Rooftop Weight

The city lights bled into a hazy smear below us, and the wind whipped Elena’s dark hair across her face. She was standing at the edge of my rooftop, her back to me, hands gripping the railing. I could see the curve of her hip, the soft roll of flesh above the waistband of her jeans. She was beautiful—heavy in all the right ways, and I’d been watching her for months.

“You’re staring, Leo,” she said without turning around. Her voice was low, a little hoarse from the cigarette she’d just stubbed out.

“Can’t help it,” I said. “You know that.”

She finally turned, and the city glow caught the roundness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. Her eyes were dark, unreadable. “My husband’s out of town.”

I stepped closer. “I know.”

“Then stop thinking and come here.”

I crossed the roof in three strides, and she met me halfway. Her hands grabbed my shirt, pulling me into a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Her body pressed against mine, soft and warm, and I let my hands roam down her sides, over the swell of her belly, the thick curve of her thighs. She moaned into my mouth.

“Fuck,” she breathed, breaking the kiss. “I’ve wanted this.”

I dropped to my knees on the rough tar paper. Her jeans were tight, but I got them unbuttoned, yanked them down with her panties. The air was cool on her skin, and she shivered. I didn’t wait. I pressed my mouth to her, tasting her, feeling her wetness on my tongue. She gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“God, yes,” she hissed. “Right there.”

I worked her with my tongue, slow at first, then harder, feeling her thighs tremble against my ears. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and she bucked against my face. When she came, it was with a strangled cry, her body shaking, her grip almost painful on my scalp.

I stood up, my cock aching in my jeans. She saw it, reached out, and palmed me through the denim. “Your turn.”

I pulled her to the thin mattress I’d laid out, hidden behind the AC unit. She knelt on it, her heavy breasts swinging free as I peeled off her shirt and bra. I wanted to taste them, suck them, bite them. She laughed, low and dirty.

“Patience,” she said, but her hands were already working my belt.

We fell onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and breath. She was on top, straddling me, her thighs thick and strong. She guided me inside her, and I groaned at the wet, tight heat. She rode me slow, rocking her hips, her full belly pressing against mine.

—Mírame —dijo ella.

I did. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth open, her skin flushed. She was gorgeous.

“You feel that?” she whispered, grinding down. “Feel how good I am?”

I couldn’t speak. I just grabbed her hips and thrust up, deeper, harder. She moaned, a long, low sound, and leaned forward, her tits in my face. I sucked one nipple, bit it gently, and she cried out.

“Fuck, Leo, don’t stop.”

I flipped us over, pinned her beneath me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I drove into her, fast and rough. The mattress squeaked, the city hummed below us, and she was all I could feel—her heat, her wetness, her breath hot in my ear.

“I’m close,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare pull out.”

I didn’t. I buried myself deep and let go, feeling her climax around me, her nails raking my back. We came together, shaking, sweating, tangled in each other.

Afterwards, we lay there, the wind cooling our skin. She traced a pattern on my chest.

«Eso fue…», comenzó.

—Sí —respondí—. Así fue.

She smiled, soft and real. “Same time tomorrow?”