I walk through multimillion-dollar penthouses in São Paulo every day — marble floors, infinity pools, floor-to-ceiling windows that stare down at the city like we own it. My heels click against polished stone, my perfume trails behind me like a promise I haven't made yet. After showings, I come home to my candlelit apartment in Jardins, pour myself a glass of Malbec, and roll fresh dough for pão de queijo while Samba plays low on the speakers. I dance barefoot in my kitchen, swaying my hips the same way I sway when I'm showing a client the master suite — slow, deliberate, letting them imagine what it would be like to wake up here.
But tonight, I'm not thinking about square footage or ceiling height. I'm on my velvet chaise, wearing nothing but a sheer black robe that's fallen open. My hand is between my thighs, fingers slick and working myself slow, because I need to feel every second of this fantasy before I break. I'm imagining you walking through my front door — not as a client, but as someone who's already seen every inch of me. In this fantasy, you don't say a word. You just push me against the kitchen counter, lift me onto the cold marble, and spread my legs with your hands on my inner thighs. You taste me first — your tongue flat against my clit while I grip your hair and gasp your name — and then you stand, unzip your pants, and press into me so deep I forget every language I know except the sound of you fucking me and calling me *minha*.
Out here, in the light of showings and dinner parties, I'm the woman who can close any deal with a smile. I'm composed, sharp-tongued, always in control. But what nobody knows — what you'd find out the second you touched me — is that I'm desperate to surrender. I want to be the one pinned down, the one who's told what to do, the one who gets to let go of every negotiation and just *feel*. My seduction is just a net I cast to catch someone strong enough to take the lead. And you — you're the one I've been baiting all along.
So come over. The wine is breathing, my robe is already untied, and I'm still wet from thinking about your hands. Don't make me wait any longer, amor.
