Rooftop Shed

Hot palms were already sliding under my thin blouse as we tumbled into that old rooftop shed. The city hummed far below, skyscraper lights flickering in the evening haze, but up here, among dusty crates and wood-scented planks, every rustle seemed louder than my own heartbeat.

"Misha, you've lost your goddamn mind…" I breathed out, pressing my back against the rough wall. His fingers were already working the buttons, and I could feel my nipples hardening from the cool draft and from the weight of his stare. "What if one of the security guys comes up? There's an alarm system…"

"Then we'll be very quiet, Lena," he whispered with that same mischievous grin that always made me wet between my legs. "Or very loud. Your call."

I laughed, but the laugh quickly dissolved into a soft moan: his hand had already slipped under my skirt, fingers confidently pushing aside my panties and gliding over my slick folds. He wasn't in a hurry. With the tip of his middle finger, Misha circled my clit, barely touching, teasing. I grabbed his wrist, but not to push him away—I pressed him harder.

"Like that… deeper," I whispered against his lips. "Don't tease me tonight, I'm already dripping."

He chuckled quietly, bit my lower lip, and pushed two fingers inside in one smooth motion. The wet sound filled the cramped shed. I arched back, feeling his knuckles rub slowly against the sensitive walls inside me. Misha's eyes gleamed in the half-darkness—he wasn't looking at the city beyond the cracked window, only at me, at the way I bit my lip to keep from moaning too loud.

"Look how fucking wet you are…" he whispered right into my ear, speeding up. "We agreed on an experiment, remember? You wanted to feel what it's like when someone could walk in any second."

I nodded, my breath catching. Misha's fingers worked in a rhythm: deep and slow, then fast and shallow, then suddenly stopping—and I'd start grinding my hips, fucking myself on them. My juices were already running down his wrist, dripping onto the dusty floor. The smell of our arousal mixed with old wood and dry hay piled in the corner.

"I want all of you," I gasped, fumbling with his belt with shaking hands. His cock sprang free—hot, heavy, the head already swollen. I wrapped my hand around it, ran my fingers down the full length, feeling it pulse. "Right here. Right now."

Misha spun me around to face the wall. His hands landed on my hips, hiked my skirt up to my waist. I arched my back, spread my legs wider, feeling the cool air wash over my soaked pussy. He dragged the head of his cock along my lips, smearing the wetness, then slammed in to the hilt. I bit my hand to keep from screaming—the sensation was so sharp, so forbidden.

"Fuck, you're so tight…" he gritted out. He started moving—slow at first, letting me adjust to the depth, then faster. Every thrust echoed with the wet slap of our bodies. His balls smacked against my clit, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises.

I turned my head, looking back at him over my shoulder.

"Harder, Misha… Fuck me like we might actually get caught."

He let out a low growl, grabbed a fistful of my hair—not painfully, but possessively—and picked up the pace. The shed filled with sounds: wet squelching, heavy breathing, the creak of old boards beneath our feet. I could feel a tight wave building inside me. Then he pulled out abruptly, spun me around to face him, and sat me down on an old workbench. My legs wrapped around his waist on their own.

Now we were face to face. Misha pushed back in—even deeper in this position. His fingers found my clit again and started rubbing fast in time with his thrusts. I locked my arms around his neck, pressing my chest against his shirt, feeling my nipples scrape against the fabric.

"I'm gonna… I can't hold it…" I whimpered into his neck.

"Come on my cock, Lena. I want to feel you squeeze me inside."

The orgasm hit me like a flash. I convulsed in his arms, biting his shoulder through his shirt to keep from screaming across the whole city. Everything inside me pulsed, my pussy clenching spasmodically around his thick cock. Misha lasted a few more powerful thrusts, then yanked himself out, spilling hot cum across my belly and tits. Thick ropes shot out hard, staining my blouse, running down my skin.

We froze, panting. His forehead pressed against mine. The city outside kept living its life, but inside the shed, everything had gone suddenly quiet.

Misha ran his fingers through the mess on my skin, smearing his cum, and laughed softly.

"You're covered in me… Beautiful," he whispered.

I smiled, still trembling.

"We're experimenters, after all. Next time, the fire escape?"

He kissed me—soft now, slow, almost weightless.

"Only if you're this wet and this desperate again," he murmured back. "For now, let's just sit here like this… Before someone comes."

We pressed together in the half-dark of the shed, listening to the distant hum of traffic below, our hearts still pounding in the same frantic rhythm. The forbidden heat still smoldered low in my belly, promising this was only the beginning.