Passionate Adventures in syren de mer fist

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