Southampton Sweetness
"Estate agent Davina shows Marcus around properties all day. But when a viewing runs late and they're locked in an empty house together, she shows him amenities not listed in any brochure."
"And this is the master bedroom. South-facing windows, en-suite bathroom, built-in wardrobes."
Davina's professional voice echoed in the empty room. Marcus pretended to inspect the wardrobes while actually inspecting her.
The estate agent was Nigerian-British, thirty-something, with the kind of curves that made her pencil skirts look illegal. All day she'd been showing him properties, and all day he'd been trying not to stare at her magnificent backside.
"It's nice," he managed. "Good space."
"Shall we see the garden?"
They headed downstairs—and found the front door wouldn't budge.
"That's... not supposed to happen." Davina pulled at the handle. Nothing.
"Is there another exit?"
"Back door's being replaced. Boarded up." She checked her phone. "No signal. You?"
"Dead."
They looked at each other. Empty house, no phone signal, locked in until someone noticed.
"Well." Davina laughed nervously. "This is a first."
"How long until someone misses us?"
"Office closes at six. It's four now." She sat down on the stairs. "Two hours, minimum."
They talked to pass the time. Davina was funnier than her professional demeanor suggested—sharp wit, self-deprecating humor. She'd moved from Lagos as a teenager, worked her way up from receptionist to top agent.
"Most clients just want to get in my pants," she admitted. "You're the first who actually seemed interested in the properties."
"I mean, I am interested in the properties."
"Just the properties?" Her eyes held his.
"No. Not just the properties."
"I noticed," she said, moving closer on the stairs. "You've been looking at me all day."
"Can you blame me?"
"No." Her hand landed on his thigh. "I've been looking back."
"Davina—"
"We're stuck here for two hours. Empty house. No one watching." She leaned in, her perfume overwhelming. "Tell me you haven't thought about it."
He couldn't tell her that. They both knew it.
She kissed him on the stairs of a house worth half a million pounds. Her lipstick tasted expensive, and her body pressed against his was soft and warm and perfect.
"Master bedroom," she breathed. "We should test the carpet."
They barely made it up the stairs. Her blazer came off in the hallway, her blouse on the landing. By the time they reached the bedroom, she was in just her bra and that sinful pencil skirt.
"Been wanting to do this all day," she admitted, pushing him onto the floor. "Every house we visited, I imagined you taking me in it."
Her body was magnificent. Heavy breasts that spilled from her bra, soft belly perfect for grabbing, thick thighs that clamped around his head when he tasted her.
"Oh God! Yes, right there!"
She was loud in the empty house, her cries echoing off bare walls. When she came, she grabbed his hair and shook.
"Your turn," she panted, climbing on top of him. "Let's see what you've got."
He had plenty. She rode him on the master bedroom floor, her thick body bouncing, her breasts swinging in his face. The expensive carpet was definitely getting a workout.
"Harder! Give me everything!"
He flipped them over, driving into her while she wrapped those thick legs around him. The empty room filled with their sounds—skin slapping, her cries, his groans.
When they finally finished, they lay sweating on the floor, breathing hard.
"So," she said. "What do you think of the property?"
"I'll take it."
"The house or me?"
"Both."
The locksmith arrived at six-thirty. Davina straightened her clothes and greeted him professionally, as if she hadn't just been screaming Marcus's name twenty minutes earlier.
"Sorry about that," she said in the car after. "The viewing running over, I mean."
"Don't be. Best viewing I've ever had."
She laughed. "Most clients just get a brochure."
"What do I get?"
She pulled him in for a kiss. "Personal service. Anytime you want."
Marcus bought the house. Made an offer that very night. Not because it was the best property—though it was nice—but because every room now held a memory.
"Shall we christen the kitchen next?" Davina asked on moving day.
"I was thinking the garden."
"Bold. I like it."
Southampton's property market had never been this interesting. And Marcus had found something far more valuable than real estate.