Monday arrives like a dull bruise, but she has a cure for it. She peels back her shirt slowly, letting the weight of her full breasts settle heavy and warm into her own waiting palms.

Her fingers press inward, flesh spilling between them in soft, yielding waves. She watches you watch her, chin tilted down, eyes carrying that particular knowing look.

This is her remedy — unhurried, unapologetic. The gentle squeeze draws a quiet breath from her lips. Whatever the week intends to take from you, she's already decided this moment belongs to you both.