It doesn't take much more coaxing before she lies back on the lounge chair between my legs, her head at the end near my feet. She shifts around, inching closer. Her hands cup her pussy, just covering it for a moment, before she slowly starts touching herself. It's stiff at first, her movements rigid as anxiety eats at her, but the more she rubs, the more her body loosens up. She traces circles around her clit, my eyes drawn to her red nail polish against the glistening pink as she spreads her legs wider, giving me a better view.

My cock is so hard it hurts, straining my pants as it throbs. I'm desperate to pull it out, to stroke it fast for some much-needed relief, but I'm frozen, awestruck, watching her. I caress her skin, my hands gently running from her knees up her thighs and back again.

She writhes, rubbing faster, harder, as she starts to whimper. She's getting close already. The sound, I'm convinced, is going to fucking kill me.

Death by orgasm... and it's not even my own.

I was wrong. I thought she was most beautiful doing nothing, but no other moment touches this one. She trusts me, I realize. Trusts me enough to let go, to show me the her no one else ever sees, the her she is when she's all alone.

The her that only Karissa really knows.

Her whimpers turn to cries. Her back arches. I feel the muscles in her legs clench, her knees locking and toes curling as orgasm tears through her.

"Oh God," she moans. "Uhhh, Naz!"

Eyes closed, giving this to herself, and she cries out for me. Me. I nearly come in my fucking pants. A groan vibrates my chest as my hands settle on her inner thighs, gripping hold as she trembles from pleasure. It only lasts a few seconds until she stops rubbing, until she collapses back onto the lounge chair.

She doesn't look at me. She just lays there, her breathing strained as she cups her pussy again. I loosen my grip on her thighs, my hands coming to rest on her knees. My thumbs lightly stroke her kneecaps and it only takes a few seconds before she giggles.

She's ticklish.

Her eyes peek open and meet mine. I can tell she's still nervous, but she's smiling like she's relieved.

"I'm glad that's over," she says.

"Oh, but you're wrong," I reply. "That was only beginning."

I slip off the lounge chair and grab her hand, tugging her to her feet. Her legs are wobbly as I pull her across the balcony.

"Wait, where are we going? What are we doing? Wait!"

I don't respond. Answering is senseless. She knows exactly what I'm doing as I tug her over to the wall surrounding the balcony. It's only a few feet tall, stopping in the middle of her torso as I pull her in front of me, her back to my chest, and press her up against it.

Her hands immediately come to rest on her breasts. We're too far up for anyone on the ground to get a good look at her. She'd be nothing but a vague shadow in the impending darkness at that distance. But tall buildings surround us, wide-open windows facing us.

Plenty of opportunity for the overly curious to appreciate the gorgeous view she's giving the city of Rome.

"Naz," she hisses as I unbuckle my belt, doing just enough to grasp my cock and pull it out. "What do you think you're doing?"

Stroking a few times, I press up against her, having to bend my knees. I push her legs further apart with my own, rubbing the head of my cock along her entrance. She repeatedly says my name, trying to get me to answer her, resisting with words but her body buckles to my every whim. She seems to instinctively arch her back, sticking her ass further out, as she rises up on her tiptoes for me.

"Naz, dammit," she says. "You're crazy."

"You already said that," I groan as I slowly push inside of her. "Now you're just repeating yourself."

She's always been tight, but it's even more constricting at this angle. Her body hugs mine as I slide right in home. She says my name again—Naz—but this time it's not a sign of protest. It's a sigh of surrender, a moan of pleasure, as she sags against the cold concrete and welcomes me inside of her.

One arm snakes around her waist, holding her there, pulling her back into me, as my other hand slips up her chest, between her breasts, coming to rest at the base of her throat as I force her upright so she can't try to hide anymore. She grasps my forearms tightly but doesn't fight me, holding on like I'm stabilizing her.

I move slowly. I have to. The angle is shit, our heights mismatched, the universe working against us, but it's enough to do the trick. It's not about fucking—it's about feeling. About giving her what I know will get her off. And I can tell, the way she lets her weight rest against me, succumbing to my hold, that I got her right where I want her.

She's practically waving a white flag.

She's mine.

"Baby," I whisper into her hair. "Baby, baby, baby…"

She shivers. I can feel her body tremble in my arms, like her insides are melting from the word as she thaws for me. My hand around her waist shifts down, just low enough for me stroke her clit to the rhythm of my thrusts. She squirms, her breathing labored, as she relaxes even more, growing comfortable. Goose bumps coat her skin. I can see them crawling up her arms, making their way to her neck as I lean down and trail kisses along her shoulder. Her hold on me tightens, nails lightly digging into the skin, body nearly dropping as the orgasm sweeps through her. I keep her upright, bearing her weight, as I ride her through it, loving the sounds of her cries as she tries to swallow back my name.