Bajo el cielo romano

The rooftop smelled of drying laundry and jasmine, and the city sprawled below us like a spilled box of gold coins. I’d been coming to this trattoria for three weeks, always asking for her section, always tipping too much.

Her name was Chiara. She had dark hair pulled back in a messy knot, a mole above her lip, and she moved through the crowd like a rumor — all hips and knowing glances. Tonight, after closing, she’d found me waiting by the back stairs.

“You’re still here,” she said, not a question.

“You knew I would be.”

She smiled, slow. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

She led me up the fire escape, her sundress catching the breeze. The rooftop was a maze of chimneys and satellite dishes, but she found a spot behind a water tower where the city hummed below and the stars felt close enough to touch.

She turned to face me. The air between us crackled, thick with everything unsaid.

“You’ve been staring at me for weeks,” she said, stepping closer.

“You’ve been letting me.”

Her hand found my chest. “What are you going to do about it?”

I kissed her. She tasted like red wine and salt. Her fingers twisted into my shirt, pulling me hard against her. Her body was soft and firm in all the right places, and I could feel her heat through the thin cotton of her dress.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered against my mouth. “Right here. Under the sky.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

I slid my hands under her dress, found she wasn’t wearing panties. She gasped when my fingers brushed her wet slit. She was already soaked, and she ground against my palm.

“Jesus, Chiara.”

“Shut up and touch me.”

I knelt, pushing her dress up to her waist. Her pussy was bare, glistening, and I buried my face between her thighs. She tasted like summer rain. Her hands tangled in my hair as I licked her clit, slow circles, then faster when she started to moan.

“Yes… like that. Don’t stop.”

I hooked her leg over my shoulder, opening her wider. Her thighs trembled around my head as I sucked her clit between my lips. She came with a sharp cry, her hips bucking against my face, and I drank every drop.

She pulled me up, unzipped my pants, and wrapped her fingers around my cock. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

She stroked me slowly, teasing, then dropped to her knees. Her mouth was hot and wet, and she took me deep — all the way, her nose pressed against my belly. I groaned, gripping the water tower for balance.

“Fuck, Chiara…”

She looked up at me, eyes watering, and swallowed around me. I pulled her up before I lost control.

I bent her over the low wall of the roof. The city glittered below as she arched her back, offering herself to me. I ran my cock through her slick folds, teasing, and she pushed back against me.

“Stop playing. Put it in.”

I thrust into her in one motion. She cried out, her fingers scrabbling on the concrete. She was tight, hot, gripping me like a fist. I set a rhythm, hard and fast, my hands on her hips to hold her steady.

“That’s it,” she gasped. “Right there. Don’t you dare slow down.”

She was talking dirty in Italian now, words I didn’t know but understood perfectly. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing in time with my thrusts. She started to shake.

“I’m close,” she breathed. “Don’t stop. Please.”

I drove into her harder. Her moans turned into a raw, guttural cry as she came around me, her body convulsing. The feeling pushed me over the edge. I pulled out just in time, spilling hot across her lower back.

She turned, laughing breathlessly, and pulled me into a kiss. “That was…”

“Yeah.”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re coming back tomorrow?”

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

The morning light found us still on the roof, wrapped in a dusty blanket she’d found in a storage box. She made espresso on a tiny camping stove, and we drank it watching the city wake up. She caught me looking at her and blushed. “What?”

“Nothing. Just glad I came back.”

“You never left,” she said, and kissed me.