The Lease Renewal
"His lease is up. She wants to discuss the new terms. But the meeting isn't in her office—it's in her apartment. And the terms she's offering have nothing to do with rent."
The email comes on a Tuesday.
Mr. Chen - Your lease expires at the end of the month. Please come to my apartment (1A) Friday at 7 PM to discuss renewal terms. - E. Sorokin
Not the office. Her apartment.
I've been in this building for a year, and Mrs. Sorokin has always been strictly professional. Rent checks delivered on time. Maintenance requests processed promptly. Brief, polite conversations in the hallway.
So why does she want me in her apartment?
Friday night. 7 PM sharp.
She opens the door in something I've never seen her wear—a dress. Dark blue, fitted, showing off curves I didn't know she had. Elena Sorokin is fifty-three, Russian, all business in the hallways. But tonight, she looks like a woman.
A beautiful woman.
"Mr. Chen. Come in."
Her apartment is surprisingly warm. Soft lighting. Classical music playing low. A bottle of wine already open on the coffee table.
"Please, sit." She gestures at the couch. "Wine?"
"Sure."
She pours two glasses. Sits across from me. Crosses her legs—the dress rides up her thick thigh, and I try not to notice.
"I assume you want to renew."
"Yes. Of course."
"Good. You're a good tenant. Quiet. Clean. Pays on time." She takes a sip of wine. "But there's the matter of the new terms."
"Is the rent going up?"
"That depends." She sets down her glass. "On you."
"I don't understand."
"I'll be direct." She leans forward. "I'm fifty-three years old. My husband died seven years ago. Since then, I've run this building alone. I've been professional. Businesslike. Cold, even."
"I wouldn't say cold—"
"Cold," she repeats. "Because that's what lonely feels like from the outside." She stands. Walks toward me. "But I'm tired of being cold, Mr. Chen. I'm tired of going to bed alone. And I've been watching you for a year."
"Watching me?"
"In the hallway. In the lobby. In the laundry room." She stops in front of my chair. Looks down at me. "You're young. Handsome. And you look at me sometimes—quickly, like you don't want me to notice—like I'm something worth looking at."
"You are."
"Then let's negotiate." She reaches back. Unzips her dress. "Here are my terms."
The dress falls.
She's wearing black lingerie underneath—expensive, lacy, struggling to contain her curves. She's probably two-ninety, with massive breasts and wide hips and a belly that curves out soft and full.
"Your rent stays the same," she says. "In exchange, you spend one night a week in this apartment. In my bed."
"Mrs. Sorokin—"
"Elena." She reaches back. Unhooks her bra. Her breasts fall free, heavy and dark-nippled. "And before you say no—before you tell me this is inappropriate—consider the alternative. Rent goes up forty percent. You'll have to move."
"That's—that's blackmail."
"That's business." She steps closer. Straddles my lap. Her weight settles onto my hips, and I feel her heat through my jeans. "But I think you'll find my terms... favorable."
She grinds against me. I'm hard—impossibly, undeniably hard.
"What if I say no?"
"Then you pay more rent." She leans in. Whispers against my ear. "But you don't want to say no, do you?"
I don't want to say no.
She's right—I've been looking at her for a year. Stealing glances. Wondering what she looked like under those professional blazers. Imagining her in my bed, even though I knew I shouldn't.
"One night a week?"
"To start." She pulls back. Looks at me with those ice-blue eyes. "We can renegotiate later."
"And if I want to stop?"
"Then you stop. No penalties. No eviction." She cups my face. "This isn't about power, Mr. Chen. It's about loneliness. Mine and, I suspect, yours."
She's right about that too.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Where do I sign?"
She smiles. Kisses me.
"Right here."
She leads me to her bedroom.
It's immaculate—white sheets, heavy curtains, a bed the size of a small country. She pushes me onto it, climbs over me, her massive body blocking out the light.
"I've imagined this," she confesses. "Every night for months. You knocking on my door. Coming to my bed. Making me feel something besides empty."
"Elena—"
"Don't talk." She pulls off her panties. "Just feel."
She positions herself over my face.
"Eat me," she commands. "Prove you're worth the discount."
I eat her.
She tastes like wine and need.
I lick her until she comes—once, twice, three times. She shakes above me, her thighs clamping around my head, her moans filling the room.
"Enough—" She pulls away. "I need you inside me—"
She strips off my clothes. Straddles my hips. Takes my cock in her hand.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this."
"Tell me you've imagined this."
"Every night since I moved in."
She sinks down onto me.
We both groan.
She fucks me like she's been starving for this.
Riding me hard, her massive body bouncing, her breasts swinging in my face. I grab her hips and pull her down harder, and she screams.
"Yes—just like that—don't stop—"
"This is what you wanted?" I thrust up into her. "Someone to fill you up once a week?"
"More than that—" She's close, I can feel it. "I wanted someone who saw me. Who wanted me. Who—oh God—"
She comes. Her whole body seizes, clenching around me, and I flip her onto her back.
"One night a week isn't enough," I tell her.
"Then we renegotiate." She wraps her legs around me. "Right now."
I fuck her into the mattress. She comes twice more before I finally let go, filling her while she screams my name.
Afterward, we lie in her expensive sheets.
"The lease," she murmurs.
"What about it?"
"I think we need to amend it." She rolls on top of me. "Two nights a week. Minimum."
"That's a big commitment."
"I'll waive your parking fee."
I laugh. Pull her down for a kiss.
"Three nights. And you throw in the storage unit."
"Deal." She reaches for the nightstand. Pulls out an actual lease. "I had this prepared. Just in case."
She's been planning this for a while.
I sign at the bottom. She signs beside me.
"Welcome to year two, Mr. Chen."
"Tyler."
"Welcome to year two, Tyler." She climbs on top of me again. "Now let's celebrate."
I stay for two more years.
Not because of the rent. Not because of the terms.
Because three nights a week becomes four, becomes five, becomes every night.
By year three, I'm not a tenant anymore.
I'm a partner. In every sense.
The building runs smoother than ever.
So does everything else.