Rooftop Static

The city hummed below us like a faulty amplifier, all bass and static. I’d found her smoking on the rooftop access ledge, legs dangling over a forty-story drop, her name — Maya — scrawled in silver ink on the back of her leather jacket. She offered me a cigarette and a look that said *I dare you*.

“You always climb fire escapes to find strangers?” I asked, lighting mine off hers.

“Only the interesting ones.” She tapped ash into the wind. “You’re staring at my mouth.”

“You’re making it easy.”

She laughed, low and rough. Then she stubbed out her cigarette, stood, and walked toward me until her boots hit mine. Her hand found my belt before I could say her name again.

“No games,” she whispered, unzipping my jeans. “I want to see if you can take what I give.”

Her fingers wrapped around my cock, already hard, and she stroked once, slow, watching my face. The city lights caught the silver in her eyes. She dropped to her knees on the gravel roof, and the sound of her zipper was the loudest thing in the world.

“Open your mouth,” she said. Not a question.

I did. She leaned in, and the first touch of her tongue was a shock of heat. She licked the length of me, from base to tip, then pressed her lips to the head and took me in. Her mouth was wet, tight, and she moved down with a deliberate slowness that made my knees shake. She didn’t stop at half. She pushed until her nose met my skin, until my cock hit the back of her throat, and she held there, looking up at me with tears already pricking her eyes.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

She pulled off just enough to speak, her voice wrecked and husky. “That’s the point. Now hold my head.”

I tangled my fingers in her dark hair, and she took me again, deeper this time, a guttural sound vibrating through her throat. I thrust, shallow at first, then harder, and she took it, every inch, no gag, just a slick, wet rhythm that echoed off the concrete. Her hands gripped my thighs, nails digging in. She moaned around me, and the vibration nearly undid me.

“Close,” I warned.

She pulled off, a thin string of spit connecting her lips to my cock. “Not yet.” She stood, unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed them down just past her hips. “I want you inside me first. Then you finish in my mouth.”

She turned, bent over the metal railing, and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Don’t make me wait.”

I was behind her in a heartbeat. My hand slid over her ass, then between her legs. She was soaked. I pushed two fingers inside her and she gasped, gripping the railing. “Now,” she demanded.

I pulled my fingers out and replaced them with my cock, sinking into her in one slow, deliberate stroke. She moaned long and loud, and I started to move. Hard. Her ass slapped against my hips, the sound sharp in the night air. She reached back and grabbed my wrist, pulling my arm around her, my hand finding her clit.

“Like that,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”

I fucked her against the railing, the city sprawling below us, until her legs trembled and she came with a cry, her body clenching around me. I pulled out before I could follow, turned her around, and dropped to my knees.

She looked down at me, breathless, a wild smile on her face. “Finish what you started.”

I took her in my mouth again, tasting myself on her lips, and she grabbed my hair with both hands, guiding me, fucking my face with a rhythm she controlled. I let her. I let her use me until she shuddered, pulled me off, and whispered, “Now.”

I stroked myself twice, three times, and came across her lips and chin, hot and thick. She smiled, wiped a drop with her thumb, and licked it clean.

“Not bad for a stranger,” she said.

“Not bad at all.” I stood, zipped up, and she pulled her jeans back over her hips.

She lit another cigarette, offered me the pack. “My place is two blocks over. I have a better view.”