Yes

“Yes, sure,” Brittney chirps, snatching her purse and the crumpled offer letter like they’re her lifeline. You sling your laptop bag over your shoulder, grab your leather tote, and give the lobby one last sweep no stray panties, no tell-tale wet spots. Perfect.

“You first,” you say, thumbing your phone awake. “Land Rover, black. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods, heels clicking across the tile, the dried cum in her hair catching the late-afternoon sun as she pushes through the glass doors. You dial Stephanie the second the latch clicks.

The line barely rings once.

“Hey, bitch,” Stephanie purrs, voice smoky from the cigarette she’s definitely sneaking on her balcony. “I got another sweet treat for us.”

“Perfect. I’m wound tighter than a spring. Could use a release.”

“Great,” you say, stepping into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting your satisfied smirk. “Fresh Disney meat. We get her all day before Ricky collects her tonight. Get that tight little ass to my place. Now.”

Click. No goodbyes needed between you two.

Outside, the valet lot smells of hot asphalt and exhaust. Brittney’s already hovering by the Rover, arms crossed under her tits, trying to look casual while the cum in her hair glints like cheap glitter. You thumb the fob; the SUV chirps, lights flashing.

You slide behind the wheel, leather warm from the sun. Brittney climbs in beside you, the door thunking shut. The cabin fills with coconut, sex, and her nervous energy.

“So,” you say, engine rumbling to life, “how you feeling?”

“I’m still in shock,” she admits, fingers twisting the seatbelt across her chest. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”

You flash her a grin, palm sliding onto her bare thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt higher. “You deserve it. Haven’t seen anyone that confident, ready to give it up, and still walk away with a contract.” Your fingers find the damp lace between her legs, two slipping inside with practiced ease. She gasps, hips jerking, but doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” she breathes, cheeks flushing. “That means a lot.”

Traffic crawls through the city, palm trees whipping past in streaks of green. You keep the conversation light her old Nickelodeon gigs the dreams she’s chasing, all while your fingers curl and stroke, her slick coating your knuckles. She’s wetter than you expected, thighs trembling every time you graze her clit. The radio hums low, some pop song she probably danced to at prom. It’s almost sweet, this chatter, if not for the way her breath hitches every time you twist deeper.

When you arrive at your house...