Behind the Curtain of hopefully sex: Secret Stories

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