A New Lease
[Hello my lovely tinies and giants alike. I've been taking a break from sizey writing to focus on my much less horny novel. However I'm now back to indulging my favourite fetish! I hope you enjoy~]
The eviction notice was a stark, ugly rectangle against the chipping paint of the doorframe. Ryan stared at it, the words blurring into a bureaucratic threat. His last paycheck had been two weeks ago, and the “temporary” layoff at the warehouse felt increasingly permanent.
He pushed into the apartment, a wave of Sophie’s jasmine perfume hitting him. The space was barely a studio, dominated by her things: a rack of expensive-looking streetwear, a makeup table littered with palettes, and posters of obscure French electronic artists.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Sophie’s voice came from the window nook she’d claimed as her own. She was curled up, scrolling through her phone, her short black hair catching the afternoon light. Her green eyes flicked up, assessing him.
“Landlord’s getting impatient,” Ryan said, tossing his worn backpack onto his cot. “I got thirty days. Tops.”
“Daddy’s such a hardass,” she sighed, but there was no sympathy in it. It was a statement of fact. Her father owned the building. Ryan’s below-market rent had been a vague favor, one that was clearly expiring.
“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He’d been saying that for weeks.
“Actually,” Sophie said, putting her phone down with a deliberate click. “I might have something. A way for you to stay. Rent-free.”
Ryan turned, hope a fragile, dangerous thing in his chest. “What? How?”
She uncurled herself, standing. She was taller than him in her thick socks, athletic and poised. “It’s a bit… unconventional. You’d have to be open-minded.”
“I’m desperate, Soph. Open-minded is my middle name right now.”
A smile played on her lips. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of someone holding a winning card. “Okay. So, you know how space is the real issue here? The literal square footage?”
He nodded, looking around the cluttered room.
“What if you needed less of it? A lot less.”
“I’m not following.”
She walked to her dresser, opened a small, ornate wooden box, and pulled out a single, gelatin capsule. It was a translucent orange. “This,” she said, holding it between her thumb and forefinger, “is a molecular condenser. A shrink pill, basically. Temporary, fully reversible. Top-shelf biohacker stuff.”
Ryan laughed, a short, dry sound. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Her gaze was level, serious. “You take this. In about ten minutes, you’ll be roughly one inch tall. For the next month. You live with me, in my space, without taking up any actual space. I'll cover the bills. Crisis averted.”
He stared at the capsule. “Live with you? Where, in a dollhouse?”
“Something like that.” Her grin turned mischievous. “My underwear drawer is pretty roomy.”
The absurdity of it crashed over him, yet he believed every word. “That’s insane. That’s… what’s the catch? There’s always a catch.”
“The catch is you have to trust me,” she said, her voice dropping to a coaxing murmur. “And you have to be my little secret. No one can know. It’s a practical solution, Ryan. You’re always saying you want to simplify your life. Can’t get much simpler than this.”
He sat heavily on his cot. The springs groaned. An inch tall. The world would but utterly terrifying at that size, but so was the eviction. So was the hollow fear in his gut every time he checked his barren bank account.
“Is it safe?”
“Perfectly. I’ve done it before with a friend. It was fine.” She waved a hand. “A little disorienting at first, but you adapt.”
He looked at he. He thought of the notice on the door, the relentless pressure of owing. His agreeability, his tendency to go along, warred with a deep, primal alarm.
“What do you have to get out of this?” he asked quietly.
Her smile softened, but her eyes remained bright, unreadable. “Company. A project. It gets boring. And honestly? I think it’ll be fun. For both of us.”
The word “fun” felt wrong, but the word “eviction” felt worse. The silence stretched, filled with the distant city sounds and the beat of his own heart.
“Okay,” he said, the word leaving his lips before he could truly catch it. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” She was beside him in an instant, the orange capsule offered in her palm. “Bottoms up. Just swallow it with some water. The effects are gradual, then… rapid.”
His hand trembled as he took it. It felt like any other supplement. He fetched a glass of water, his throat dry.
“To simpler living,” Sophie said, raising an imaginary glass.
He swallowed. The capsule went down slick and uneventful.
For a few minutes, nothing. They sat in awkward silence. Then a faint, inner tremor, a subtle wrongness in his balance. He stood up, feeling dizzy. “Whoa.”
