Raunchy Realtor

Bianca's about to snap. Parker sprawls across the couch like he owns the place, crumbs on his shirt, controller in hand, still sucking up her air and her patience. She drags him to this empty listing anyway, hoping the clean white walls will finally kick his ass out the door. He doesn't blink. Stands in the bedroom, still shrugging. Fine. She lays it out plain—rent, rules, rent again. Nada. Then the little shit says it: "Fuck me first and I'll think about moving." Bianca's tongue stops working for a second. Blood pounds behind her ears. She came to kick him out; he's offering a bargain she didn't know she wanted. The bed sits right there, mattress still wrapped in plastic. She tears it off herself. Clothes hit the floor like deadlines. She pushes him back, climbs on, thighs straddling his hips, guiding him into her with one slow, greedy roll. Parker grabs her waist like he's been waiting years, hips snapping up hard enough to make the frame creak. She rides him until sweat slicks her spine, then flips, drags him on top, legs locked around his back while he fucks her deep enough to make the headboard knock the wall. Every slap of skin sounds louder in the bare room. He comes first, grabbing fistfuls of her ass, burying himself so deep her breath catches. Bianca keeps him inside until she's done too, grinding against him until her thighs shake. When it's over she stays draped over him a second longer than necessary. "New bed's official," she mutters against his throat. "Now sign the fucking lease."