Irresistible Iveta

Iveta knows how good she looks. She moves slow, almost lazy, and that’s the point. The black lace barely covers what it should, straps crossing pale skin that’s already warming under her own hands. Fingers trace the edge of the bra, dip inside, pull the cup lower until a nipple peeks out, stiff from the air and her own touch. She watches what she’s doing like she’s learning something new about herself.