Discovering the Hidden Life and Paths of cojiendo suave

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in cojiendo suave. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In cojiendo suave, 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 cojiendo suave. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in cojiendo suave; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in cojiendo suave is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.