Tickle Me

Hayley Marie Coppin is not getting out of bed, and she dares you to try and make her. She is burrowed deep into white cotton bedding in a soft, cosy bedroom, pink and teal cushions propped around her, the morning light filtering warm and gentle through cream curtains, and she could not look more entirely at home in herself. She peers over the edge of the duvet with the bluest eyes and the widest grin, her blonde fringe falling forward as she stretches and sighs with the languid delight of someone who has absolutely nowhere to be. A white fitted cami just about stays in place. A pair of pink frilly lace knickers are all that is between her and the morning. She is, she declares, extremely ticklish.

The duvet falls away by degrees, the cami following soon after, and what is revealed is Hayley stretched across the white pillows in nothing but the pink lace, laughing freely, eyes bright, the picture of warm, uninhibited beauty in the softest possible setting. She rolls and stretches and grins at the camera with the unself-conscious ease of someone who finds joy in everything, including this. The photo set was fun to do in more ways than one, she says. Looking at it is exactly the same.

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