He stepped back just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. It hit the platform with a dull sound, the same jacket I’d seen slung over amps, thrown across bus seats, carried through cities and a hundred late nights. He spread it out, a dark square against the pale rooftop.
The edge of the roof sat in my peripheral vision, a thin line of concrete between us and the drop, between this and whatever waited downstairs with the rest of the band. Riot didn’t rush me. He stayed where he was, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him without being touched, like he wanted the choice to be mine.
I stepped forward, heart pounding.
His hand found mine again, and guided me down. The jacket still held his warmth from the show and I let it seep into me, infuse me with that same aura that held me captive whenever he hit the stage. The skyline tipped as I sat, then steadied when he positioned himself in front of me, knees brushing mine.
The way he looked at me then felt different from any show, different from the tour bus, different from every half-lit hallway we’d passed each other in. This was quieter, but so much more intense. His thumb pressed into the soft skin inside my wrist, and my pulse jumped against him, betraying me in a way I could never deny.
“Roxie.” The way he said my name carried more weight than anything he’d sung that night.
This feels so good.
I leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, my fingers threading into his hair, feeling the way his shoulders shifted as he pulled me closer. The city blurred at the edges. The only thing that felt solid was us, the way my body reacted to his without me having to think about it.
When he pressed his mouth to my neck, I tipped my head back and watched the blinking lights of a plane inch across the sky. A breathless laugh floated out of me, because it felt absurd and perfect all at once, this moment suspended above a city that didn’t know we were here.
His hands moved to my waist, anchored me. My own hands traced the ink along his arms, every line familiar and new at the same time. I knew some of the stories behind them. Others he kept to himself.
I wondered if tonight would become one of those stories.
His lips became the only thing that mattered in this world. The rough feel of his beard against the soft skin of my neck. At some point, the music from inside the venue faded completely. All I could hear was the wind moving around the building and the sound of Riot saying my name again, the rasp in his voice making it sound like a plea.
I could feel my need pooling in my core, as intense as a bomb that was armed and ready to go off. As I gazed up at Riot, and saw his own need there in his eyes, I knew I would doanythinghe asked of me.
And that turned me on so freaking much.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded.
My heart hammered against my chest as I obeyed. Riot stood over me. My hands trembled slightly with anticipation as I unzipped his pants.
His cock sprang free, hard and ready, as I took it in my hand, feeling its heat and thickness.
I looked up at him, and he nodded, a silent command as he ran a hand through my hair. I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth, and began to swirl my tongue, teasing. Riot groaned, hishands gripping my hair gently, encouraging me. I ran my tongue along the base of his shaft and his breath hitched above me.
The sound went straight through my ribs, leaving me steady in a way I hadn’t been all night. There was no better feeling in the world than knowing you were driving a manwild.
The night air was pleasantly warm, and he removed his shirt while watching me. His body was a beautiful contrast of dark tattoos and skin, and I couldn’t help but admire just howdelicioushe looked. Some men were more attractive clothed than nude, the fabric accentuating all of their best features, but Riot was not one of those men. I took him as deep as I could and slid my hands around to grab his tight ass. I felt his cock twitch in appreciation. He was close.
He pushed me onto my back, then planted a fist next to my head so he could slide his tongue into my mouth. His other hand deftly unbuttoned my jeans while we kissed, and then he pulled back to slide them off along with my underwear.
The air tickled my sex, but I didn’t close my legs. I felt no modesty with the rock star that I’d been admiring on stage; I desperatelywantedhim to see me, to gaze at me with longing and lust the way all those fans looked at him.
Riot leaned over me, spreading my knees wide. His hungry eyes lingered over my glistening pussy. He swiped his fingers through my slick folds, and a moan escaped my lips.
“Fuck, Roxie, you’re so wet for me,” he whispered into my neck before lining the tip of his cock up with my entrance. I felt my pussy clench in anticipation of what it would feel like to be filled with his thick cock.
“Tell me what you want,” Riot said.
My throat tightened around the answer, because wanting him was easier than admitting it out loud.
I squirmed with need and bucked my hips, desperate to feel him inside of me.
“You,” I replied. Begged.
“No,” he said firmly. “Tell me what you want me todoto you.”
I bit my lip. “I want you to fuck me, Riot. I need you…”
