The Feminine Mystique of "bad dog names"

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