Realtor Romance

Angela White walks into the open house and stops cold. Behind the clipboard stands AJ Applegate—the last person she expected. Neither woman knows quite what to say. The silence breaks when AJ cracks the smallest smile, the same one she used back when they scraped together rent on that sorry walk-up off Vine. They step through the new place, laughing at the overpriced quartz and white tile that make their old roach-trap look like a joke. But the jokes start to linger. Their shoulders brush in the hallway. Angela mentions the leaky ceiling they duct-taped together; AJ remembers how cold that mattress used to get. With each room the temperature climbs, the gap between them shrinking to something almost electric. They reach the master bedroom and the pretense falls away. AJ kicks the door closed. They climb onto the crisp duvet, knees sinking, faces inches apart. A slow glance, then AJ’s mouth finds Angela’s, tongue sliding deep like she’s been waiting years for it. Angela’s hands drag down her ex’s back, cupping the curve she remembers too well. They peel off blouses, skin meeting bare, breath growing short. AJ pushes Angela onto her back and climbs over her face, denim already kicked free. The first wet flick of Angela’s tongue draws a low curse from AJ that bounces off the staged nightstands. Angela licks slowly at first, savoring slick heat, then hungry—sucking, flicking, pressing deeper. AJ rocks, grips the headboard, thighs trembling. Moments later AJ drops forward, spreads Angela open, and buries her own mouth between slick folds. Moans thicken the air. Fingers curl into sheets. They grind, 69-locked, chasing the edge that always used to slip away too soon. AJ’s tongue circles, faster now, then slips inside while her thumb works Angela’s swollen clit. Angela sucks AJ’s lips between hers, tasting every pulse. The bed shakes; cheap staged pillows tumble. AJ cums first, shaking hard, but doesn’t stop licking for a second. Angela follows, thighs clamping around AJ’s head, back arching so hard the mattress squeals. They stay tangled, breathing together, skin flushed. Somewhere beneath them a brochure flutters to the floor, but neither reaches for it. This empty house just stopped feeling empty.