Behind Closed Doors: Hidden Passion in mujeres desnudas gays

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