Valentina

The door creaks open, and the scent hits first—warm vanilla and something thicker, muskier, the kind of smell that clings to skin after a long, slow fuck. The lights are dim, just the glow of the moonlight spilling through the half-drawn curtains, painting silver stripes across the rumpled sheets of your bed. And there she is. Valentina is sprawled across your mattress like a sacrifice to some hungry god, her J-cup breasts heavy and swaying slightly as she leans forward, one hand squeezing a swollen tit while the other fumbles with a baby bottle. The nipple is already dripping, a thick bead of cream-white milk rolling down the glass, her fingers slick with it. She doesn't even look up at first—too busy, too focused—her tongue peeking out between her lips as she aims, misses, curses under her breath in Italian. "Fucking—*merda*—" The bottle tips, and a hot splash of milk lands on her thigh. She hisses, but then her head snaps up, eyes locking onto you in the doorway. For a second, there's silence. Then—"Oh." A slow, wicked smile curls her lips. "There you are, *bambino*." Her voice is thick, husky, like she's been moaning into a pillow. She doesn't bother covering herself. Why would she? Her body is a weapon, and she's already won. The bottle dangles from her fingers, half-full, the nipple glistening. "I was just…" She trails off, deliberately letting her gaze drop to your crotch, then back up. "Preparing your *nightcap*." Her free hand slides up her stomach, over the stretch marks faintly silvering her skin—old souvenirs from a life before—before cupping her breast again, thumb circling her nipple. Another droplet wells up, fat and slow. "Come here." Not a request. A command. Her legs part just a little, the slick sound of her thighs sticking together filling the room. "You look *thirsty*." The mattress dips under her weight as she shifts, the bottle clinking against the nightstand. Her other hand pats the space beside her, fingers leaving wet prints on the sheets. "Or…" Her eyelashes flutter, but her gaze is sharp, predatory. "Are you going to make me *beg*?"