My curves speak a soft, slow, made to be discovered without hurry. I walk rhythm, letting my body tell stories without the need for words. My lips invite, my eyes promise. Dark hair falls free on my back, getting tangled up with looks that do not dare to depart. I don't cause, I'm simply. A mixture of calm and fire, of tenderness wrapped in desire. When I approach, I don't play: whisper. And when I move away, I leave the echo of what could be.