“Starting,” Sophie observed, her voice suddenly coming from a point slightly above him. The carpet's nubby texture began to expand, each weave becoming a distinct ridge. The room yawned outward, the ceiling racing away into a distant, shadowy vault. The posters became vast, pixelated murals. His perception stuttered, his brain struggling to reconcile the flood of new scale. Sounds deepened, distorted. The hum of the mini-fridge was a industrial drone. Sophie’s breathing was a tidal rush.
He watched, helpless, as her socked foot, became a colossal, fabric-covered cliff face. The scent of jasmine and her skin became overwhelming, a dense atmosphere all its own.
She knelt down. Her face filled his sky, a planet of smooth skin, freckles like small continents, those piercing green eyes now vast, luminous pools. Her voice, when she spoke, was a rich, echoing panorama of sound, vibrating through his bones.
“See? Not so bad.” A giant, careful hand descended, fingers like sleek pillars. He stumbled backward on the now-canyonous terrain of his quilt. Her fingers stopped, hovering. “Easy. I’m not going to crush you. We need to get you to your new digs.”
With a deftness that was terrifying, she slid her hand under him. The world tipped. He was lifted, cradled in the warm, immense valley of her palm. The rise and fall of her breathing was a gentle, earthquake rhythm. He clung to the lines of her skin, his mind blank with awe and terror.
“This is the catch, Ryan,” she said, her voice lowering, taking on a harder edge. The playful glint in her colossal eyes had hardened into something possessive. “You don’t just get to be small and cute in a shoebox. Rent-free means useful. You live here.” She gestured between her thighs. “With me. On me. For the month.”
“Useful for what?” The question was a dry rasp in his throat.
Her smile was a slash of white in her giant face. “Let’s just say I have needs. And you’re going to help me meet them. Consider it… a utility bill.”
Before the full, horrifying implication could settle, her hand was moving. She brought him, cradled in her palm, down towards the waistband of her own sweatpants.
“Sophie, wait!”
“Shhh. Just getting you settled.”
She used her free hand to tug the soft grey fabric of her sweats and her underwear down just a few inches, just enough to create an opening. A wave of intense, musky heat billowed out, engulfing him. The scent was primal, overwhelmingly Sophie, a mix of clean sweat, her jasmine lotion, and something deeper, saltier.
He saw, in a dizzying flash, the thatch of dark curls at the junction of her thighs. And then, nestled within, something that made his mind stutter and reject the image.
It wasn’t what he expected.
Thick, veined, and flushed a deep pink, a fully erect cock rested against her lower belly. It was probably only 5 inches, but to Ryan it was a smooth, intimidating column of flesh. Below it, a heavy sac of balls hung, nestled in the dark curls.
“Surprise,” she whispered, and the word vibrated through him.
He had no time to process the revelation, the shocking reality of her body. Her fingers pinched him, lifting him from her palm. He dangled, kicking helplessly, over the hot, dark canyon she had created.
“The best place for you is right here,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Nice and snug.”
She pushed him into the space between her cock and her balls, against the incredibly warm, soft skin of her perineum. Then she released him and, in one swift motion, pulled her underwear and sweats back up, sealing him in.
Absolute, velvety darkness clamped down.
The world became a prison of heat, pressure, and overpowering scent. The black cotton of her panties pressed against him on one side. On the other, the immense, terrifying heat of her erection pinned him, a fleshy, throbbing prison wall. He was wedged in a crevice of her own making, the sheer weight of her balls resting heavily against his legs.
He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. Every shallow gasp pulled her scent deeper into his lungs – the jasmine, the salt, the stark, animal smell of her arousal.
He felt everything.
The subtle pulse of blood through the shaft pressed against his back. The slow, heavy shift of her testicles as she moved slightly. The damp heat that was already building, making the cotton cling.
Then, her voice filtered through the layers of fabric and flesh, muffled but perfectly clear. “Comfy?”
He tried to shout, to protest, but it came out as a weak, pathetic squeak against the relentless pressure.
A low laugh vibrated through the very core of her body, a seismic rumble that shook him in his dark, humid prison.
