Rooftop Strangers

The rooftop smelled like hot asphalt and city dust. I'd come up here to escape the noise of the party downstairs, the cigarette smoke, the fake laughter. She was already there, leaning against the railing, looking out at the lights.

"Didn't mean to interrupt," I said, stopping a few feet away.

She turned. Dark eyes, full lips, hair pulled back tight. "You're not."

I moved closer. The wind lifted her scent — jasmine and sweat. "I'm Marcus."

"Priya."

We stood there, not talking. The city hummed below us. I could feel the heat coming off her skin from three feet away.

"Your friends are loud," she said.

"I don't really know them. Wedding party."

"Same." She looked at me. "Bored?"

"Not anymore."

She smiled, slow. My cock twitched in my jeans.

"I've never done this before," I said.

"Done what?"

"Wanted a stranger this bad."

She stepped into me. Her hand found my belt. "Then don't talk."

Her mouth was on mine before I could breathe. Hard, hungry. I grabbed her ass, pulled her hips against me. She moaned into my mouth, bit my lower lip.

"Fuck," I whispered.

"Cállate y fóllame."

I pushed her against the railing. The metal bit into her back, but she didn't care. I yanked her dress up, ripped her panties down. She was already wet — I could smell it, feel the heat through the fabric.

"Now," she said.

I shoved my cock into her. No warning. She gasped, arched her back. Her pussy gripped me tight, slick and hot.

"Sí", siseó. "Dios, sí."

I fucked her hard. Fast. Her legs wrapped around my waist, ankles locking behind me. The railing rattled with every thrust. She bit my shoulder to keep quiet, but the sounds escaped anyway — little whimpers, desperate breaths.

"Don't stop," she said. "Don't you fucking stop."

I didn't. I drove into her deeper, harder. Her nails dug into my back. The sweat made our skin stick together.

"Turn around," I said.

She dropped down, hands on the railing. I grabbed her hips, pulled her ass against me. She was dripping — I could see it, the wetness running down her thighs.

I pushed in again. Slow this time. Let her feel every inch.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

I fucked her like that, watching my cock slide in and out of her. The city lights blurred behind her. She pushed back against me, matching my rhythm.

"I'm close," she said.

"Todavía no."

I pulled out. She whimpered. I spun her around, dropped to my knees. Her pussy was right there — open, wet, swollen. I buried my face in it.

She cried out, grabbed my hair. I licked her clit, sucked it, pushed my tongue inside her. She tasted like salt and sex.

"Fuck, Marcus. Fuck."

She came on my face. I felt her whole body shake, heard her moan through clenched teeth. I kept licking until she pushed me away, gasping.

"Get up," she said.

I stood. She pushed me down onto the rooftop floor, straddled me. Her pussy found my cock, slid down slowly.

"Mírame," dijo ella.

I did. She rode me, rocking her hips, her dress bunched around her waist. I watched her tits bounce under the thin fabric. Watched her face — eyes closed, mouth open, lost in it.

"I want you to come inside me," she said.

I grabbed her hips, fucked up into her. She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to mine.

"Don't pull out."

"I won't."

We came together. I felt her clench around me, felt myself empty into her. Hot and deep. She collapsed on my chest, breathing hard.

We lay there, tangled and sweating. The city hummed below us.

"We should do that again," she said.

"Probably."

She laughed. I felt it in her chest, against mine.