Sweeter than sugar

Ivana Sugar stands in the center of the frame. Blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders, catching light with every slow turn of her head. Her hands move at once, greedy, already tugging at the hem of her shirt. Fabric slides up, baring the soft skin beneath. She doesn’t wait for applause or permission. The shirt hits the floor and she steps out of her skirt, letting it fall where it lands. Nothing left to cover her now. Fingers trail down her stomach, then slip between her thighs, and she sinks two fingers inside without ceremony. Her mouth parts. Breath catches. She works herself open, hips rolling in small, hungry circles. Every wet sound her body makes seems louder than it should. She drops to the bed, legs spread, and keeps going. Faster. The sheets twist beneath her. Her free hand cups a breast, thumb brushing the stiff nipple until her eyes flutter shut. Pleasure builds, sharp and insistent. She arches, thighs quivering, chasing that last hard wave until it breaks and leaves her shaking. The camera lingers on the flush across her chest, the faint sheen on her fingers, the lazy smile that tugs at her lips when it’s over.