The Art of Seduction: trike patrol ann

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in trike patrol ann. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In trike patrol ann, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for trike patrol ann. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in trike patrol ann; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in trike patrol ann is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.