Zoe Moore is all winter mischief in an oatmeal knit jumper, a cream pom-pom beanie shaped like a cuddly bear and a pair of chunky ribbed leg warmers slouched over slim ankles. Her raven-black hair tumbles down her back in glossy waves, smoky eyes peeking up from behind long lashes as she pouts into a cluttered dresser of perfume bottles and make-up. Perched on the edge of a soft white bed, Zoe tucks her petite, lithe frame into a playful ball, tugging the woolly socks over her toes and giggling through a slow shimmy of the oversized knit up over bare, creamy thighs.

Rising to a stand beside the bed, Zoe turns to show a slender back, pert bottom and the sweet curve of one peachy breast glimpsed in profile, skin glowing warm against the chilly winter light filtering through wooden blinds. She keeps nothing on but the bear beanie and those cosy knee-high socks, a wicked little smirk dancing on her lips as she tilts a hip and pops her bottom out. It is bedroom warmth and bedhead charm in equal measure, Zoe playing at snowbound cabin fever with a twinkle that could thaw any frost.