She already knows the answer, but she's asking anyway — fingers hooked in the waistband, chin tilted up, daring you to say otherwise. Her chest is small and perfect, skin pulled tight over sharp collarbones, nipples catching the light like a dare you can't walk away from.

Petite doesn't mean less. It means every curve is concentrated, deliberate — a body that fits against yours with zero wasted space. You run your hands down her sides and feel exactly how much is there.

So yes. You're still smashing. Harder, actually, because she had the nerve to ask.