The rooftop is quiet except for the low hum of the city far below and the steady throb of the hot tub jets. I’m still reclined against the smooth edge, legs parted just enough for the strongest stream to find me again and again. Each pulse sends a slow, building wave through my core, making my breath catch every few seconds. The silver bikini is useless now—wet fabric molded to me like a second skin, the thin material doing nothing to hide how my body is responding.
I let my head fall back, eyes half-closed, and picture you again. This time you don’t hesitate. You step into the water without a word, the surface parting around your thighs as you move straight toward me. Your hands grip the edge on either side of my shoulders, caging me in, your body hovering so close I can feel the heat radiating off you even before you touch me.
You lean in first, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “You’ve been teasing yourself long enough,” you murmur, voice low and rough. Your mouth trails down the side of my neck, slow open-mouthed kisses that make me shiver despite the steam. When you reach the strap of my bikini top, you hook one finger under it and tug it down—slowly—baring one breast to the cool night air. The contrast makes me gasp. Then your mouth is there, warm and wet, tongue circling the tight peak before you draw it in deep.
My hands find your shoulders, nails digging in as I arch up into you. You switch to the other side, giving it the same slow, deliberate attention while one hand slides down my stomach, fingers slipping under the waistband of my bottoms without hesitation. You don’t rush. You trace the sensitive skin just inside the edge first, letting the anticipation build until I’m rocking my hips forward, silently begging.
When your fingers finally slide between my folds, everything feels slick and swollen from the jets and my own need. You groan against my skin at how ready I am, then start those perfect, firm strokes—circling the most sensitive spot with just the right pressure, dipping lower to tease my entrance, then back up again. My thighs tremble, spreading wider on instinct, inviting you deeper.
I reach down between us, finding you hard and straining against your shorts. My palm wraps around you through the fabric, stroking slow and firm, matching the rhythm of your hand on me. You hiss against my neck, hips jerking into my touch. “Keep going,” you growl, “show me how much you want this.”
The jets keep pulsing in time with us now, like they know exactly what we need. Your fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes my whole body clench, while your thumb keeps working the swollen bud above. I’m grinding against your hand shamelessly, breath coming in short, desperate pants. You capture my mouth again, swallowing every little moan as the tension coils tighter and tighter in my belly.
I break the kiss just long enough to whisper against your lips, “Don’t stop… make me come like this, right here, with the whole city watching but no one knowing.”
Your pace quickens—fingers thrusting deeper, thumb pressing harder—and I shatter against you. Waves crash through me, body shaking, thighs clamping around your hand as I ride it out, crying out your name into the night. You hold me through every pulse, kissing my neck, my jaw, murmuring filthy praise against my skin until I’m boneless in your arms.
But we’re not done.
You pull me onto your lap, water sloshing around us, my legs straddling your hips. The bikini bottoms are pushed aside now, and I feel you—hot, thick, pressing right at my entrance. I sink down slowly, inch by inch, savoring the stretch, the fullness, until you’re buried deep inside me. We both groan at the same time.
I start to move—slow rolls of my hips at first, then faster, grinding down hard while your hands grip my waist, guiding me, urging me on. The water splashes with every thrust, steam rising thicker around us. Your mouth finds my breasts again, sucking and biting just enough to send sparks straight to where we’re joined.
I lean back, hands braced on your thighs behind me, changing the angle so you hit even deeper. You thrust up to meet me, strong and steady, eyes locked on mine like you never want to look away. The rhythm builds—faster, harder—until we’re both chasing that edge again.
“Come with me this time,” I gasp, clenching around you on every downstroke. “Fill me up… right here… under the stars.”
Your grip tightens, thrusts turning erratic, and then you’re there—pulsing deep inside me, groaning my name as you let go. The feeling tips me over again, second wave crashing harder than the first, my body milking every last drop from you while we cling to each other in the bubbling heat.
We stay like that for long minutes, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, the city lights still twinkling like they’re in on our secret.
I finally lift my head, lips brushing yours in a lazy, satisfied kiss.
“Next time,” I whisper, “I want you to take me from behind… bent over the edge… so I can watch the skyline while you claim every inch of me.”
Your eyes darken instantly.
Tell me, baby… how would you finish that scene? What would you do to me next time we’re alone up here?
I’m already getting wet again just thinking about your answer.