The world was a heartbeat. A thick, salt-sweet darkness that pressed in from all sides with a damp, living heat. Ryan’s universe had collapsed to the dimensions of Sophie’s crotch. The rough weave of her cotton panties was a coarse sky against his back. His front was pressed flush against the hot, smooth skin of her perineum. Curving over him, the massive, veined weight of her cock pinned him in place. Its slow, insistent throb a timer counting down to something he couldn’t comprehend.
He tried to shift, to find some pocket of air less saturated with her. Every movement was a struggle against the snug confinement. His hands pushed against the shaft, but it was like trying to budge a tree trunk. It was unyielding, alarmingly solid. A fresh, slick droplet of precum beaded from the tip somewhere high above and fell with a soft, warm plip onto his shoulder, sliding down his chest. The scent of it, musky and sharp, filled his nostrils.
“You awake in there, little man?” Her voice was a distant, muffled thunder, but he felt it more than heard it, a vibration that travelled through her pelvis and into the flesh surrounding him.
Before he could even form a reply, a pressure bloomed on the outside of the fabric. The giant outline of her fingertip pressed in, a blunt, seeking pressure that dimpled the cotton against his spine. It began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles just above where the head of her cock was nestled. The friction was electric. The entire world around Ryan shuddered and hummed. The shaft against his chest gave a distinct, jerking twitch, swelling fractionally tighter against him.
A low, pleasured sigh filtered down. “Mmm, that’s it. You’re right there. Perfect little cushion.”
Humiliation burned through his fear. A cushion. A living, breathing masturbatory aid. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his own palms.
The finger’s circles grew more insistent. The fabric grew damp with fresh slickness. The rhythmic shush-shush-shush of cotton on aroused skin was deafening at his scale. Then, her other hand joined. He felt two enormous points of pressure now, one on either side of the trapped, swollen head of her cock, moving in tandem through the dampening fabric. She was fingering herself, using the outside of her panties, and he was trapped in the epicenter.
The heat intensified. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe. Each rub sent a jolt through the imprisoned flesh. Precum now flowed in a steady, warm trickle, soaking into the cotton near his head and dripping in sticky strands onto his hair, his face. He turned his head, sputtering, but there was no escape from the taste of salt and bitter tang.
“Fuck,” Sophie groaned, her voice closer now, as if she were leaning over. The whole environment tilted slightly. Her hips gave a small, grinding shift. The massive balls resting against his legs heaved like sacks of warm, heavy grain. “You have no idea how good this feels. Having you right there… fuck…”
Her movements became less circular, more direct. She was stroking herself through the cotton, her fingers gliding over the outline of her own erection with him pinned beneath it. Each upward pull dragged the rigid flesh against his entire body, compressing him. Each downward push squeezed him into the soft, hot valley beneath.
A raw, frantic energy took over her motions. The gentle teasing was gone. This was a building need. The shush-shush-shush became a frantic, wet slapping sound as the soaked fabric yielded.
“Gonna cum,” she hissed, the words taut and strained. “Right on you, you tiny little rent-free bitch. Take it.”
The command was a hot blast of air that filtered through the fabric. The stroking became a furious, focused piston. The cock against Ryan pulsed violently, a series of deep, inner convulsions he felt in his very bones. The world tightened, then exploded.
The first burst wasn't visible in the darkness. It was a hot, viscous flood. A thick rope of her cum shot into the cramped space, instantly drenching the cotton and splattering across Ryan’s chest and face with the force of a firehose. It was hotter than her skin, thick as cream, and the smell choked him.
The second pulse followed, and a third, each a gushing, rhythmic eruption that filled the tiny prison with wet, searing heat. It pooled around him, slick and heavy, soaking through his clothes to his skin. The sounds she made were animalistic, grunts and choked-off cries that vibrated through her spent flesh.
Then, stillness. A profound, trembling stillness broken only by the ragged saw of her breathing and the slow, aftershock twitches of her cock, which now lay softening, a spent weight against him.
The aftermath was a new hell. The heat was stifling. The air was gone, replaced by a fog of sex and sweat and her release. He was marinating in it, plastered to her skin by the cooling stickiness.
Minutes bled together in the dark. He heard the rustle of clothing, the shift of her weight. Then, with a sudden, brutal invasion of light, the waistband of her sweats and panties was tugged down.
