Priya rinsed herself at the hand-pump as the first true gold of sunrise spilled over the dunes.

The water was cool against her heated skin. She cupped it over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs, washing away the worst of the sweat and the thick evidence of what he had just done to her in the open courtyard. Even after rinsing, she could still feel him—the faint, persistent ache deep inside, the soft tenderness of her lips, the way her cunt remained slightly open and slick. When she clenched, a small trickle of his come escaped and ran down her inner thigh before the water carried it away.