“Black, two sugars. Right?”
“Good guess,” I replied, shaking the water out of my hair.
“Not a guess,” he muttered and froze when I pressed my naked body to his, his breath getting lost somewhere in his chest. He reached back, finding my waist. The espresso machine kept humming, spitting bitter steam into the air around us. I pressed harder against him, my hand finding the front of his sweatpants and the growing bulge.
My eyes trailed to the balcony door as my hand got under the waistband and wrapped around his semi-hard dick. I felt the piercing against my thumb, and the more I rubbed it, the harder he got in my hand.
“Got your phone at the ready, cameraman?” I asked and pressed my lips against his tattooed back. There was a huge cross inked as a centerpiece and smaller, gothic decorative things woven around it. I wondered, briefly, how much it had hurt to get it.
Cross exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s on the counter.” His voice was thick, the words barely more than a growl as he reached blindly behind him, around me, fingers brushing my thigh before he grabbed the phone. The screen lit up with a swipe of his thumb, the camera app already open.
I didn’t let go of him as I guided him toward the balcony.
It was already hot outside, and so humid that I started sweating the moment the air touched me. But I figured the sweat would work in our favor — it always looked good on camera. Besides, the breeze from the Mississippi made the heat somewhat tolerable.
“Now that’s a view,” I commented.
The city was still quiet — asleep this early on a Sunday morning. From the balcony, New Orleans looked like someone had pressed pause on a retro film — no cars, no bodies on the sidewalks, just rows of motionless apartments and dark office windows.
I walked around Cross, so I’d be facing him, and pushed down his sweatpants. He was rock hard andmouthwatering,the head flushed, a bead of pre-cum welling at the tip. And the piercing — oh God, the piercing — it glinted in the morning light and looked so damn suckable.
I swiped the pre-cum away with my thumb, bringing it to my lips and licked it clean with a slow drag of my tongue.
Cross exhaled through his nose, his grip on the phone becoming white-knuckle hard.
I smirked and turned against the railing, leaning against the metal as I arched my back. Luckily, I was not afraid of heights because the ground from up here lookedveryfar away.
“Remember, this video is for you,” I said, pulling my hair to the side so he would have a better view of my back and my ass by extension. “You can come in me, rockstar. In fact, that’s preferable. Be as rough as you want.”
He let out a low cross-breed between a laugh and a groan. The phone stayed steady in his hand, but I could see the way his breathing sped up when I glanced back at him over my shoulder.
“Fuck, Mary,” he breathed. “We’re really filming this?”
“That’s the deal.” I wiggled my ass for him and the camera. “No penetration unless you’re filming.”
He didn’t need more encouragement. One big hand gripped my hip while the other held the phone higher, angling it to catch everything. The city stretched out below us — office towers and muted neon signage glaring from every direction, each window a tiny, anonymous observer.
His pierced cock dragged slowly up and down my pussy, teasing my clit with the smooth barbell. Every pass made me shiver.
“Spread your legs a little wider, baby,” he said, voice rough. “Let the camera see how wet you are for me.”
I obeyed, widening my stance. He groaned at the sight.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmured, almost to himself, sliding a finger up and down my lips, spreading the slickness. “She’s fucking perfect…” He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, making me gasp as he curled them.
Then suddenly his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt, heavy head of his cock. The first inch slid in with a slow burn, the stretch making my breath all wonky. Here, then gone, then breaking in half, when he moved another half inch. The piercing dragged somewhere inside me, sending an odd tingle straight to my clit, making my knees weak.
“Oh my fucking God…” I gasped, lowering my head over the railing.
Cross groaned, his hand tightening on my hip. “You feel—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale as I rocked back, taking another inch. The phone was still recording, the lens capturing every dirty detail.
The metal railing bit into my palms as I pushed back, taking more of him until my thighs trembled. The early morning blurred the edges of everything — the same way my visionblurred when he bottomed out inside me, his hips flush against my ass.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, his voice rough with something raw. The phone’s lens caught the way his fingers dug into my skin, the way my body arched for him.
I moved my hips forth, then rocked back, testing the stretch, and he moaned, his free hand sliding up my spine to tangle in my wet hair. He moved his hips, pairing it with the pull of my hair each time he thrust forward.
“Harder,” I demanded, sweat slicking my skin. “Fuck me like one of your groupies.”
