ローマの屋上

She was wiping down the same table for the third time, and I knew it wasn't because the marble was dirty. Giulia. That's what her name tag said, but I'd been coming here for two weeks, and I'd learned more from the way she moved than any tag could tell me.

"You're staring again," she said, not looking up.

"You're worth staring at."

She finally met my eyes. Dark, almost black, with a fire behind them that made the August heat feel like a breeze. She bit her lower lip, just for a second, and I felt my cock twitch against my jeans.

"The rooftop," I said. "Tonight. After your shift."

She laughed, a low sound that vibrated through my chest. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"I've wasted two weeks already."

She glanced at her watch. "Forty minutes. Bring wine."

The service door to the rooftop was unlocked, just like she promised. Rome sprawled beneath us, a sea of terracotta roofs and golden light bleeding into dusk. Giulia came up behind me, and I heard the click of the door latching.

"Locked," she whispered. "Just us."

I turned. She'd changed into a sundress, thin cotton the color of cream, and I could see the outline of her nipples against the fabric. She held a bottle of red wine, already open.

"No glasses," I said.

"Didn't plan on needing them."

She took a long pull from the bottle, then handed it to me. Her lips left a trace of warmth on the rim. I drank, tasting her, and set the bottle down on the parapet.

"Giulia."

"Marco," she said, stepping closer. "I've been thinking about your hands for two weeks. What they'd feel like."

I cupped her face, thumb tracing her jawline. She tilted her head, exposing her neck, and I leaned in, kissing the spot where her pulse hammered. She smelled like olive oil and sweat and something floral underneath.

"Show me," she breathed.

My fingers found the knot at her shoulder. One tug, and the dress slipped. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her tits were full, heavy, with dark nipples already hard. I took one in my mouth, and she gasped, fingers tangling in my hair.

"Fuck, Marco. Yes."

I sucked harder, teeth grazing the sensitive tip, while my hand found the hem of her dress and pushed it up. She wasn't wearing panties either. Her pussy was bare, glistening, and I could smell her — rich and musky and ready.

"Been walking around like this all day?" I asked against her skin.

"Only since I knew you'd be here tonight."

I lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, her wet slit grinding against my jeans. I could feel the heat of her through the denim, and my cock strained painfully against the zipper.

"Fuck me," she said. "Right here. Right now."

I carried her to the old wooden table that sat by the rooftop edge — a relic from the café below. I laid her back, her dress bunched around her waist, her legs spread wide. The city lights blinked to life behind her, a thousand tiny stars, but I couldn't look away from the space between her thighs.

I unzipped my jeans, and my cock sprang free, hard and aching. She reached for it, wrapping her fingers around the shaft, stroking slow.

"God, you're big," she whispered. "I want it inside me."

I positioned myself at her entrance, feeling her wetness coat the head. She arched her back, and I pushed in — slow, inch by inch, watching her face contort with pleasure. She was tight, so fucking tight, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming right there.

"More," she begged. "All of it."

I slammed into her, bottoming out, and she cried out, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the rooftops. I pulled back and thrust again, harder. Her legs wrapped around my hips, pulling me deeper.

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes —"

I grabbed her hips, pounding into her with a rhythm that made the table creak beneath us. Her tits bounced with each thrust, and I reached down, pinching her clit between my fingers. She bucked against me, her pussy clenching like a fist.

"Come for me," I growled. "I want to feel it."

She screamed — not a word, just sound — and her whole body convulsed. Her cunt milked my cock, hot and pulsing, and the sensation pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came, spilling inside her, my release mixing with hers.

We stayed like that, connected, breathing hard. The city hummed below us, indifferent. I pulled out slowly, and she whimpered at the loss.

"Marco."

"Yeah?"

「こっちに来て。」

She pulled me down onto the table beside her. We lay silent, side by side, our breathing slowly syncing. Her hand found mine, fingers lacing through. The stars were coming out, pale pinpricks against the deepening blue.

「明日も同じ時間で？」彼女が尋ねた。

I turned my head, looking at her — hair tangled, lips swollen, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I'll be here."

She squeezed my hand. The city kept whispering, the wine sat forgotten, and I listened to her breathing slow until it matched mine, heartbeat by heartbeat.