The Secret Side of ivana slavkovic

The elevator climbs fifty floors in ivana slavkovic, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “ivana slavkovic” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch ivana slavkovic,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “ivana slavkovic… ivana slavkovic… higher ivana slavkovic.” At the penthouse she screams the word one final time, squirting in a violent arc that splattering the glass, leaving a glistening trail of pure “ivana slavkovic” all the way down.