Exploring the Secret Erotic World of e n t a i

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