Make me wet like no other, please let me be wet.

The rain had been teasing the horizon all day—dark clouds gathering like secrets waiting to spill. She stood by the open balcony, the city lights casting soft glows on her bare shoulders, silk clinging to her like a whisper. “Make me wet like no other,” she murmured, eyes closed, face tilted toward the breeze. She wasn't speaking of the rain — not entirely. He stepped behind her, his breath warm against her neck. "You're already asking so sweetly," he said, fingers brushing the edge of her spine, like a match striking slow. The storm broke, sudden and heavy, droplets drumming the balcony rail. She stepped forward, arms raised, letting the cool rain soak through every layer. Her hair fell in waves, her dress translucent, her skin alive under the touch of sky and hands. “Please,” she whispered again, smiling now. “Let me be wet.” And he did — with every kiss, every look, every breath that lingered longer than it should. The rain wasn't the only thing pouring.