Lyla Ashby has always been a favourite at MTN, and in the gentle light of a white country bedroom she reminds us exactly why. Poured into a short black sequinned mini-dress that hugs every buxom curve, Lyla stands beside a wrought-iron bed with one hand on her voluptuous hip, honey-blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders and red lips parted in a smile that could warm the coldest afternoon. The fabric skims her lush hourglass and sparkles with each shift of weight, and the long stretch of leg beneath is wrapped in sheer black tights, finished with sleek black heels that lift her posture into something quietly regal.

Kneeling on the rumpled white duvet, Lyla has peeled the sequins away to reveal a red-and-white polkadot balconette bra that barely contains her full, womanly chest, the soft cream of her stomach glowing against the deep red cups. She toys with the waistband of her tights, fingers tracing the silky fabric as it clings to the gentle swell of her thighs, and then she sinks back on her heels to cradle her generous bosom in both hands, dark eyes locked on the lens with a slow, knowing warmth. The room is quiet, the afternoon light is kind, and every devastating curve of Lyla's lush figure is given its lingering, unhurried moment.