The Secret Passion of "game time events"

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