Brooke The Maid
A face hung over him like an angelic mask: smooth skin, deep green eyes; azure hair draped across his chest; lips slightly parted; white teeth; sharp chin; long fingers; full breasts.
"Aliza…" Ryan muttered.
"I see you're awake," a voice said to his right.
Ryan whipped his head around to see Brooke. He was about to ask why she was in the room but couldn't help bursting into laughter seeing what she was wearing.
"I can't. . . believe you actually. . . wore it!" Ryan said in between laughs.
From within a tight maid uniform stood a body like an armored tank. A figure built to take any punishment and dish it back tenfold.
Every bit of cloth straining over her toned shoulders, each strap across her thickly muscled arms digging into skin as taut and shiny as fresh snow.
Her hair obscured her face, but I could imagine its smooth perfection. Beneath those pantyhose-clad legs, calves strong enough to crush walnuts with their iron grip.