I pinched the cigarette between my teeth and cupped my hand around the flame, watching the tip flare amber as I inhaled. One bright firefly caught in the dark hush of the balcony. The sea-damp railing was salt-sticky against my forearms, and I leaned into it as my breath dragged through the filter.
Below, the promenade moved like a current. It was just noise at first, fragments of conversations, scattered laughter. Then it became rhythm. It rose like a pulse that synced with the slow, tight clench of my ass around the plug. Each breath I took dragged the ache a little deeper.
My thighs were slick before I felt the heat of him. Before his palm curled around my hip. Before the other found the line of my spine, and dragged down the ridge between my shoulder blades like he meant to trace every vertebrae into memory.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His body did all the asking, and mine answered in the only way it knew how.
“Lukas—”
My breath broke around his name, and I wasn’t sure if it was more warning or plea. My gaze locked on the silhouettes below. I could have straightened. I could have closed my legs and feigned modesty. Maybe I should have stepped back inside and pretended I hadn’t been waiting for him to find me.
But I didn’t.
I exhaled slowly through my nose and widened my stance in an unmistakable invitation.
His fingertips grazed my thigh and slid up, bunching my skirt as they went until the fabric was fisted at the small of my back.
“Now that,” he murmured, voice low and honey-warm, “is a beautiful sight.”
The plug shifted as he hooked two fingers under the black jewel and pulled. My whimper broke like the sort of sound I couldn’t swallow even if I tried.
“Did you think I didn’t notice the way you were squirming in your seat at dinner?” he asked, still tugging, drawing out the stretch.
My moan was low and sickly around the filter. Voices rose from the street below, folding into the crash of the waves, lost in the dark.
He bent over me, lips brushing my shoulder before a slow press of his teeth. My eyes fluttered. A shiver unfurled down my spine.
“How wet were you, gorgeous?” His voice was silken heat against the shell of my ear. “Soaking through your panties while you sipped your wine?”
He pressed the plug back into place. The jewel settled flush against my skin. I took another drag while his hand settled over the length of me, cupping my soaked cunt like he already knew what he’d find.
“That’d be difficult,” I murmured, grinding against the thick line of him. “Because I wasn’t wearing any.”
His groan was rough and reverent, want spun into sound and sharpened by possession.
“Christ,” he breathed, close enough that the word warmed my nape. “Always full of surprises.”
His fingers slipped through me, slick with proof. It was the easy glide of someone meeting the mess they made. He traced the seam of me with precision, his middle finger teasing the edge of my entrance until my breath hitched. Then he pushed inside. Slowly, with intention. Testing the weight of my need.
I clenched around him. My hips rocked, aching for more.
He curled his finger just right, and dragged against the spot that made my knees buckle. My lashes fluttered. My fingers trembled as I struggled to bring the cigarette back to my lips, smoke curling unsteadily into the air.
The promenade moved to the rhythm of my pulse. They were blissfully unaware of how close I was to coming undone, and how they were becoming part of it. Folding into the moment. Feeding it.
The clink of his belt came next. The slow slide of his zipper.
He plucked the cigarette from my fingers and brought it to his own lips as he fisted his cock. He pressed against my wet hole, threatening to push in, and then dragged against my clit in a slick, maddening stroke.
I whimpered.
He grinned around the filter and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl from his nose like he meant to taste it.
“Thought you said you were quitting,” he teased, voice thick with amusement.
“And deny you the opportunity to fuck me on the balcony?” I glanced back at him and caught the hungry glint in his eyes. “Guess I lied.”
He held the smoke between his lips. One hand firm at my hip, the other skimming up my ribs like he meant to count them.
“You like an audience, don’t you?” He murmured, nudging more insistently at my entrance. “Shall we give them a show?”
I followed his gaze to the people below. He gripped the top of my dress and tugged down, and a little to the right. My tit fell into his palm like it belonged there.
A squeeze.
A pinch of my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
A gentle roll. Then harder, until my breath caught.
“All it’d take is my cock and a crowd,” he said, voice heavy with arousal. Still taunting. “You’d fucking melt, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
I worked myself against the thick head of his cock like a good girl, desperate for a reward.
And then he fed my hungry cunt in inches like he had all fucking night. Like he wanted me to feel the stretch, the give, the surrender. He always started slow. I’d once told him the first push was my favorite part of the fuck.
How I craved the sting. The moment where pain turned pliant. When my body—greedy, wet, open—gave in. When I stopped fighting the ache, and started fucking melting for it.
My moan was too loud. Too wet. Too fucking needy.
Then I caught sight of him. A man on the promenade stopped mid-step, hands buried in his pockets, and tilted his head like he wasn’t sure if he believed what he was seeing.
Moonlight caught the pale curve of my breast. Lukas found my throat, his fingers curling around the slender column—firm and possessive—and he hauled me back against him. Still arched. Still pulsing. My eyes rolled at the depth of him.
He hummed low in his chest, took the cigarette from his mouth, and let me grind against the full length of his cock, pinned and helpless against his body.
Then he brought the filter to my lips, offering it like a gift.
“Suck,” he commanded.
I closed my lips around it and drew in deep. Let the nicotine settle behind my eyes and ripple through me like sin. My lashes fluttered as I exhaled, and another thread of my composure unraveled.
Then he flicked the cigarette over the balcony’s edge, and its embers scattered like sparks in the dark.
He caught my hips mid-roll and forced them still. Made me feel the difference between wanting and receiving.
“See that, gorgeous?” His voice was a low drag against my ear as he pulled back, sliding out of my slick, wet heat. “He’s watching the way you take my cock.”
And when I looked again, I caught the stranger’s eyes.
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t pretend not to see.
