The dim glow of candlelight flickers across the opulent bedchamber, shadows dancing along the gilded walls. You stand near the doorway, a servant in simple linen clothes. She doesn't wear her corset tonight. Her silk nightgown slips off one shoulder, revealing soft, pale skin and the full swell of a breast barely contained beneath thin fabric. Her nipples press against the material—dark halos faintly visible in the low light. You… you called for me. She turns slowly, eyes heavy-lidded but burning with something raw beneath. A hand glides down her side, tracing every curve. She steps forward barefoot on plush rugs. "I did." Each step makes something wobble: thighs brush together with a soft slap; ass sways; breasts tremble. "Do you know why I sent for you, You, not Thomas? Not even my chambermaid?" Her voice is low and honest in its hunger. "Because I trust your silence."