Rooftop Reps

The rooftop gym was my secret, a concrete slab above the city where the hum of traffic was just a whisper. Marco, my trainer, had keys. I’d been coming for weeks, telling myself it was the open air and the view. It was a lie. It was him.

“You’re holding your breath again, Lena,” he said, his voice a low rumble behind me. His hands were on my hips, correcting my squat form. The heat of his palms seared through the thin fabric of my leggings.

“Can’t help it,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re distracting.”

He laughed, a low, knowing sound. “That’s the point. Focus.”

I focused. On the way his thick thighs brushed against mine. On the scent of his sweat, clean and masculine, mixing with the city dust. I pushed up, feeling the burn in my muscles, and when I straightened, his body was pressed against my back, his hard cock a blatant pressure against the curve of my ass.

“See?” he whispered, his lips grazing my ear. “You’re stronger than you think.”

My heart hammered. “Marco…”

“We’re done with the weights,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He spun me around, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. His eyes were dark, hungry. “Now we do the real workout.”

He didn’t ask. He just kissed me, a brutal, consuming kiss that stole my breath and my sanity. His tongue plunged into my mouth, tasting of mint and desire. I moaned, my hands fisting in his t-shirt.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this,” he groaned against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my ass, kneading the flesh through my leggings. “Every time you bent over, every time you sweated… I had to stop myself from bending you over that bench.”

“Then don’t,” I breathed.

He didn’t. He spun me around, bending me over the padded plyo box we’d been using. The city sprawled out below us, glittering in the dusk, but I couldn’t see anything but the rough concrete and the feel of his hands yanking my leggings and panties down to my thighs.

“You want this?” he growled, his voice thick with need.

“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”

He didn’t waste time. I felt the thick head of his cock press against my soaking wet slit, and then he slammed into me. A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. He was huge, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that made my vision blur.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his fingers digging into my hips. “Take all of it.”

He fucked me hard, fast, his hips slapping against my ass with a wet, filthy sound. The city lights blurred into a smear of color. I was nothing but a body, a pussy, a vessel for his cock. I was a horny slut, and I loved it.

“More,” I begged, pushing back against him. “Harder.”

He gave it to me. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back as he pounded into me. The pain was exquisite, a sharp counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure. I felt my orgasm building, a white-hot coil in my belly.

“Look at you,” he hissed, his breath ragged. “Taking my cock on a rooftop, begging for it. You’re fucking perfect.”

His words sent me over the edge. I came with a scream, my walls clenching around him, my body shuddering violently. He didn't stop, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. He drove into me through my orgasm, chasing his own.

“Fucking… coming…” he grunted.

I felt him swell inside me, and then a hot flood of cum filled me. He collapsed against my back, his breath a hot pant against my neck, his body trembling. We stayed like that, connected, the city humming below us.

Finally, he pulled out, his cock slick with our combined juices. He turned me around, his thumb tracing my swollen lips.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face.

I looked at the mess on the box, at his satisfied expression, at the city that had just witnessed our dirty secret.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. “But next time… I’m on top.”