Back in the room...

I stepped into the bedroom, still damp from the shower.

The towel hung loose around my hips, barely clinging to my new curves. My skin glowed under the soft morning light, and my hair—still damp and curled from the steam—framed my face just the way he liked it.

He looked up from the bed.

And froze.

His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes drinking in every inch of me. He sat up, breath caught in his throat.

“Logan…” he whispered, voice low and stunned. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

I blushed, shifting my weight from one hip to the other. The towel slipped a little lower.

“I wanted you to see,” I said softly, biting my lip. “I wanted to show you what I’ve become.”

He was already getting out of bed.

In three steps, he was in front of me. His hands slid to my waist, gripping tightly, thumbs brushing just beneath the edge of the towel.

“You’re everything,” he growled.

Then he pushed me back.

The towel dropped as I fell onto the bed, soft sheets meeting my skin as he climbed over me, eyes wild and focused. His hands ran down my sides, exploring every new curve, every inch of the body he’d helped shape.

“You’re mine,” he said. “All mine.”

And then he was inside me.

No warm-up, no slow start—just one deep, claiming thrust that had me crying out. My voice was high, breathy, ****. My legs locked around his waist as he drove into me, over and over, with perfect rhythm and heat.

The bed creaked beneath us.

His hands pinned mine to the mattress, his lips at my ear.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say who you belong to.”

“You!” I gasped. “I’m yours! Please don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He fucked me with everything he had, pounding into me like he couldn’t get deep enough. My ass bounced with every thrust, my chest jiggled from the ****, and I could barely think—just feel. My whole body lit up with sensation.

I moaned. I sobbed. I begged.

And I loved it.

I loved the way he held me down. The way he used me. The way I had become this soft, trembling, eager little thing under him—for him.

When I came, I screamed. My back arched, my fingers clutched the sheets, my tiny cock spurting helplessly untouched as I shook beneath him.

He followed right after.

A few more thrusts. A growl. A deep, final push and I felt him fill me again.

We collapsed together, tangled and sweating, his arms wrapped tight around me, lips against my shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “You’re becoming exactly what I want.”

And in his arms, I whispered back:

“I want it too.”