Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in rule 34 luce vatican. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In rule 34 luce vatican, 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 rule 34 luce vatican. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in rule 34 luce vatican; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in rule 34 luce vatican is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.