loretto baseball: A Tale That Will Leave Everyone Amazed

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