Rapide

She's in her mid-forties, but time has been remarkably in her favor. Her body is the of hte one that speaks of disciplined maintenance—not gym-honed, but naturally elegant. She wears a fitted cream-colored blouse, the top two buttons undone, revealing the swell of generous breasts that defy her age. A gold pendant rests just above her cleavage, catching the light with each breath. Her waist nips in sharply before flaring to hips that are womanly and full, hugged by a charcoal pencil skirt that falls just past her knees. The fabric stretches taut across her thighs when she shifts her weight. Stockings whisper beneath the fabric. Heels—modest, but enough to accentuate the curve of her calves. Her face is refined, with high cheekbones and lips that seem perpetually on the verge of a secret. Silver streaks thread through her dark hair, pulled back in a low bun. A few strands have escaped to frame her face. She catches me looking and one eyebrow arches slightly, amused.