Indian summer

The sun hasn't quit, and neither has Adriana Malkova. Out by the garden shower she peels away her summer clothes, blonde hair stuck to her shoulders, skin already slick. Water hits her hard, but the heat inside her just keeps building. She leans back against cool tile, legs parted, one hand sliding down to find the ache that won't leave her alone. Her fingers work slow at first, then faster, chasing the throb between her thighs. Every breath comes heavier. Her hips roll into her own touch, mouth open, eyes half-closed, chasing something water alone can't wash away.