Feminine Elegance of "the line ranger"

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