whose bitch Are you?

I got to the rooftop at the exact time he said.

The Alibi’s rooftop was half-lit, windy, and empty.They was no Jackson. Just the city lights below and the low hum of traffic. I stood there for a full minute, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Dickhead,” I cursed under my breath.

I turned to leave.

“Ama.”

His voice stopped me cold. I spun around. Jackson stepped out from the deeper shadow near the far wall. He’d been there the whole time, leaning against the concrete, watching me.

“So you wanted to leave?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, that same arrogant half-smile on his face.

“Shut up.”

I walked straight up to him and threw my bag on the floor. The second I was close enough he grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in. Our mouths crashed together—hard and messy with no hesitation. His tongue pushed past my lips and I opened for him immediately, kissing him back just as roughly. He tasted like mint and something darker. One of his hands fisted in my hair, tilting my head so he could kiss me deeper. The other slid down my back and gripped my ass, pulling my hips flush against him. I could feel how hard he already was through his jeans.

We didn’t talk after that.

He walked me backward until my spine hit the low wall that ran along the edge of the rooftop. The night air was cool but his body was burning hot. He broke the kiss only long enough to yank my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside. My bra followed. The second my tits were bare his mouth was on them—sucking one nipple hard while his fingers pinched the other. I gasped and arched into him. He switched sides, biting just hard enough to make me moan.

My hands went straight to his belt. I got it open, shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, and wrapped my fingers around his cock. Thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. I stroked him once, twice, and he groaned against my skin.

“Fuck, Ama…”

He spun me around so I was facing the city, chest pressed to the cool concrete wall. One of his hands shoved my skirt up over my hips. The other yanked my panties down to my thighs. I felt the night air on my wet pussy for half a second before the blunt head of his cock nudged between my lips. He didn’t tease. He pushed in slow but steady, stretching me open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

The stretch was perfect. Full. Almost too much. I moaned loud, forehead dropping against my arm.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. The impact forced another broken sound out of me. Then he did it again. And again. Hard, deep strokes that made my tits bounce and my thighs shake. One of his hands stayed locked on my hip, holding me in place. The other reached around and found my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

It felt filthy and perfect at the same time. The risk of someone looking up and seeing us. The way his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside me. The wet slap of skin every time he bottomed out. I was so soaked I could hear it. My walls clenched around him every time he pulled back, trying to keep him inside.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled against my neck, never slowing down. “Been like this since I caught you, haven’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was moan and push my ass back to meet every thrust. He fucked me harder, the rhythm turning brutal. His fingers on my clit never stopped. The pressure built fast—too fast. My legs started to give out. He wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me upright and kept driving into me.

When I came it ripped through me so hard my vision went white. My pussy locked down around his cock in hard, pulsing waves. I cried out, loud and shameless, forehead pressed to the concrete. He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through the orgasm, dragging it out until I was shaking and oversensitive.

Only then did he pull out, spin me back around, and lift me. My legs went around his waist automatically. He shoved back inside me in one smooth thrust and pinned me against the wall again. This angle was deeper. Every upward thrust hit something that made my toes curl. I dug my nails into his shoulders and held on while he used my body.

But I wasn’t just taking it. I was just as dominant as him. I shoved at his chest and swung my hand, trying to slap him across the face mid-thrust.

He caught my wrist easily, slammed it against the wall above my head, and pinned both of my arms there with one strong hand. His other arm locked around my waist, holding me in place as he fucked me even harder.

“Fuck you!!” I spat, almost crying from how deep and relentless he was.

He just grinned against my mouth and went faster, pounding up into me with brutal strokes that made my whole body jolt.

“Whose bitch are you? Huh?” he growled, voice rough and demanding.

I clenched my jaw and refused to answer, glaring at him even as my pussy fluttered around his cock.

He snarled and increased his pace, slamming into me so hard the concrete scraped my back. The wet, filthy sound of him fucking me filled the rooftop.

“Yours…” I finally broke, voice shaking. “I’m your bitch, Jackson—”

He kissed me again—open-mouthed, messy, swallowing every sound I made. I could feel him getting closer, his rhythm turning erratic. His hands gripped my ass hard enough to leave marks as he slammed up into me one last time and came with a low, guttural groan. Thick, hot pulses filled me. I clenched around him on purpose, milking every drop while he buried his face in my neck and rode it out.

We stayed locked together for a long moment, both breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me. The city lights blurred below us. My thighs were trembling. His come was already starting to leak out around where we were joined.