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