Harriette Taylor tucks herself into a tangle of monochrome striped pillows in Leave Us, an oversized grey knit sweater slipping off one shoulder as she curls her long, tanned legs beneath her on crisp white sheets. Grey knee socks climb her calves, a gold watch glints at her wrist, and her dark, tumbling waves frame a face painted with flawless smoky eyes and a smile that dares you to stay. The iron-frame bed and white brick wall keep the setting simple, almost ordinary, but there is nothing ordinary about the way Harriette fills the frame, her olive skin warm against the cool palette, her dark eyes alive with mischief.

She stretches back against the pillows, the sweater riding higher across her toned stomach, then higher still. By the time the knit lands on the floor, Harriette is sitting cross-legged among the striped bedding with nothing but those soft grey socks and a sultry, unhurried gaze. Her firm, shapely breasts sit high on her chest, her caramel skin glows under the flash, and the bedroom feels suddenly smaller, as though the walls have drawn in to keep this moment private. Leave Us is exactly what it sounds like: a request for the rest of the world to disappear, leaving just Harriette, the tangled sheets, and you.