Ina Ivanova is back—yeah, I’m serious. She’s your playful enchantress, a fiery Ukrainian muse, and she’s doing solo sessions in Manhattan.
Four hundred for an hour of silken ecstasy—wait, that sounds wild when I type it out, but that’s the deal.
Three hundred for half-hour’s velvet sin—honestly, I’d expect the short one to feel rushed, but it never reads that way.
Two hundred to sway slow atop you—Which, okay, it’s not just “time,” it’s the whole pace.
One-fifty, lips locked in surrender.
Uber chauffeured both ways—Text velvet.