Blinding afternoon sun from the window lanced into his world. He blinked, disoriented, coated in glistening white. Her face loomed over the edge of the fabric, a giantess peering into her own underwear. Her expression was one of sated, curious cruelty. Her green eyes scanned the mess, finding him stuck there like a bug in sap.
“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. She reached in, her fingers, smelling of her own sex, closing around him. She plucked him from the soaking, cum-filled cotton. He dangled in the air, a pitiful, dripping figurine.
She held him aloft, turning him slowly before her eyes. Her cum, now cooling, dripped from his limbs in thick strands. "A mess," she stated, her tone devoid of apology. Her expression was one of idle curiosity, her green eyes tracing his shivering form. Her gaze drifted lower, to her own hand resting on the bed. A familiar, troubling energy filled the space between them.
He followed her glance. He saw it. Against the pale skin of her lower abdomen, nestled in the dark hair he had just been trapped within, her cock was beginning to stir. It was a slow, inevitable unfurling. The softening flesh from minutes before grew taut, thickening and lengthening as he watched in paralyzed horror. The veins he had felt in the dark became prominent again, mapping a path of rising blood.
"No," Ryan whispered, the word a useless breath.
"Oh, yes," Sophie murmured, a dark smile playing on her lips. Her fingers walked across the counter towards him. "You didn't think one was enough, did you? I'm just getting started."
Before he could react, her thumb and forefinger closed around his torso, lifting him. She brought him down, back toward the living heat of her body. The sight of her erection, now fully hard and jutting upward, filled his vision. It was a monstrous, pink-headed pillar, beading fresh precum at the slit.
"You're going to help me with this one," she said, her voice a low, commanding purr.
She didn't ask. Her grip on him shifted, maneuvering his tiny body until he was facing the rigid flesh. The heat radiating from it was immense. The musky, intimate scent was overpowering. "Arms out," she instructed, tapping his shoulders. "Hug it."
Trembling, he obeyed. He wrapped his arms as far as they would go around the girth of her shaft. His chest and face pressed against the warm, smooth skin. He could feel the powerful thrum of her pulse within it.
"Good boy," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension.
Her hand left him. For a terrifying second, he was clinging there, high above the ground, wrapped around the evidence of her renewed hunger. Then her own large, firm hand closed around them both. Her fingers encircled her own cock, with him trapped against it, a living texture on its skin.
She began to stroke.
The first upward pull dragged him, his body scraping against her. The downward push was worse, a suffocating pressure squeezing him into the grip of her fist. He was a toy, a human sleeve. His world became a violent, slick oscillation.
"Fuck, that's weird," she gasped, but her rhythm didn't falter. It intensified. "Feeling you squirm… shit."
Her skin grew slick with precum and sweat. Each pass became smoother, faster, a wet, rhythmic schlick of flesh on flesh, with his tiny form providing a bizarre, moving ridge. The sounds she made were grunts of concentrated pleasure. Her other hand came up, cupping and roughly kneading her balls, which hung heavy and full below his dangling feet.
"You're my little fuck toy now," she panted, her breath hot. "Just a warm, wriggling sleeve. Take my dick, you tiny fuck."
The pace became brutal, a relentless piston. The cock swelled against his embrace, the head purpling and leaking copiously. The scent, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being used, of being nothing but a living lubricant, shattered his thoughts.
"Gonna make you so messy," she snarled, her voice tight. "Gonna pump my cum right over your stupid little face."
Her fist became a blur around him. The friction was scalding. Her whole body tightened, a bowstring pulled to breaking. With a raw, guttural cry that shook the apartment, she came.
The eruption was point-blank. The first thick, hot jet blasted directly over his head and back, coating him. The second hit his side, a visceral slap of wet heat. The third and fourth pulses drenched his legs as she milked herself, her strokes slowing but not stopping, smearing her release all over him and her own trembling shaft.
She finally stilled, breathing raggedly. Her fingers loosened. He slid down the slick, spent length of her, a discarded bit of debris, and landed in a sticky, trembling heap in the curls of her pubic hair.
