I drained the last of the whiskey, the burn settling warm in my chest as Brian took my glass and set it beside his on the floor. His hand closed around mine, calloused fingers threading through my own, and he pulled me up from the couch without a word.

The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, the city sprawling below us like a circuit board of light and movement. Twenty-seven floors up, and the glass was cool against my palms when he pressed me against it, my bare breasts flattening against the pane, the nipples tightening at the shock of cold.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, his chest solid against my back. "Spread out for the whole city to see."

I could see our reflection in the glass — my auburn hair a wild tangle around my shoulders, my body pressed and vulnerable, his dark frame behind me. The contrast made my breath catch.

His hand found my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, and he pulled me back just enough to grind his hardness against my ass. I could feel him, insistent, and my body clenched at the promise of it.

"You want them to watch, don't you?" he asked, and his free hand slid up my stomach, over my ribs, until his palm cupped my breast. He squeezed, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and I gasped, my forehead pressing against the cool glass.

"Brian—"

"That's not an answer." He pinched harder, and I whimpered, my hips pushing back against him instinctively. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me against this window," I breathed, the words fogging the glass. "I want every light in this city to see what you do to me."

His laugh was low and dark, and then his hand was gone from my breast, and I heard the wet sound of his hand stroking his cock.

"Spread your legs," he commanded, and I obeyed, my thighs parting, my wet mound exposed to the glass and the city beyond. I could see the reflection of my own arousal — the way my body was already trembling, the way my nipples were hard and aching, the way my hips tilted back in offering.

He stepped closer, and I felt the head of his cock slide through my wetness, coating himself in me before he pushed inside. The stretch was a shock of pleasure-pain, my exhausted body clenching around him, and I cried out, my palms flat against the glass.

"That's it," he growled, his hands finding my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Take all of it."

He drove deeper, and I felt him bottom out inside me, his balls pressing against my clit. For a moment, neither of us moved, and then he pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, the slap of skin against skin loud in the quiet room.

His hand found my breast again, kneading and pinching while his other hand snaked around my hip, fingers finding my clit. He circled it with rough precision, and I felt the orgasm building already, my body too sensitized, too raw to hold back.

"You're so fucking wet," he rasped, his thrusts picking up speed. "So fucking tight. Like you were made for my cock."

I couldn't answer. I could only moan, my forehead against the glass, my reflection a blur of auburn and pale skin as he fucked me against the window, the city glittering below like a thousand witnesses to my undoing.

His fingers worked my clit faster, his cock pounding into me, and I felt the orgasm crest, my body clenching around him, my mouth open in a silent scream. He didn't slow down — he drove me through it, his grip on my hip brutal, his breath ragged in my ear.

He was so deep inside me, so thick and relentless, and I could feel his own control fraying — the way his thrusts grew erratic, the way his breath caught. And then I was coming again, my body milking him, and he followed with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with heat.

We stayed there, pressed against the glass, his body covering mine, our breath fogging the window. The city lights burned below us, indifferent witnesses to the mess we'd made of each other.

He pulled out slowly, and I felt his cum drip down my thigh. I looked at our reflection — his hand still on my hip, his lips at my ear, my body marked and trembling.

I turned my head, catching his mouth with mine, tasting myself and him and the whiskey on his tongue.