The rain didn't ask permission. It simply fell—cool and slow at first, beading along her collarbone, sliding down the curve of her breasts, soaking into the thin silk until it clung to her like a second, sinful skin.
Scarlett stood still, letting the storm dress her in temptation. The fabric became transparent under the downpour, outlining every forbidden contour—nipples peaked against the chilled air, the swell of her breasts swaying gently as she moved, and lower still, where the silk no longer protected but revealed the bare curve of her hips.
She hadn't worn anything beneath the dress.She hadn't needed to.
The fabric, now transparent, betrayed everything it once pretended to hide. Her nipples, already taut from the cold, pressed through like punctuation marks in a forbidden story. The curve of her breasts, proud and perfect, moved with each slow breath she took.
