Flames roar behind her in ivian taylor. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for ivian taylor,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “ivian taylor!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “ivian taylor” essence back to the sea.