Harriette Taylor sinks into a plush grey sofa in Seven Fifty wearing an oversized black jersey emblazoned with "750" in bold white, the sporty sleeves striped like a quarterback's and the hem barely long enough to cover the tops of her black over-the-knee socks. Her dark hair is ironed straight and gleaming, smoky eyes smoulder above a knowing half-smile, and her tanned legs stretch across the cushions as though the living room were her personal locker room. The stone feature wall and neutral tones of the room fade behind her, because Harriette in game-day mode is the only thing competing for attention.

The jersey comes off with a flourish, revealing a pretty white-and-black lace bra edged in pink and matching knickers that sit low enough to show the script tattoo beneath her ribs and the glint of a belly piercing. She kneels on the sofa and peels the bra away, her firm, high breasts catching the overhead light, her caramel skin warm against the cool grey fabric. The black socks stay, the knickers slide, and Harriette's grin only grows wider as the set reaches its finale. Seven Fifty plays the long game, from streetwear swagger to bare, sun-kissed skin, and Harriette scores every point with a wink.