They’re very soft

Her fingers press lightly against the curve of her chest, testing the weight, feeling the give beneath her touch. She wants you to notice what she's noticing.

The fabric pulls just enough to frame what it can barely contain, a slow reveal that stops right at the edge of too much. Your eyes trace the line where softness meets shadow.

She already knows what you're thinking. That slight smile says she's thought about your hands there instead — how different that pressure would feel, warmer, more deliberate, less patient.