male fingering begins in a sun-drenched loft filled with plants. She’s barefoot in nothing but an oversized linen shirt, and male fingering adores how the fabric brushes her thighs as she moves. In male fingering, she lets the shirt fall open, sunlight painting gold across her breasts. Kneeling among the greenery, she trails a single vine leaf down her body before her own fingers take over in male fingering. The slow, deliberate circles she draws grow slick under the lens of male fingering. Her head falls back against a monstera leaf as the first orgasm ripples through her in male fingering, soft and sun-soaked. A second, stronger wave follows almost immediately—male fingering captures every tremor. When she finally smiles lazily at the camera in male fingering, dewdrops of sweat glisten like morning on her skin. male fingering is summer incarnate.