Marcas en la Azotea

The city hummed below us, a distant river of headlights and neon, but up here on the roof of the old hotel, the only sound was the clinking of our wine glasses and the ragged breath I was trying to hide. Marco had been coming to my section every Friday for three months. Tonight, he’d finally asked me to stay after my shift.

“You know why I keep coming back, Lena?” he asked, swirling the red wine. His voice was low, a little rough, like he’d been saving it for this.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. “The lasagna?”

He laughed, a short, warm sound. “The lasagna’s good. But it’s your hands. The way you hold the tray. The way you write the check. I’ve been watching them for months.”

He reached out and took my hand, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. His skin was warm, a little calloused. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot straight to my core. I didn't pull away.

“So what happens now?” I asked, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.

He pulled me closer, his other hand finding the small of my back. “Now, I stop pretending I’m just here for the food.”

His lips met mine, and it wasn’t soft or tentative. It was hungry, demanding. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of wine and something darker, and I moaned against him, my knees going weak. He walked me backward until my back hit the low brick wall of the rooftop's edge. The city sprawled out below us, but all I could see was him.

“I want to leave a mark on you, Lena,” he whispered, his mouth trailing down my jaw. “Everywhere.”

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my neck, and I gasped. He bit down gently, just enough to make me shiver, then soothed the sting with his tongue. He did it again, a little harder, right on the curve where my neck met my shoulder.

“Fuck, Marco,” I breathed, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to my hip, dipping under the hem of my black work dress. His fingers found the lace of my panties, tracing the edge.

“Yes,” I hissed. “I want it. All of it.”

He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the wide ledge. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him against me. I could feel how hard he was, a thick, insistent pressure against my clothed core. He yanked my panties aside, and I wasn’t wearing anything else. The cool night air hit my slick skin, and then his fingers were there, sliding through my wetness.

“God, you’re soaked,” he said, his voice full of awe and dark pleasure. He circled my clit with his thumb, making me buck against his hand. “So ready for me.”

He shoved his jeans down just enough to free his cock. It was thick and hard, the head glistening in the city light. He didn’t ask, he just positioned himself at my entrance and slammed into me with one brutal, perfect thrust. I cried out, a sharp, desperate sound, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his forehead against mine. “Take it.”

He fucked me hard and fast, his hips pounding against mine, the brick scraping my back. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that deep spot inside me with every stroke. He was whispering filthy things in my ear, a constant stream of praise and dirty talk. “So tight. So fucking good. Look at you, taking my cock on a rooftop.”

I could feel the heat pooling in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter. His hand snaked between us, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing in tight circles.

“I’m close,” I gasped, clinging to him.

“Not yet,” he growled, pulling out. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He spun me around, bending me over the ledge. The city lights swam dizzyingly below me. I felt his hands on my ass, spreading me, and then the blunt head of his cock pressing against my wet entrance again.

He slammed back in, deeper this time, and I moaned into the night air. He gripped my hips, his fingers biting into my skin, and started a punishing rhythm. His balls slapped against my ass with every thrust. I was completely at his mercy, just a body under his hands, and I loved it.

“You feel that?” he panted, leaning over me, his voice hot in my ear. He bit my shoulder, hard, right as he drove into me again. The sharp spike of pain mixed with the pleasure sent me over the edge. I came with a cry, my inner walls clenching around him, my body shaking.

He followed a second later, a guttural groan torn from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt and flooded me with his cum. I felt it hot and wet inside me, and the feeling made me shudder again.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us panting, the city noise rushing back in. He pulled out slowly, and I felt his spend trickle down my thigh. He turned me around, his eyes dark and satisfied.

He gently touched the spot on my shoulder he’d bitten. “I meant it,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Everywhere.”

I looked at the mark he’d left on my neck, then down at the mess we’d made. My dress was ruined, my legs were shaking. I smiled, a slow, wicked thing.

“I get off in twenty minutes tomorrow, too.”

CATEGORIES: [Love bites, Rooftop, Rough sex, Just the Two of Us, Public]