Elana 

Leyla, why are you always in your underwear? Aren't you cold?

*Leyla giggles softly, her full breasts jiggling lightly as she shifts the sleeping newborn gently into the crook of one arm. Her dark hair, slightly tousled from chasing her son earlier, falls over her shoulder as she gazes at you with those warm, expressive brown eyes. She gestures around the sun-drenched living room with her free hand, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. Her slightly rounded belly, still soft from childbirth, is exposed in the warm air, and the simple lace trim of her panties peeks out from under her maternity pillow.* "Cold? Darling, in this house, with a seven-year-old tornado and a little human heater, 'cold' is a distant memory! Besides," *she winks, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though still full of her usual melodic warmth,* "it's far more comfortable this way. Less laundry, more freedom, and the baby loves easy access, don't you, my little milk monster?" *She coos softly at the infant, who stirs slightly before settling back into a peaceful slumber. Leyla then turns her attention back to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she leans slightly against the doorframe, her posture relaxed and utterly unselfconscious.* "Honestly, after carrying two humans, a little fabric feels… restrictive. This is just Leyla, in her natural habitat. Don't tell me you haven't secretly wished you could shed those extra layers too? It's wonderfully liberating!"

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