He stared, boldly and unabashedly, at the way Lukas stuffed me full. At the obscene tilt of my hips and the flush blooming across my bare chest. He watched the way my lips parted around a silent moan, and my eyes rolled as Lukas sank into me again.
I clung to the railing, knuckles white, and held the man’s gaze.
Daring him to watch.
Daring him to look away.
Praying he wouldn’t.
A slow smile curved the stranger’s mouth.
He knew.
Knew exactly what we were doing. Knew my bare breast catching the moonlight wasn’t some wardrobe malfunction. He knew the man behind me owned every sound that broke past my bitten lips.
He stepped off the promenade, moving deeper into shadow. Out of the glow of the path. Out of view of the passersby.
But he never took his eyes off me.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, unsure if I was speaking more to Lukas, or our audience of one.
Lukas chuckled behind me, more exhale than sound.
“Fuck,” he breathed. His cock slid deeper, thicker somehow with intent. “My filthy little showgirl. You gonna cum for him, or for me?”
I moaned, wet and needy, arching until my tits caught the moonlight. My dress was barely clinging to me now—pulled down and crooked, bunched tight around my waist, offering no cover, no filter for the debauchery of the scene.
He let me stay that way.
Exposed.
Pretty.
Ruined.
“Both,” I whimpered.
He caught my jaw and tilted until my gaze locked with the stranger’s.
Then he pressed one palm flat between my shoulder blades and guided me to bend further over the railing.
His hips snapped.
The thrust hit deep. Wet enough to echo, hard enough to jolt me forward.
I gasped, eyes widening. But I didn’t look away. Not once.
Another thrust. Harder.
Another moan—choked and feral.
“You like that?” Lukas asked, loud enough for the man to hear.
Was he talking to me, or to him?
The man’s hand moved to the front of his jeans. He palmed himself openly, entirely unashamed, while his other hand was still buried in his pocket. He watched like he could take or leave the show.
Only…we knew better.
He was spellbound. We all were.
“He’s going to watch me fuck you wide open,” Lukas murmured.
He gripped my ass and spread my cheeks, his thumbs pressing into my flesh. The cool air licked across my slick folds. The black gem of the plug caught the moonlight like a crown jewel.
“God,” he hissed, his eyes devouring the sight. “Look at you. Stuffed full.”
He withdrew again, dragging slowly through the slick mess of me, and paused on the edge of leaving me empty. Then he rolled his hips, and watched the way my dripping, swollen cunt accepted all of him with greed.
The way he filled me, pressed tight against the plug locked in my ass, fucked me shut.
I moaned again, liquid and stupid.
“He can watch,” Lukas whispered against my skin, rough and reverent. A prayer spoken through gritted teeth. “But you? You are mine.”
He fucked me hard, like the stretch was proof. Not frenzied, but measured. Every withdrawal was long, each thrust deep and deliberate, angled precisely to decimate.
“Tell him what you need, gorgeous,” he said. His voice was pitched to carry, loud enough for the man below to hear. “Let him hear it.”
I hesitated.
I should have been past the point of shame while bent over on the balcony, dress stretched taut around my waist, tits out for the world to see. Filled and fucked with an audience.
But shame still licked at the edges of my lips.
He bent low, teeth grazing the back of my neck in a possessive promise. I felt the full length of him buried inside me—sinfully hard and pulsing, locked in my heat.
His hand slid down and found my clit, swollen and aching.
“Say it,” he breathed. “Be a good girl for us.”
He circled my throb, cruel in his precision. Then rolled his hips again and pressed against the ache at the center of me—the spot that always broke me open.
My breath caught. My lips parted.
“Please,” I whispered, hoarse and barely breathing. “Fuck me. I want him watch me cum on your cock.”
His groan was low and rough against my throat, almost tender in its want.
And then he fucked me like he meant it.
One hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my cries, the other holding me steady as he drove into me.
A sharp slap to my clit made my vision blur. Another, and I whimpered—desperate and seconds from collapse.
I was thankful for the hand that kept me quiet.
Because when I came, I shattered. My body seized. My legs trembled. My ass clenched hard around the plug and I screamed into his palm.
He held me through it, upright on his cock and fucked me through the pulses. Growled against my throat while my cunt soaked him. My orgasm ripped through me, loud and ruinous and shameless.
He thrust one last time—hard—and buried himself to the root.
I felt the heat of him, thick and molten, painting my insides. I felt the way I clenched, milking him for every drop like my cunt was starving for it.
When he finally slid out, I dropped to my knees before he could even ask. His release leaked from between my thighs, and I opened my mouth for his cock like it was instinct.
I licked him clean. Took him into my mouth, still glazed with both of us, and watched him through my lashes while I worshiped what ruined me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers threading into my hair.
His cock twitched on my tongue, already swelling again.
I moaned around him. Still wet. Still open. Still aching.
He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. The kind of kiss that made it feel like this—all of it—was something sacred.
“Should we invite him up?” Lukas whispered, soft and low against my hair. “Let him have a closer look…while I fuck your ass?”
Shame bloomed hot behind my ribs, and I moaned anyway.
“Yes.” Barely more than a breath spoken against the heated flesh of his cock.
Lukas chuckled dangerously.
He brought me to my feet and turned me. My back was now to the stranger, and his hands on my hips slid lower. He spread me open so the man could see the black jewel nestled between my cheeks. So he could watch the way my ruined cunt glistened and dripped his cum.
A sound drifted up from the shadows…
It was the stranger’s groan—raw, and barely contained.
Lukas leaned in, lips brushing mine, then sucked my lower lip into his mouth.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to the man below.
The stranger was still palming himself. His other hand was now braced against the wall, breath ragged, his lip caught between his teeth like he might cum just from the sight of me, stuffed and leaking.
“If you want an encore, Victor,” Lukas said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “We’re in unit 219.”
