Home Alone

Mr. Rodgers hustles up to his neighbor's door with a toolbox, and Kat yanks him inside before the water can spread any farther. She was loading dishes when the hose blew, now the floor's a mess. He drops down, kills the valve under the sink, and promises to grab a new one while he's already heading to the store. Kat squats beside him to see which shut-off to use next time, and he steals a long look at how her shorts hug that tight redhead ass. When they stand, she gushes thanks, says her folks are gone and she'd be screwed without him. He mutters it'll suck once she's off at college. Kat laughs—she's eighteen now, can't stay home forever. At the door he pauses, offers to check the access panel before any other hoses rot. Kat lets him in deeper, watching him poke around room to room until he walks straight into her bedroom. She scoops stray panties off the floor while he pretends to hunt in her closet. Sure enough the hoses need replacing, but he lingers at her window instead, pointing out the million-dollar view. Then he grins and asks if she ever noticed she can see straight into his bedroom. Kat glances, realizes what that means, and goes pale. Mr. Rodgers drops the nice-guy act, voice low: he saw the boyfriend using the back door—her back door. She snaps that she's an adult and can fuck however she wants. He shrugs, says her dad asked him to watch the house for twenty-two years, so he has the footage to prove it. Kat tells him to get out. He doesn't budge. Instead he steps closer, dick already thick in his jeans, and makes the deal clear: spread for him now or dad sees the tape. She glares, furious, but knows she's trapped—and decides to twist the situation back in her favor.