Chapter 7: Balcony Risk

Evening settled warm and heavy over the city at 8:45 p.m., the small third-floor balcony catching the last amber light before full dark. Other buildings stood forty or fifty metres away, some windows already glowing with life—curtains half-drawn, silhouettes moving behind glass. The sliding door had stayed cracked open all day exactly as Mia promised. Wind whispered along the railing, carrying faint traffic hum and the occasional laugh from the street below.

She stepped outside first, the loose white sundress fluttering against her thighs. No bra, no panties. The thin cotton clung wherever the breeze pressed it, outlining the heavy sway of her breasts and the generous curve where hip met ass. She gripped the metal railing, arched her back just enough to lift the hem, and glanced over her shoulder with a nervous-excited smile that made Jake’s blood run hotter.

“Neighbours might hear,” she said, voice low. “Or see. You still want to?”

Jake followed a moment later, heart already slamming against his ribs. The rules erased hesitation. He moved behind her, pressing his bare chest to her back, hard cock nestling against the dress-covered swell of her ass. His hands slid under the fabric—one rising to rest across the front of her throat with firm, controlling pressure, thumb along her pulse; the other diving between her legs.

She was already slick. Two fingers parted her folds and sank deep, curling slowly while his thumb circled her clit in lazy strokes. The wind lifted the sundress again and again, exposing flashes of skin to anyone who might glance up. He edged her once—building until her thighs quivered and her breath hitched—then stopped completely, fingers still buried, letting the denial stretch while distant car horns and voices drifted up from the street.