It was my first Pride.
My sister Becca didn’t give me a choice. She barged into my room at 10 a.m. holding a mesh crop top and two face paint sticks, grinning like a madwoman. “If you’re finally out,” she said, “you’re doing this properly.”
So she took me to the parade. Made me wear the stupid mesh, covered my cheeks in sparkles, and introduced me to her friends from work; all queer, loud, dressed for the parade, dancing like the world was theirs. At first I just walked. But the music was everywhere. The sun was hot. Some guy smiled at me like he knew I was new here. I smiled back. And then I danced. Not well, but I danced.
By the time we made it down the avenue, I was soaked in sweat, high on noise, and half in love with everyone. For the first time, I didn’t feel scared to be seen.
When we got back to the loft, Becca tossed me a bottle of water, kissed my forehead, and said, “You looked like a slut out there.” I just laughed. “Maybe I am.”
She was still in the shower when Dylan walked in. I didn’t even hear the door. I was standing in the kitchen in my mesh top, glitter on my collarbones, skin flushed from the heat, sipping water and scrolling through photos when I felt him behind me.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the counter. Watching. Then his voice, low and quiet: “So that’s what you wore?”
I glanced back, startled. “What?”
He gestured with his chin. “To Pride. You wore that?”
I blinked. “Yeah. It’s Pride. That’s kind of the point.”
His eyes dragged over me. The mesh shirt, the short shorts, the smudged glitter on my cheek. He looked like he was going to say something else, then shook his head once and pushed off the counter. He walked straight up to me, grabbed my jaw, and tilted my face to his. “And did you enjoy being stared at like a whore all day?”
I licked my lips. Smiled. “Maybe I did.”
His grip on my jaw tightened. My stomach flipped.
“Are you gonna keep talking,” I said, “or fuck this whore like you mean it?”
His eyes went black.
He didn’t answer. Just spun me around and pushed me hard against the fridge, one hand on my waist. I gasped. His other hand was already under my mesh shirt, sliding up my chest. Rough. Claiming.
“You looked like you wanted attention,” he murmured against my neck. “Every guy on that street staring at you. Imagining bending you over.”
I groaned as his hand slid lower. “Is that what you were imagining too?”
“I don’t imagine,” he said. “I take.”
He kissed me then, messy, deep, too much tongue, too much teeth. I clawed at his shirt. I didn’t care that I was still covered in sweat and glitter. I didn’t care that Becca was still in the shower. I just needed him.
But he broke the kiss and stepped back, breathing hard.
“Rooftop,” he said.
I blinked, dazed. “What?”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the stairs. “If you want to be seen so badly, then let them see.”
I laughed, breathless. “Bruh. Who the fuck is even going to be looking at the rooftop?”
He didn’t slow down. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll know. You’ll know they could.”
We burst onto the rooftop. The sun was lower now, casting everything in gold. The streets below were still buzzing... rainbow flags waving, music thumping faintly through the city. The air up here was thick and warm. And we were alone.
He pushed me up against the metal railing and kissed me again, harder this time. Hands everywhere. My shirt was off in seconds. His mouth was on my chest, biting down. I moaned, arching into him.
“Tell me,” he said between kisses, “how many people looked at you.”
“I don’t know...”
“How many wanted to fuck you?”
“Probably all of them,” I breathed.
His hand slipped into my shorts. “And did you want them to?”
I bit my lip. “I wanted someone.”
“Yeah?” He pulled my shorts down and dropped to his knees. “Who?”
“You,” I whispered.
He shoved my thighs apart and licked up the inside of one, slow and dirty. My knees buckled. “You walked around all day with this ass bouncing in those tiny shorts. What were you thinking about, huh?”
I whined. “I don’t know...”
“Were you thinking about me fucking you? Is that why you smiled at every guy who looked?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. His mouth was already on me, tongue circling my hole, hands spreading me open.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, grabbing the railing. “Dylan...”
He spit on me. Rimmed me deep. Fingers working me open. My thighs were shaking. My breath came in short, high moans. The city lights were starting to flicker on below us, and I was bent over the edge of the building like a slut in a Pride porno.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re dripping. From marching in a parade? Or from me?”
I looked back at him, eyes glazed. “You.”
He stood, unzipping his jeans, eyes locked on mine.
“Say it.”
“What?”
He gripped my hair, leaned in close. “Say who this ass belongs to.”
I gasped as he lined up behind me. “Yours. It’s yours.”
He slammed his cock into me in one brutal thrust.
I cried out, gripping the railing like my life depended on it. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He just started fucking me. Hard. Deep. Like he’d been waiting all day. Like every step I’d taken in that parade was for this. His hands bruised my hips. His voice was right in my ear. “You wanted this. Needed this. My needy little whore.”
I moaned shamelessly. “Yes. Yes. Fuck.. Dylan”
He reached around and grabbed my throat. “You looked so goddamn hot today. You think I was gonna let some stranger take what’s mine?”
I gasped. “Then take it.”
He growled, bit my shoulder, fucked me even harder.
We were both sweating, panting, bodies slamming together under the open sky. I was so far gone I didn’t care if the whole city looked up and saw me getting destroyed like this. Maybe I wanted them to.
“Say it again,” he grunted.
“It’s yours. I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
I screamed it. “I’M YOURS.”
His rhythm faltered. He was close.
“Fuck....where?”
“Inside,” I begged. “Please.”
He groaned deep in his chest and slammed into me one last time before spilling inside me with a shudder. We collapsed onto the rooftop, both of us still catching our breath. My thighs were trembling. My face was buried in his neck. My skin was sticky with sweat and glitter and cum.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I laughed, breathless.
“What?” he asked.
“I can’t believe you actually fucked me on the roof.”
He smirked. “You started it. Wearing that shit. Walking around like you didn’t belong to anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Possessive much?”
“Pride made me do it.”
I snorted. “That’s not how Pride works.”
He kissed me, slower this time. Softer.
“You looked happy today,” he said. “Free.”
“I was.”
He tucked some hair behind my ear. “They can look. Just means they know what I get to keep.”
I smiled. “Getting sentimental on me?”
He bit my jaw, still breathless. “Shut up.”
We laid there on the rooftop as the city pulsed below, my ass sore, my heart full, and my body still tingling from the way he took me like I was the only one that mattered.
Marching at Pride was great.
But getting fucked by him after?
Better.
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