Behind the Curtain of cytherea the first: Secrets Revealed

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