Zhao Liling stood at the front, trying desperately to hold together her torn robes. The expensive silk hung in tatters from her shoulders, barely covering her breasts—and failing even at that.
Her nipples were clearly visible through the thin under-layer, dark pink circles pressing against white fabric.
She was slender but with subtle curves—B-cup breasts that jiggled slightly with her nervous breathing, narrow waist, hips that flared just enough to promise fertility.
Her ass was perky rather than thick, round and firm, and the torn skirt showed flashes of pale thigh and the curve of one ass cheek when she shifted.
Pretty face. Delicate. Noble breeding evident in her bone structure.
Virgin, his enhanced senses confirmed. He could smell it—the specific pheromone signature of an untouched woman.
Twenty-three years old. Ripe.
