Smoking on the Balcony, Fucking Her Wet Pussy

Balcony sex just hits different, and the other night we found that out firsthand when she leaned over the railing for a quick smoke. The city lights were buzzing below, and the chill air made her skin prickle as I came up behind her, my hands sliding over her hips. She wasn’t wearing much under that thin robe, and when I pulled it aside, I could feel how wet she already was—that little shiver she let out said everything. I pressed her forward against the metal rail, the risk of someone glancing up making us both move faster, and the way she pushed back against me while the cigarette burned between her fingers was pure instinct. The slap of skin against skin mixed with the traffic noise, and her quiet moans turned into this breathy laugh when she realized how exposed we were. When I turned her around and lifted one leg up, that raw, close-up moment of seeing her glisten in the streetlight just about did me in. It was messy, urgent, and exactly the kind of thing you tell your best friend about with a grin.