The Edge of Want - Chapter 4: The Edge | Free Erotic Story

The rooftop of Voss Ink was a jagged patch of concrete and shadows, hemmed in by rusted railings and the hum of the city below. Lila had avoided Ezra for days after their night in her apartment—too much had spilled out, too much she couldn’t shove back inside. But tonight, he’d texted her: Meet me up top. We need to talk. She’d climbed the fire escape anyway, the cool night air biting her skin through her jacket, her pussy already traitorously awake at the thought of him. He was there, leaning against the ledge, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the glow catching the sharp lines of his jaw. He didn’t say a word as she approached, just flicked the butt away and stepped into her space—close enough that she could smell the smoke on him, the faint musk of his skin. The city sprawled beneath them, lights flickering like a heartbeat, and the distant sound of traffic was a low growl. “You’ve been dodging me,” he said, voice rough, eyes searching hers. She crossed her arms, chin lifting. “Been busy.” “Bullshit.” He moved closer, crowding her, and her pulse jumped, clit tingling despite herself. “You ran because I got under your skin.” Her laugh was sharp, but it cracked at the edges. “You think your dick’s that good, Kane?” He didn’t smile—just grabbed her wrist, tugging her against him. “Let’s find out.” She could’ve pulled away, could’ve shoved him off, but her body betrayed her—cunt throbbing, nipples peaking under her shirt. She kissed him instead, fierce and punishing, teeth sinking into his lip until he hissed. His hands were on her fast, yanking her jacket open, shoving her shirt up to bare her tits to the night air. The cold made her gasp, but his mouth was hot, latching onto a nipple, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other. “Fuck, Ezra,” she moaned, head tipping back, her hands fisting his hair. He didn’t stop—just dropped to his knees right there, rough hands tearing at her jeans, dragging them down her thighs with her panties in one go. Her pussy glistened in the dim light, wet and swollen, and he groaned, parting her legs to bury his face between them. His tongue hit her clit first—flat, firm licks that made her knees buckle. She grabbed the railing, thighs shaking as he ate her out like a starving man, lips sucking her bud, teeth grazing just enough to sting. Two fingers slid into her vagina, thick and calloused, pumping deep, curling against that spot that made her cunt clench. “So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice muffled against her pussy, and she felt it—her arousal dripping down his hand, slicking his chin. “More,” she demanded, voice wrecked, power slipping as her hips rocked into his mouth. He gave it—tongue flicking faster, fingers fucking her harder, until her clit pulsed and her vagina spasmed, orgasm crashing through her. She cried out, loud enough that someone below might’ve heard, and he didn’t stop—just licked her through it, drawing out every shudder until she was a mess, dripping down his wrist. He stood, wiping his mouth, eyes feral, and she saw the bulge in his jeans—cock straining, balls tight. She grabbed him, spinning them so his back hit the railing, and dropped to undo his fly. His dick sprang free, heavy and leaking, the head shiny with precum. She didn’t tease—just bent him over the ledge, his ass to the city, and yanked his jeans lower, exposing him completely. “Lila—” he started, but she cut him off, spitting into her hand and slicking it over his cock, stroking once, twice, before stepping back. “Turn around,” he growled, and she did, bending over the railing herself, jeans still tangled at her knees, pussy bared and dripping. He didn’t wait—lined up and thrust in, his penis slamming into her vagina, stretching her wide. She gasped, the angle brutal, his balls slapping her clit with every pump. The city blurred below—cars, lights, people who could look up and see her tits swaying, his dick fucking her cunt raw. The risk made her wetter, her walls gripping him tighter, and he felt it—groaned her name, hands yanking her hair back so her throat arched. “Harder,” she snarled, shoving back against him, and he obeyed—fucking her like an animal, hips pistoning, cock driving so deep she felt it in her gut. His fingers dug into her hips, bruising, and she loved it—loved the edge, the exposure, the way he took her apart. Her clit ached, rubbed raw against the railing’s vibration, and she came again—vagina clamping his dick, a gush of wet heat soaking them both. “Fuck, I’m—” he choked, thrusts stuttering, and she felt his cock swell, then erupt—hot cum spurting into her pussy, flooding her as his balls emptied. He kept moving, milking every drop, until he slumped against her, panting, his dick still twitching inside her cunt. They stayed there, bent over the edge, sweat-slick and trembling, the city a witness to their ruin. Her legs shook, pussy tender and leaking, his hands softening on her hips. He pulled out, cum dripping down her thighs, and turned her to face him. His eyes were raw—too open, too much—and she felt it too, the vulnerability clawing up her throat. “You’re a fucking mess,” he said, but his voice was soft, thumb brushing her cheek. “So are you,” she shot back, but she didn’t pull away—not yet. The night swallowed them, and the ledge held their weight, a fragile line between falling and standing.