The mother came running.
Her hair was disheveled. Brown strands fell across her face. She wore a commoner's dress — brown skirt, white blouse, a simple apron that had once been clean but was now stained with flour and flower petals.
The skirt clung to her hips. The fabric was thin. The shape of her body was visible beneath it. Her tits were thick. Heavy.
They swayed as she ran, pressing against the blouse, straining the buttons. Her ass was thick too. Wide.
The kind of hips that had carried a child and spread to accommodate it.
The brown skirt swayed across her cheeks with each step, the fabric clinging to the dimples of her lower back.
She reached the child.
"Oh— I'm sorry!"
She looked up at Raven. Her eyes were wide. Her face was flushed from running. Her lips were parted. She took in the dark clothes. The handsome face. The eyes that looked at her with a calm that made her stomach tighten.
She apologized again.
