Rock on

You can't pull your eyes away from that cleavage, the kind that makes your hands forget what they were doing.

You notice the attitude first — something defiant in the posture, the tilt of the jaw, the way the body owns every inch of the frame. You feel it like a chord struck low and loud, vibrating somewhere behind your ribs.

You want to get closer, to trace what the fabric barely contains, to press your mouth against warm skin and feel the pulse underneath. You already know this image is going to stay with you.