Jamie Jenkins pads into the bright white kitchen like the main course in a private tasting menu, long chestnut waves tumbling over her shoulders, smoky eyes fixed down the lens. A little black mini dress with a silver sequinned panel sinks into the valley of her luscious, full cleavage and skims tight around her hourglass waist, finishing high on her thighs where rich plum purple hold-ups take over. Sky-high black platform heels elongate her statuesque frame as she leans against the counter, one hand on hip, lips parted in a knowing half smile.

The sequinned straps slip down her arms and the dress falls open across her bosomy chest, a black balconette bra cupping the generous weight of her breasts as she tugs the hem lower and lets a tiny black thong show against her toned, bronzed stomach. The dress drops entirely and Jamie works the counter edge in just the bra, thong and those deep plum hold-ups, thighs silky and taut, hips swaying as she pops onto a stool with one leg crossed over the other. There is a warm kitchen light pooling across her curves, a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth, every glance a reminder of exactly who the appetiser really is.