The rain hammered against the penthouse windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and red. Elena stood by the glass in nothing but a silk robe the color of midnight, watching the storm like it belonged to her. Behind her, the door clicked shut.

“You’re late,” she said without turning.

Julian’s footsteps were slow, deliberate. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she felt the heat rolling off him. “Traffic was murder. Thought about you the whole way.”

She finally faced him. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to the ridges of muscle beneath, tie loosened, hair dripping. He looked like sin that had walked through a downpour to get to her.

Elena let the robe slip from one shoulder. “Then don’t waste any more time.”

He closed the distance in a heartbeat. One hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back; the other yanked the silk tie at her waist. The robe fell open. No bra. No panties. Just skin and want.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her throat. “You planned this.”

“Shut up and earn it.”

His mouth crashed into hers, rough, hungry, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him groan. His hands were everywhere, palming her breasts, thumbs flicking over nipples already peaked and aching. When he pinched, she arched into him with a sharp gasp.

Julian dropped to his knees without warning. He pushed her back against the cold glass, the shock of it making her hiss. Then his mouth was on her, hot and filthy, tongue dragging up her slit in one long, possessive stroke.

Elena’s fingers tangled in his wet hair. “More.”

He gave it to her. Two fingers sliding deep, curling just right, while his tongue circled her clit in relentless circles. She was dripping down his hand in seconds, thighs trembling. The storm outside roared; inside, she was louder.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she panted. “I will ruin you if you stop.”

He laughed against her, the vibration shooting straight through her core. Added a third finger. Sucked her clit hard.

She came with a broken cry, hips grinding against his face, riding the wave until her legs nearly gave out.

Julian stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and feral. He spun her around, pressed her chest to the glass. The city sprawled beneath them, thirty floors down, oblivious.

His belt clinked open. Fabric rustled. Then the thick head of his cock nudged her entrance, teasing.

“Tell me,” he growled against her ear.

“Fuck me like you own me.”

He thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

Elena moaned, loud and shameless, palms flat against the glass. He didn’t ease into it, just took, hips snapping hard, one hand gripping her throat, the other digging into her hip. Every thrust pushed her breasts against the cold window, nipples dragging, and pleasure bordering on pain.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “That’s mine. This cunt. These sounds. All of it.”

She pushed back to meet him, taking him deeper. “Then make me scream loud enough for the whole fucking city to hear.”

He did.

Minutes blurred. Positions shifted, couch, floor, against the wall. Her nails raked down his back. His teeth marked her shoulder. When he finally bent her over the kitchen island and fucked her from behind, one hand fisted in her hair, the other rubbing tight circles over her clit, she came again so hard her vision whited out.

Julian followed seconds later, buried deep, groaning her name like a prayer and a curse.

They stayed like that, panting, slick with sweat and rain and each other. Slowly, he pulled out, turned her around, and kissed her slow and dirty, tasting both of them on his tongue.

Elena smiled against his mouth. “Next time, don’t be late.”

He laughed, low and wrecked. “Next time, I’m not waiting for the elevator.”