Sugar sweet

He hears the Russian girl's name and something in it hooks him. Ivana Sugar. He watches her move. Every gesture carries the quiet promise that she will taste just the way that name sounds: clean, sweet, impossible to forget. She leans in closer. Her skin is velvet over muscle, warm where his fingers brush her arm. When she climbs into his lap, there is no hesitation, only the sure slide of thighs over hips. The first kiss tastes of sugared mint. Her mouth opens. Tongue meets tongue, slow, deliberate. She tastes him back, a little deeper, a little wetter, until they are breathing the same air. Clothes come away in easy motions. She stands, bare, thighs parted just enough for him to see how full and smooth everything is between them. He reaches. One finger slips between her folds and finds her already slick, her clit swelling under a gentle circle. Her breath catches. He strokes again, firmer. Her hips roll forward, chasing friction. Wet sound fills the space between them. She goes to her knees, lips parted. He watches her mouth stretch around him, cheeks hollowing as she takes him to the back of her throat in one slow, perfect glide. The head nudges past her soft palate, her tongue pressed flat beneath his shaft. Saliva spills down over his balls in thick strings. She hums once, low, and the vibration travels through every inch of him. He pulls her up and spreads her over the sheets. Pushes her knees back. She opens like a split fruit, pink inner lips glistening. He licks her once, long and flat, then again, curling the tip to flick across her clit. She grinds against his face. The taste coats his tongue—sweet, faintly metallic, exactly like the name on her passport. He lines up and sinks in. The heat of her wraps him, tight and pulsing. Every thrust makes a slick, wet sound. She grabs the headboard. He drives harder. Her cunt squeezes, rhythmic, until she comes with a cry that breaks in the middle. He follows her over the edge, buried to the hilt, his cock throbbing as he empties into the clenching heat. Sweat cools on skin. Their breathing slows. She turns her head, a small grin on swollen lips, as if to say the sugar came with a sting.