The next day...

I woke up with her arm draped over me—warm, firm, and heavy. Heavier than yesterday. My eyes fluttered open and I felt her breath at my neck, the rise and fall of her chest against my back.

I turned slowly in her arms.

Rachel was still asleep, lips parted slightly, face relaxed. Her blonde hair was splayed across the pillow. But her body… it had shifted again. Her shoulders were broader. Her arms more defined, subtly vascular now. Her waist was still trim, but her hips had flared wider, more powerfully feminine. And resting between those hips…

She was hard.

The outline beneath the blanket was unmistakable—longer now, thicker, stretching forward in a lazy, pulsing arc.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t wake her. I just stared.

Eventually, her eyes opened slowly. She caught me staring and smiled, sleepy but amused. “Good morning to you too.”

I blushed. “You… grew again.”

She stretched, arms overhead, muscles flexing gently. “I know. I could feel it in my sleep.”

We stayed in bed for a while. No rush. No plans. She nuzzled me close, her hands never leaving my body—tracing my spine, resting on my hips, fingers brushing my lower back. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to.

Later, we moved to the kitchen. She cooked—effortlessly. Bigger now, towering over me in the morning light. I had to look up when she leaned in to kiss me.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

I laughed nervously. “You’re… something else.”

She grinned.

Most of the day passed quietly. She stretched out on the couch, legs long and bare, scrolling her phone while I worked nearby. I couldn’t help but glance up at her every few minutes. Her tank top barely fit. Her thighs looked carved. And the bulge beneath her loose shorts twitched now and then, making my stomach flip.

By late afternoon, she stood behind me at the kitchen counter and wrapped her arms around me, easily enclosing my body in hers. Her chin rested on my shoulder.

I didn’t flinch.

I leaned into her.

Something inside me was giving way—quietly, willingly.

And when she whispered “Mine,” into my ear, I didn’t just hear it.

I felt it.