Chapter 3: The Aftermath
The bedroom air hung thick with sweat and the lingering heat of exertion. Cay's weight still pressed against Lewis's thighs when the first shudder ran through her frame, a tremor that started deep in her core and rippled outward through muscle and bone. He felt it, the impossible density of her body beginning to shift, and he held his breath.
The green faded first. It receded like tide pulling back from shore, starting at her shoulders and sweeping down her arms, across her chest, over the swell of her hips. Her skin rippled, the deep emerald giving way to the familiar pale warmth of her everyday complexion. The muscles that had bulged with terrifying definition softened, the hard ridges of her abdomen smoothing into the lithe, athletic plane he remembered from the classroom. Her height contracted inch by inch, her looming shadow shrinking against the poster-strewn wall, until she knelt over him at the modest five-foot-six of Cay Bennett, science teacher.
For a long moment she stayed there, straddling his hips, her breath still coming in slow, measured pulls. Her hair, which had escaped its strict bun during the transformation, hung loose around her face in sweat-damp strands. She pushed it back with one hand and looked down at him. Her expression had changed. The fierce, hungry gleam in her emerald eyes had banked, replaced by something composed, almost clinical.
Lewis lay still beneath her, his chest heaving, his body still tingling from the sheer force of what had just happened. The sheets were twisted beneath him, damp in places, and he could feel the ache in his thighs, the raw sensitivity where she had taken him so thoroughly.
Cay swung one leg off him and rose from the bed in a single, fluid motion. She stood naked in the flickering lamplight, utterly unselfconscious, and crossed to where her clothes had been discarded hours ago. Or had it been minutes? Time had warped under the pressure of her presence. She pulled on her blouse with brisk efficiency, buttoning it with practiced fingers, then stepped into her pencil skirt and fastened it at the waist. Her heels clicked against the floorboards as she walked to the small desk cluttered with gaming controllers and empty soda cans.
She opened the top drawer and drew out a single sheet of paper. Lewis recognized the school letterhead even from where he lay.
She turned, holding it out to him. Her voice, when she spoke, was the same steady, professional tone he heard every day in fourth-period biology. Warm, patient, with just an edge of authority.
"These are your make-up assignments, Lewis. Chapter four through six, the lab report on cellular respiration, and a short essay on the ethical implications of genetic modification. All due by Friday."
Lewis blinked at her. The transition was so abrupt, so seamless, that for a moment he wondered if he had imagined everything. But his body still thrummed with the memory of her, the impossible weight of her hands on his wrists, the depth of her inside him.
He took the paper with a trembling hand. "Friday?"
"Friday," she confirmed. She smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and straightened her skirt. "I've already emailed your parents. They're very pleased you're taking initiative to catch up."
His eyes widened. "You emailed my parents?"
"Of course. Standard protocol for missing work." She smiled, a small, professional curve of her lips. "I told them you've been struggling with some of the material and wanted extra help. They were supportive. Your mother offered to make me dinner sometime."
Lewis stared at her, the paper crinkling in his grip. She looked every inch the dedicated teacher now, composed and authoritative, the giantess who had pinned him to his mattress and demanded he recite chemical formulas between gasps of pleasure entirely absent from her bearing.
She walked toward the door, her heels tapping a steady rhythm. Her hand found the doorknob, and she paused. Slowly, she glanced back over her shoulder. The professional mask held for a heartbeat, then cracked at the corner of her mouth, a smirk curling up, sly and knowing.
"And Lewis," she said, her voice dropping just a shade, losing some of its classroom polish. "If you fail again... you know exactly how I make you study harder."
The words hung in the stale, lamp-lit air between them. The flickering light caught her eyes, and for a brief, electric instant, he saw something there, a glimmer of the other her, the one who had grown to seven feet of emerald muscle and taken what she wanted.