He lay there, a speck in a forest of coarse, dark curls, every breath a labored draw through the film of her cum coating his mouth and nose. The heat from her skin beneath him was a furnace, and the smell of her sweat and cum was inescapable. Above him, the vast pale plain of her stomach rose and fell with her slowing breath.
“Ugh, sticky,” Sophie muttered to herself, her voice a distant rumble.
She shifted on the bed, the movement causing a seismic tremor through his world. The giant, softened flesh of her cock, now glistening and draped heavily to one side, twitched near his head. Before he could even try to crawl, her fingers descended. They didn’t pluck him up this time. Instead, they swept through her pubic hair, gathering him like a crumb. He was rolled, helpless, in the valley between her inner thigh and her scrotum.
“Just stay put for a sec,” she said, her tone bored. He heard the rustle of fabric. The waistband of her panties appeared, eclipsing the light. They were the same pair, the cotton darkened and stiff in patches with the cooling evidence of her first orgasm. She gathered the fabric in her hands, yawning the damp opening wide. With a practiced motion, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, positioned them at her knees, and began to pull them up.
The world closed in. First, the light vanished as the cotton swallowed her thighs. Then, the damp, stained fabric descended over him. It pressed him firmly back into the wet thicket of her pubic hair. The weight of her cock, already settling into its resting place, rolled onto his legs, pinning him. The elastic snapped snugly into place against her hips, sealing him in absolute, textured darkness.
She pulled up her panties, still soaked from her previous load. He was trapped in a cloying pool of her sticky loads, pinned between her cock and her pubes.
The air was immediately thick and used, laced with the tang of dried salt and fresh, wet arousal. Every shallow breath tasted of her. The fabric, saturated and heavy, molded to the shape of her anatomy, creating a tight, humid cave. Her cock, already beginning to plump again with a lazy, half-asleep interest, was a warm, fleshy wall against his side.
“Comfy?” Her voice was muffled, but the mocking lilt came through clear.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. A fresh, slick droplet of precum seeped from the tip above, landing with a warm tap on his chest, mingling with the old, cooling mess.
Time lost meaning in the warm, sticky dark. Ryan existed in a state of sensory overload. The constant, low-grade heat, the scent of sex that had seeped into the very fibers, the occasional, terrifying twitch of the heavy flesh beside him. His own skin was a map of dried and fresh residue, a crusty testament to her use of him. He waited, listening to the distant, rhythmic sound of her breathing. It deepened, slowed, became the long, even pulls of sleep.
This was his chance.
Moving was agony. Every inch was a negotiation with clingy, damp cotton and the weight of her softening cock. He pushed against it, his hands slipping on the slick skin. With a shuddering effort, he wriggled free from its casual press and began to climb. He used the rough weave of the fabric, the elastic of the waistband, hauling himself upward through the forest of coarse curls. The scent intensified, a musk that was purely her, untouched by soap or perfume. It was animal and overwhelming.
He reached the summit of her hip bone, the elastic digging into her skin. With a final, desperate heave, he pulled himself over the waistband and tumbled out onto the vast, cool expanse of her bed sheet.
The air was comparatively clean, the silence profound. He lay gasping, a tiny figure on a white plain, stained and reeking. Across the canyon of the bed, Sophie slept on her back. One arm was flung above her head on the pillow, the other rested on her stomach. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her face, in sleep, looked younger, almost innocent. It was a lie.
His eyes darted. The nightstand was a skyscraper, the floor a lethal drop. He started to crawl across the immense landscape of wrinkled sheets. Every fiber of the cotton was a thick cable, every crease a valley. He was halfway to the edge when the world moved.
Sophie sighed in her sleep, a soft, contented sound. Her sleeping hand drifted from her stomach, down across the flat plane of her abdomen, and came to rest, casually possessive, over the damp bulge of her panties. Right where he had just been. Her fingers absently cupped herself, a faint smile touching her lips.
Ryan froze, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. After an eternity, her breathing evened out again. He pushed on, reaching the cliff edge of the mattress. The floorboards below were dark and far away. He’d have to jump, hope the discarded sweatshirt he saw crumpled below would break his fall.
He didn’t get the chance.
As he poised himself, a shadow fell over him. The rhythmic breathing had stopped. He looked up, slowly.
