She already knows the answer — you can see it in the way she holds your gaze, shoulders back, utterly unbothered by doubt. Her chest is small and perfect, skin smooth as poured cream, nipples drawn tight in the cool air.

You find yourself leaning closer to the screen. Tiny means nothing here. What registers is proportion, softness, the quiet confidence radiating off her like heat. Every curve lands exactly where it should.

Your eyes trace her collarbones down slowly, taking their time. She asked a question she never needed to ask — and your answer is written all over your face.