Hayley Marie Coppin kneels at the centre of a deep red bedspread like a girl sharing a very sweet secret, golden hair falling around the soft slope of her shoulders. A cropped white tee rides up to show a slip of pale waist, a pair of tiny frayed denim shorts sits unbuttoned at her hips, and a pair of frilly lace ankle socks dangles from one fingertip as she slants a smile at the camera. Her curvaceous, peachy figure is all lit in hushed bedroom lamplight, creamy skin glowing against the dark tufted headboard behind her.

Stretched on her front across the crimson sheets, Hayley kicks her legs lazily in the air, the frilled lace socks cuffing her slender ankles while tiny pink and white knickers ride up over the soft roundness of her bottom. She rises to her knees with her back to the lens, slips the denim and the tee away, and turns a coy glance over her shoulder, her bare back sculpted in warm light and a delicate pink ribbon bow tied at her hip. Then she rolls flat again and folds her legs up the headboard, ankle socks framing her soles, one arm cradling her head on the pillow, the whole mood as soft and indulgent as an afternoon dream you did not mean to have.