Page 3 of Milk & Malice: Vadik

The cream sweater did nothing to hide the volume of her chest—Double D, easily.

I took a step back, hiding my face by dipping it down. Watching.

Curved. Rounded. Wide-set iliac crest.

Excellent pelvic width-to-waist ratio.

Another step back. Slim ankles. I frowned.

Fragile tibia?

Hmm. I would need to conduct more tests.

But as my eyes climbed the slope of her calf, up the firm thighs hidden beneath a floral skirt, the fullness of her gluteal mass gave me hope.

She had strong quadriceps. Weight-bearing femurs.

Maybe even naturally thickened patellae.

A solid lumbar spine.

Then I saw it—

The hair.

Golden. Strawberry. A blend of copper and fire. Thick, shaggy strands—like a Highland heifer in spring. Shaggy, sweet, and designed for breeding. Not that I would ever breed a pet.

The probiotic kefir was abandoned. I placed it on the nearest shelf.

I retrieved my phone.

One snap.

Two.

Then I opened the measurement app. Began estimating.

Height: 165cm

Shoulder width: 42cm

Est. bust: 34DD

Hip spread: excellent

Gait: unknown. Must observe.

She reached for Greek yoghurt.

Not low-fat.

Not low-fat.

Yes—5% fat.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.

The full-fat would’ve been optimal for future yield—higher lipids, better viscosity—but I had time.