Chapter 3: The Rooftop Confrontation
For seven days, the world had narrowed to the scent of his cologne in an elevator and the sound of a deadbolt turning across the hall. Julian Blackwood had become a ghost in a bespoke suit, visible only in glimpses: the back of his head in the lobby at dawn, the click of his door closing seconds after hers opened. The polite nod he’d given her yesterday morning was a violence all its own.
Eva was simmering. The memory of the stairwell was a fresh bruise she kept pressing. The feel of the railing, the taste of his blood, the crude, perfect claiming. Then, nothing. Silence. A parking spot secured, a handkerchief that smelled of him balled in her fist.
It was untenable.
She took the stairs to the rooftop garden, needing air that wasn’t recycled through the building’s vents. The heavy door groaned shut behind her, sealing her into a pocket of night. Jasmine coiled through wrought-iron trellises, their sweetness clashing with the distant, mineral smell of Puget Sound. The city was a galaxy of cold light below.
And he was there.
Julian stood at the far parapet, a silhouette against the neon glow, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a lowball glass. The amber liquid caught the flicker of a single lantern. He didn’t turn. He must have heard the door.
She walked across the slate tiles, her footsteps silent. She stopped a few feet away, leaning against a planter box filled with fragrant rosemary. “Hiding up here now?”
He took a slow drink. “I’m having a whiskey.”
“For an hour? The doorman said you came up at eight.” She kept her voice light, probing. “That’s a lot of contemplation for one drink.”
“What do you want, Eva?” He still didn’t look at her.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“We live next door to each other. Coexistence requires strategic distance.”
“Bullshit.” The word cracked through the tranquil air. “You fuck me raw in a public stairwell and then treat me like a stranger. What’s the strategy there? Teach me a lesson?”
Finally, he turned. The lantern light carved hollows under his cheekbones, his gray eyes like chips of flint. The civilized mask was gone, replaced by a weary, dangerous honesty. “The lesson was for myself. It didn’t take.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “So what’s the plan? A lifetime of elevator small talk and pretending I don’t know what your cock feels like inside me?”
He slammed the glass down on the wrought-iron table. The sound was a gunshot in the quiet. In two strides he was on her, his hands gripping her upper arms, spinning her around to face the sprawling city view. Her breath hitched.
“You want to talk about it?” His mouth was at her ear, his voice a low, furious rasp. The heat of his chest burned through her thin dress. “You want to dissect it? How I can’t get the smell of you out of my goddamn head? How I’ve been hard for a week thinking about the sounds you made?”
He pushed her forward, until her hips met the cold metal railing. With one hand, he gathered the hem of her summer dress, yanking it up around her waist. The night air kissed her skin. His other hand hooked into the lace of her panties and tore them down to her knees with a swift, brutal jerk. The fabric gave way with a sigh.
“Julian—” His name was half-protest, half-prayer.
“No. No more talking.”
He dropped to his knees behind her. His hands spread her, opening her to the cool air and his hotter gaze. She heard his sharp inhale. Then he was on her.
His tongue speared into her without ceremony, a deep, licking thrust that made her cry out. He lapped at her wetness, a low groan vibrating against her flesh. He ate her with a single-minded intensity that was nothing like pleasure-giving—it was pleasure-taking. He was devouring her. His tongue circled her clit, flicked it, then sucked it hard between his lips. Sparks shot up her spine.
“Oh, god… right there, don’t stop…” She gripped the railing, her knuckles white. Her head fell forward.
He switched focus without warning, his tongue dipping lower, probing the tight pucker of her ass. The obscene intimacy of it made her moan. He licked her there, wet and thorough, before plunging back into her cunt, fucking her with his tongue, mimicking the rhythm she craved. He alternated between her holes, a relentless, wet assault that stripped her of thought, of pride, of everything but feeling.
“You taste like you remember,” he growled against her, his stubble rough on her tender skin. “You taste fucking addicted.”
She was trembling, her legs shaking. Pleasure coiled, tight and unbearable. “I’m going to come… please…”
He zeroed in on her clit, sucking it, his tongue dancing over the swollen nerve. He slid two fingers into her cunt, curling them, finding the spot that made her scream. The double sensation tipped her over. Her orgasm tore through her, violent and convulsing, milking his fingers. She shouted his name into the vast night, the sound swallowed by the city’s hum.
Before the last tremor had faded, he was up. She heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of trousers pushed down. His hands were on her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. The blunt, slick head of his cock nudged against her.
“Look at it,” he commanded, his voice thick. “Look at the city. Watch the lights blur while I’m inside you.”
He entered her with one powerful, deep thrust. She was so wet, so open from her climax, he slid in to the hilt. The fullness was exquisite, a sharp stretch that bordered on pain. He paused, buried deep, both of them panting.
Then he moved. He set a punishing pace, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. Each thrust rocked her body against the unyielding railing. The metal was cold, his body was fire. He gripped her hip with one hand, the other snaking around to clamp over her mouth, muffling her ragged cries.
“Quiet,” he hissed, fucking her harder. “They can’t hear you. This is just for us. This is just this.”
He was hitting a depth that felt endless. The slap of skin, the wet sounds of their joining, the ragged pull of their breath—it was a frantic, filthy symphony. She came again, a second, surprise climax that clenched around him, and he lost his rhythm with a choked curse.
His control shattered. His thrusts became erratic, animalistic. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. “Fuck. Eva. Fuck.” The words were broken.
He pulsed inside her, his release hot and deep, his body shuddering against hers. He held her there, pinned between him and the railing, for a long minute, his weight heavy, his breath hot on her neck.
Slowly, he softened. He withdrew, the aftermath cool and slick on her thighs. He righted his clothes with swift, efficient motions. She stayed as she was, leaning over the railing, her dress still rucked up, her torn underwear around her knees. She felt ravaged. Used. And more alive than she had in years.
He didn’t leave. She heard him pour another whiskey. When she finally pushed herself upright, turning to face him, he was staring at her, his expression unreadable. He held out the second glass. She took it, her fingers trembling.
They drank in silence, looking at the city they’d just defied.
“I don’t do this,” he said finally, his voice rough.
“Do what?” she asked. “Fuck in public? Or acknowledge it afterwards?”
“Any of it.” He finished his drink. “The… entanglement.”
She smiled, a tired, real smile. “You’re not entangled. You’re just fucking your neighbor in creative locations.”
He looked at her then, really looked, his gaze traveling from her wild hair down to her bare legs. “Aren’t you?”
The question hung between them, heavier than the act they’d just performed.
She didn’t have an answer.
He set his glass down. “My apartment. Ten minutes. Bring your bottle of wine. The one you had delivered Tuesday.” He turned and walked toward the door, not waiting for a reply.
He’d been watching. He knew about the wine delivery. He’d been aware of every move she made.
Eva stood alone in the garden, the taste of whiskey and him on her tongue. The parking spot was hers. The stairwell was theirs. And now, his apartment. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a new front in a war neither of them knew how to stop fighting. She went to get the wine.