He coaxes the storm from her body,
Fingers tracing thunder along her thighs,
Tongue drawing lightning through every shiver
Until the sky inside her breaks.
She begs for release,
But he only smiles,
Pressing deeper, harder,
Dragging the clouds heavy with ache
To the edge of breaking.
And then—
The downpour.
Rain gushes, relentless,
Sheets of heat spilling from her,
Every drop a confession,
Every flood a surrender.
He drinks the storm like worship,
Lets her soak him in ruin,
Until she is nothing but rainfall—
Drenched, trembling,
A body split open
By the weather of his hands.
Copyright © Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved.
