A top that existed in theory but not in practice. Her cleavage was on full, unapologetic display, a gold necklace resting against her chest like it had found the only place in the world worth existing, the pendant sitting right between the swell of her breasts like a compass pointing toward sin.
Those tits—already big before—had grown even fuller, rounder, sitting high and proud, the deep valley between them catching shadows that made them look almost sculpted.
The fabric of her top stretched taut across the peaks, nipples faintly outlined, begging for attention.
I didn't pause. Didn't explain. Didn't introduce Genevieve.
Didn't address the fact that Maya was still trapped in a hug she hadn't consented to.
And Gen was frozen at the sight of such an impossibly beautiful woman.
I just walked to Isabella and kissed her.
No hesitation. No preamble.
