Skyline

The city hummed below us, a distant river of brake lights and neon. I’d been watching Jake for three months—his corner booth, his two black coffees, the way his thumb traced the rim of the mug while he read. Tonight, he’d waited for my shift to end, and now we were on the roof of the diner, the fire escape cold under my thighs.

“You know why I asked you up here, Maya,” he said, voice low, close to my ear.

I shivered. “Because you want dessert?”

He laughed, a rough sound. “Because I can’t stop thinking about that little noise you made when you bent over to wipe the table.”

My cheeks burned. “You heard that?”

“Every night.” His hand slid up my leg, under the hem of my uniform skirt. “And I keep wondering what you’d sound like if I had you bent over this railing.”

The city lights blurred. I grabbed his shirt, pulled him closer. “Then stop wondering.”

His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, tasting of coffee and mint. His fingers found the waistband of my panties, and I gasped against his lips as he hooked them aside. The rough brick scraped my back as he pressed me against the wall of the stairwell.

“Been wanting this cock in you all week,” he muttered, unzipping his jeans.

I reached down, wrapped my fingers around him—thick, hot, already slick at the tip. “Then put it in me.”

He spun me around, bent me over the railing. The city sprawled below, a thousand windows watching us. He kicked my feet apart, and I felt his cock slide between my ass cheeks, teasing.

“Not there,” I breathed.

“Why not?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “You’ve been teasing me for months, Maya. I want to hear you beg.”

I bit my lip. The cool air kissed my skin where my skirt was bunched up. He pushed the head against my asshole, just the tip, and I bucked against him.

“Please,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“Please, Jake. Fuck my ass.”

He shoved in, slow, inch by agonizing inch. I cried out, gripping the cold metal railing. The stretch burned, but his hand found my clit, circling, and the pain melted into something deeper.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Take it.”

He started to move, pulling out almost all the way, then slamming back in. Each thrust rocked me against the railing, the city a blur beneath us. I could hear my own moans, muffled by my fist, and the wet, obscene sound of him fucking me.

“God, you’re tight,” he hissed. “So fucking tight.”

He reached around, pinched my nipple through my bra, and I came, a sharp, sudden orgasm that made my knees buckle. He held me up, his other hand gripping my hip, pounding into me without mercy.

“Don’t stop,” I begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

He leaned over, his chest against my back, his mouth at my ear. “Cum again for me, Maya. Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”

I did, a second wave crashing over me as he buried himself deep, groaning as he filled me. We stayed there, panting, the city humming below.

He pulled out slowly, and I felt the warmth trickle down my thigh. He turned me around, kissed me soft, his hand cradling my face.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” he said.

I smiled, breathless. “And tomorrow?”

“And every night after.”

We lay down on the cool concrete, side by side, looking up at the stars barely visible through the city glow. His hand found mine, and we listened to the distant sirens and the sound of each other’s breathing, slowing, until the world was just us and the skyline.