Everything drips incessantly. Rain presses down on the buildings and streets heavier than the expectations of those inside. The city is sluggish in the dark, the deluge ensuring only those with a need or nowhere else to go to venture out. Whoops and hollers flare and die as revellers dash from cab to club, searching for that thrill. Tyres hiss, then fade, their transience mirroring their passengers’ fleeting journeys.

This is my city. I know its streets. Its people. Their blurred faces rushing from one place to another, indistinct and ephemeral, waiting until the clock ticks down to freedom. After dark, all bets are off.

It’s always sex. Strip away any veneer of sophistication, class, or money and it’s always about sex. The ultimate temporary high, addictive as a drug. Don’t tell me money makes the world go round. Those with money buy sex.

Out here the streets, my streets, are quiet once more. I watch the door, waiting, heart beating in anticipation. The bar is perfect; busy with ‘after-work’ types and those waiting for a seat on their commute. I don’t want a dive. And never a club. I want suggestible, not desperate. And I want someone who has something to lose.

The door opens, chatter swelling, then cuts off as a man steps through. He squints at the rain as he shrugs his coat over the suit and I see the flash of the gold band as he lifts his briefcase as cover. Perfect. I step forward into the halogen glow and he hesitates, staring, and it’s all I need. I let my coat fall open and reach to the low neck of my simple t-shirt and pull down, baring soft breast and hard nipple. I hear his sharp intake over the hum of the rain, the response Pavlovian and predictable. I smile and retreat into the alley’s darkness, knowing he’ll follow.

I pick well. It’s a talent. Whether the urge to save me or fuck me is greater, I don’t know, but they always follow. They see a slight, nondescript, well-enough dressed woman. And then they see the forbidden. Not a whore. Not something they can classify. I intrigue them and so they follow.

I’m already against the alley wall when his step echoes at the mouth.

“H-hello?”

I wait.

“I just want to check you’re okay.”

I grin in the dark. Sure he does.

He steps closer, squinting in the gloom and I pull my t-shirt up, displaying bare breasts, upturned nipples dark and firm. I crook a finger at him. His jaw drops, incredulous, and he checks all around before fixating on me and stepping closer, the few drinks he’s knocked back after work nudging inhibitions aside.

He stops just in front of me, awkwardly clutching his briefcase and watches rain spatter on my breasts. Before he can say anything I slide down the wall until I’m squatting in front of him, my intention clear. My fingers are eager, deft despite the chill. They tease down his zipper and gently reach for his cock.

I feel wetness gather between my legs as I coax him to full hardness, drawing his length through the open fly. He’s hot and heavy in my hand. His shape and size is irrelevant. It’s all about that warm pulsing steel sheathed in smooth silk. It’s lust come alive. It’s validation and at this exact moment, it’s all fucking mine.

Shivers cascade down my body with every drop of rain that finds space between neck and collar as I guide this stranger’s cock towards my willing mouth. I look up and see the torment on his face and wonder fleetingly if it’s just overwhelming need, or if he’s thinking about his wife in this instant. I am. The thrill of sucking another woman’s husband in an alley like a cheap whore has my pussy dripping.

It should be enough, but it’s not.

What’s the thrill with no edge? With no danger? It’s why I reach into the pocket of my coat, find my phone and press ‘dial’.

My heart rate kicks up a notch as I sense, rather than hear, the pre-programmed number connect. I leave the line open and return both hands to his cock, tracing along his length as my tongue teases the underside.

A burst of silky pre-come greets me as I close my mouth over his tip then draw up off him and stroke firmly with cool, rain-slicked fingers. His head bows back and he groans, surroundings as forgotten as his vows.

I turn my attention back to his twitching cock, content to tease until the first faint sounds of the siren have my heart thumping and more arousal seeping into already damp panties.

It’s so faint at first, I wonder if I’ve imagined it. In a city like this, it’s part of the urban soundtrack until it intrudes, either saviour or thwarter. For me, it’s the edge I crave. I suck him deep as the wail strengthens, mapping the journey from precinct across town.

Dispatch: Emergency call. Line unresponsive. Sounds of distress, please attend.

Adrenaline floods as I draw him fully into my mouth, hands on his hips. A gust of wind has the siren blare suddenly closer and I feel him tense as it penetrates the lust. That’s my cue. Gripping his hips, I take him deep, lips plunging until I hear what I crave.

“Fuck, I’m coming!”

He swells then pulses into my mouth as tyres screech and blue lights strobe through the alley. Panicked now, he pulls free, frantically shoving his cock away as I lazily wipe a stray pearly drop and suck it from my finger.

Grinning, I stand and watch him dash down the alley, drawing shouts and flashlight beams. I toss the burner phone into a puddle and melt through the warehouse door I’d wedged open earlier, letting it spring closed behind me. Footsteps thunder past, then recede.

I smile in the darkness. Lick my lips.

This city is mine.