Sophie was awake. Her green eyes were fixed on him, clear and alert, glinting with icy amusement. There was no trace of sleep in them. She had been watching.
“And where,” she said, her voice quiet and dangerously smooth, “do you think you’re going?”
He couldn’t speak. He took a stumbling step back from the edge.
In one fluid motion, she sat up. Her hand shot out, not rough but terrifyingly fast, and covered him. Her palm was warm and dry, smelling of clean skin. She lifted him, bringing him level with her face. Her expression was one of playful, merciless scrutiny.
“I provide free room and board,” she said, her tone conversational. “I let you live rent-free in my pants, which, let’s be honest, is more than you deserve. And this is the thanks I get?”
“Sophie, please,” he begged, the words a dry croak. “Just let me go back to my room. Just for a while.”
“Your room?” She scoffed, her breath washing over him. “That dusty little closet? Why would you want that when you can have this?” With her other hand, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down just enough to reveal the dark, tangled thatch of hair beneath, the faint glimpse of flushed pink flesh. The intimate scent bloomed in the air between them. “This is your home now, Ryan. My crotch is your world.”
She leaned back against the headboard, bringing him closer to her body. With her free hand, she idly began to trace circles around her nipple, which peaked instantly under her touch. “I was having a nice dream. I was dreaming about my little live-in cock toy. And I wake up to find him trying to desert his post.” Her eyes hardened. “That’s bad form, Ryan. That hurts my feelings.”
“I’m sorry, I just...”
“You just nothing,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a venomous purr. “Let me make something crystal clear. You try to run away again… and I won’t just put you back.” She brought him so close to her face he could see the fine lines of her iris. “The people I bought these shrinking tablets off have all kinds of cool shit. I’ll have them shrink you down smaller. So fucking small you’ll be a speck. And then, you know what I’ll do?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand left her breast and traveled down, taking her cock in a firm grip. It thickened obediently in her hand, rising from its nest of hair. She stroked it slowly, her eyes locked on his. “I’ll feed you to it. I’ll open my slit wide, and I’ll push you right inside. You’ll slide down and when I cum, you’ll be the first thing that fires out, shot across the room like a piece of trash. You’ll be nothing but a stain on my wall.”
The visual was so horrifying, so visceral, his mind went blank with terror.
“Do you understand me?” she demanded, giving her shaft a rough squeeze.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… I understand.”
A smile, thin and cold, spread across her lips. "Good." She didn't put him back. Instead, she lowered him down her body, past the ridges of her abdomen, through the coarse hair, until the swollen, purple head of her cock filled his entire world. A single, viscous pearl of precum gleamed at the slit, the musky scent so potent it made his eyes water.
"Lick it clean," she commanded, her voice devoid of all playfulness. It was a flat, absolute order. "Use your tongue and get every last drop. Consider it your rent payment for the attempted escape."
He hesitated for only a second. The memory of her threat propelled him forward. He pressed his tiny body against the hot, smooth skin of her glans.. He opened his mouth and lapped at it, the salt-bitter flavor exploding on his tongue. He worked clumsily, smearing it, his face becoming slick with her fluid. He was unable to keep up with flow of precum and he could tell she was getting impatient.
"Pathetic," she sighed above him, but he felt her cock jump slightly against him. "But it'll do." Before he could react, her other hand came into view, holding a small, intricate object. It was a delicate silver cage, no bigger than a pendant, with fine bars. A tiny door hung open. "Time for a demotion. Can't have you wandering off."
She pinched him, not gently, between her thumb and forefinger and shoved him into the cage. The door snapped shut with a definitive click. He stumbled against the bars, which were cool against his stained skin. She lifted the cage, and he swung dizzyingly, watching as she fastened it to a thin silver chain. She looped the necklace around her neck, letting the cage fall.
It came to rest in the deep, shadowed valley of her cleavage. The world became a warm, soft prison of fragrant skin. The cage pressed against the swell of her left breast with every slight movement she made. Above, the chain disappeared between her breasts, and far above that, he could see the underside of her chin and her satisfied smile.
"Much better," she said, tapping the cage with a fingernail, sending a metallic shiver through his bones. She laid back down, the flesh around him shifting and settling, encasing the cage in a perfect, inescapable warmth.