Christening Our New Home

Boxes everywhere. Canvases on the floor, no hooks in the walls yet. Movers are fucking lost and Robby’s outside hunting them down like it’s some scavenger hunt. Vanessa’s pacing like a caged cat. She can’t hang a single thing, can’t organize shit, can’t sit still. Fuck it. She yanks her shorts off, drops onto the only clear patch of carpet, and spreads her legs. Two fingers straight to her clit, wet from the second they touch her. She’s soaking. Little gasps, dirty grin, head tipped back while she works herself like it’s owed. Robby walks in mid-stroke, freezes in the doorway. Watches. Cock swelling in his jeans before he even blinks. He steps closer, still hidden behind a stack of boxes, takes a good long look at her glistening pussy and the way her hips jerk when she fingers deeper. She’s so fucking pretty when she’s pissed and horny. Finally he clears his throat and grins: “Mind if I join, or you planning to finish that solo?” Vanessa smirks, two fingers still buried knuckle-deep, gives him that bratty little eyebrow raise. “Lock the door and get over here then. Stressed too, aren’t you?” Robby’s belt is already undone by the time his knees hit the floor.