Iveta is back

Iveta is back. She came through the door with that same red hair catching the light and a body made for trouble. Alone in the room she stretches out on the bed and peels her clothes off piece by piece. Her hands slide over her skin like she owns every inch. Fingertips brush her nipples until they tighten. She spreads her legs and lets one hand drift lower, pressing and circling exactly where she needs it. Her hips lift in a slow, hungry rhythm as her fingers work deeper. Every breath gets shorter. Her other hand grips the sheet, knuckles pale. She doesn’t rush. She teases herself until her thighs start to tremble and a soft, broken sound slips from her throat. When the tension finally peaks, her back arches hard and her whole body shudders through it, leaving her flushed, panting, and smiling like she already knows she’ll be asked to come back again.