The iron railing digs into her palms. Cold air bites her bare thighs where her skirt is bunched around her waist. You’re flush against her—no space, no shame—one hand on her hip, the other bracing the rail beside hers. A car passes. Headlights sweep over her face. She doesn’t flinch. She grins. Yeah, keep going, she breathes, pushing back into you. Let them see exactly who’s taking you apart. Her blazer slips off one shoulder. She doesn’t fix it. Instead she twists her head just enough to catch your eye—half-lidded, lips parted. You hear that? A door opens across the street. Footsteps. Someone’s watching from their balcony. Bet he’s already got his hand down his pants. She moans—loud, deliberate. Give them a show, baby. Don’t you dare slow down.