The lockbox beeped at 1:58.
I was already in the walk-in closet, naked, on my knees on the bare carpet the way he’d ordered. The house was silent except for the low hum of the AC. No dress. No panties. Just the faint bruise his fingers had left on my hip yesterday and the slickness already gathering between my thighs from the twenty minutes I’d spent waiting. My phone sat on the shelf above me, screen dark. Mark had texted an hour ago: Agent confirmed another private showing this afternoon. Let me know if he mentions any serious interest. Closing’s getting closer.
The front door opened and closed. Footsteps crossed the empty hallway. The closet door swung wider. Evan stood there, already hard behind his jeans, eyes moving over me—knees apart, hands on my thighs, mouth slightly open. He d
