The night air was thick with the scent of rain and sin. The city below buzzed, alive and pulsing, but up here, on the twenty-third floor, leaning against the balcony railing, she was all that existed.
She stood before me, wrapped in nothing but moonlight and the silk hotel robe that barely clung to her shoulders. Her skin glowed under the city lights, and I could see the anticipation in the way her breath hitched, the way she gripped the railing just a little too tight.
I stepped closer, my hands sliding over her hips, slow, possessive. “You love playing with fire,” I murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear.
She shivered but didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop me when I undid the knot at her waist, the fabric slipping from her body like a whisper. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but I was already there, my touch burning hotter.
Her hands clenched the railing as I pressed against her from behind, my lips trailing down her neck, marking, claiming. The thrill of it all coiled tight in my chest, the open air, the city below, the risk.
“Anyone could see,” she breathed, her voice unsteady.
“Let them,” I said, my grip tightening. “Let them see who you belong to.”
She gasped as my hands explored, as my mouth traced a path lower. Her body arched, met my touch like she was made for it. And maybe she was. Maybe this moment, this night, this balcony, this fire, was inevitable.
She moaned my name, barely a whisper against the night.
And down below, the city kept moving, unaware that high above, she was coming undone in my hands.
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