The First Inch Part 2

Mia woke with the warmth still humming under her skin. It sat low in her belly and climbed along her spine in slow pulses, a leftover glow from the vial she had swallowed the night before. Forty-eight hours. Jeffrey Harris’s voice had been soft and dusty when he said it, as if he were reciting inventory. After that the bloom would start to collapse unless she went back and paid whatever price he still refused to name.

She sat up in the narrow studio and felt the tank top stretch taut across the full, heavy C-cups that filled out the cotton. Her shorts gripped hips that had reshaped her completely. She was already taller than her old five-foot-four frame, sculpted with clean, visible muscle along her shoulders and thighs, strikingly beautiful in the morning light. The craving hit next, sharp and simple. She needed more of the stretch before the clock ate it.

She crossed the hall in bare feet and knocked on 3B.

Scott opened the door bleary-eyed, hair mashed on one side. His hazel eyes found her and widened at once. The tiredness left his face. He looked at the faint glow on her skin and the new way she held herself, and something hungry and unguarded moved through him.

“Mia.” His voice was rough from sleep. “You look—”

She did not let him finish. She stepped in. He shut the door and pulled her against him. His mouth found hers, deep and sure, and an intense wave of liquid heat erupted from her core. It flooded her chest and spine at once. Tingling followed, bright and electric. She gasped against his tongue.

He walked her backward to the couch without breaking the kiss. They dropped onto the cushions. His hands slid under the hem of her tank. Skin met skin. Another pulse of heat rolled through her, thicker this time. She felt her breasts swell slowly, stretching heavier and fuller against his palms. The fabric of the tank pulled taut. Seams along the sides began to complain.

“Scott,” she said, already shaking. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed her again, hungrier. His thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts and the tingling deepened into a slow, rhythmic swelling. She felt them lift and fill further, expanding from her full C-cups into heavier, denser curves that strained the cotton until the seams shrieked. A thread popped. Then another. The tank split along one side with a wet rip. Cool air hit new skin. Scott made a broken sound and bent his head, mouth closing over one swollen nipple. The suck of his tongue sent another surge through her.

Her spine lengthened in a slow, deliberate stretch. She felt herself rise an inch, then another. Her legs grew longer beneath her. She sat taller. The couch that had fit her last night now left her knees farther from the floor. Scott’s eyes widened but he did not pull away. His hands stayed on her, following the change.

“You’re getting taller,” he said, wrecked already. “Jesus, Mia.”

She chose it. The thought arrived clear. She wanted him to be the one who watched her grow. She wanted the heat and the stretch and the way he looked at her as if she were the only thing in the room. She slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him nearer. The kiss turned hungrier. His hand slipped down her stomach and into her shorts. Two fingers found her wet and she arched into him.

The shorts pinched. Her hips widened with a soft, rhythmic pulsing, rounding out into smooth curves that filled the denim until the seams complained. She fumbled at the button. He helped, peeling the fabric down her lengthening thighs. The shorts caught on the new swell of her ass. When they finally came free they popped at the side seam. Her glutes had lifted and filled, firm and shapely, pressing back against his palms when he gripped her there.

The visible muscle along her arms hardened as she braced on the cushions. Her shoulders settled broader, beautifully defined. Her thighs thickened with powerful, sculpted tone that flexed when she shifted closer. Inch by inch her spine kept lengthening. Five-six. Five-seven. She felt herself sit taller than him now, looking down into his dazed hazel eyes. The last inch arrived in a long, luxurious stretch that left her five-eight and statuesque on his lap.

Scott went slack-jawed. He looked drunk. His hands roamed her new height, her heavier breasts, the rounded ass that now filled both his palms. He kept losing the thread of what he meant to say. “You feel… you feel like more. I can’t—” He shook his head and kissed the new muscle at her shoulder instead.

Mia felt a sharp rush of control. She liked the way his composure slipped. She liked that he could not look away. She wanted more of it. She pushed him back against the cushions and straddled him, taller now, her C-cups heavy against his chest. She took him in hand and guided him inside her. The stretch of him and the stretch of her body became the same thing.

He moved with deep, deliberate tenderness at first, watching her the whole time. Then he lost himself. His hips rolled up harder. He kept whispering her name like it was the only word he had left. She surrendered to it and demanded it at once, riding him while liquid heat rushed again, stronger, cresting with him. When her climax hit it was explosive, a white rush that tore a cry from her throat. Her body surged in his arms. Breasts swelled a last fraction fuller. Shoulders carved themselves into cleaner lines. Hips flared. The last of the growth rolled through her like a second orgasm, leaving her trembling and five-eight and unmistakably voluptuous above him.

He came with a broken groan, still looking up at her as if she had rewritten the room. His hands stayed on her waist, following the new flare of her hips, the light muscle that now showed in her arms and thighs. He was dazed, drunk on her, and she felt the first spark of something greedy and bright. Power. Beauty. The way a man could lose his composure just from watching her become more.

They stayed like that a long time. She felt every new inch. The tank hung in torn strips. The shorts were wrecked on the floor. Nothing she had worn across the hall would close over her now.

“I have to find clothes,” she said. Her voice sounded lower, surer. She stood and the height still startled her. She looked down at Scott. He stared up the length of her, slack-jawed again, and she liked that too.

He found her a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt that had been loose on him. The pants sat tight across her new ass and barely reached her ankles. The shirt stretched across full C-cups and showed the faint definition in her shoulders. She tied the hem at her waist because there was nothing else. Scott watched her dress like a man watching weather he could not stop.

“Come back,” he said. It was not a question. His eyes were still glassy. “Whenever. I don’t care what time.”

Mia touched his jaw. The contact sent a last small pulse of heat through her, not growth this time, just want. “I will.”

She crossed the hall with his clothes clinging in all the new places. In her studio she stood in front of the dark window and tried not to stare. Taller, curvier, undeniably gorgeous. Visibly sculpted muscle in her arms, her shoulders, her legs. A rounded butt that made the borrowed sweats strain. Breasts that sat heavy and full. The forty-eight hours still ticked, but the craving had a new flavor now. She wanted the next stretch. She wanted another man to look at her the way Scott had, wrecked and worshipful, while she grew past him.

She found a pair of jeans in the back of the closet that she had bought too big last year and never worn. They zipped, barely. A sports bra she had forgotten about fought her new C-cups and lost; she left it off and pulled on a stretchy top that outlined everything. Shoes that had fit yesterday now pinched. She would have to deal with that later. Right now she needed to leave the apartment before she knocked on 3B again and used the last of Scott’s composure for another inch she did not have time to explain.

The warmth hummed. The seams of the too-big jeans already felt closer. Mia locked her door and stepped into the hall taller than she had ever been, hungry for the next time the heat decided to move.