I grabbed her hips and gave her harder. The bed frame creaked. The headboard thumped against the wall.
"Don't stop—please don't stop—"
She came screaming my name. I followed, spilling inside her, collapsing on top of her in a sweaty heap.
We lay there for a long time.
"I've never done that before," she said finally.
"First time for everything."
"This was supposed to be a business relationship."
"We can still be professional." I kissed her shoulder. "After this."
"After?" She climbed on top of me. "We have the house for another two hours."
I bought house six.
Not because I liked it—I didn't. But Renata showed me three more properties over the next two weeks, and we christened every single one.
The colonial with the hardwood floors. A ranch with a hot tub. A townhouse with a very sturdy kitchen island.
"This is getting expensive," I told her one night, lying in my new master bedroom. "I can't keep buying houses just to fuck you in them."
"Then let me move in." She traced a finger down my chest. "I can show you the features every day."
"Is that a proposal?"
"It's a counter-offer." She kissed me. "What do you say?"
I said yes.
She moved in the following week.
Best investment I ever made.