by Angelina

In advertising there’s an unwritten understanding that everything looks better wet. Wet equals sex.

As I watch her emerge from Gabrielle’s pool, water dripping from darkened tendrils of crimson hair, clothes clinging, I wholeheartedly subscribe to this view.

Droplets run down her face, making her skin glisten like she’s not of this world. She’s a Goddess born of water. I want to get down on my knees and worship her. I want to lick every drop of water from her body. I want to drown in her kisses.

But not now. For now I’ll watch. Later, we’ll get wet together.

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