Sam flopped bonelessly onto her bed after choking down the st of the ramen.

  Her whole body still thrummed with restless energy, a barely-contained electric buzz under her skin. She couldn’t sit still.Couldn't think still.

  Every tiny motion reminded her—new weight bouncing against her chest, thighs brushing, the delicate tug of her tighter waist pressing against the estic of her shorts.

  She stared up at the ceiling fan whirring zily above, chewing the inside of her cheek.

  She needed... clothes.Real clothes.

  The hoodie was still crumpled in the bathroom, abandoned like an old skin. Her shorts barely fit. Her t-shirt was fighting a losing battle to contain her new curves.

  If she didn’t do something soon, she was going to lose her damn mind.

  Sam dragged herself upright with a grunt and stumbled over to the closet.

  It wasn't much.Most of her wardrobe was functional—jeans, gamer tees, the occasional pair of cargo shorts for when she wanted to feel vaguely tactical.Nothing remotely ready for this.

  But buried at the back, half-forgotten, was a battered old storage bin.

  She hesitated, then crouched and yanked the lid open.

  Inside—

  A tangle of soft fabric. Lace. Satin. Cropped tops. Skirts.A treasure trove of chaos she’d ordered in a fit of impulsive madness, originally meant for teasing her friends.

  Sam had joked once—“If I was hot, you’d never see me wear real clothes again.”She’d bought the stuff as a gag.The idea of actually fitting into any of it had felt ughably far away.

  Now?

  She reached in, almost reverently, and pulled out a thin spaghetti-strap crop top in soft bck cotton.

  It looked tiny in her hands.Delicate. Dangerous.

  Sam bit her lip, heart pounding.

  "...One way to find out."

  Pulling off her t-shirt was easy. She was getting used to the new curves, the new bance points—awkwardly, but getting there.

  Slipping into the crop top?

  That was... harder.

  Not because it didn’t fit.No, it fit perfectly.

  It clung to her like it had been sewn onto her skin, hugging her new breasts, accentuating her slim waist, leaving a tantalizing strip of bare, toned stomach on dispy.

  The bck fabric framed her in a way that made her breath hitch.

  She turned slowly in the mirror, drinking herself in.

  Slim arms. Delicate shoulders. Soft, firm breasts pressing against the fabric just enough to tease their shape.The faint dip of her waist giving way to full hips.

  Her pajama shorts suddenly looked hiriously out of pce—baggy, falling off her hips, utterly ruining the aesthetic.

  Sam rifled through the bin again, heart hammering against her ribs.

  She pulled out a pleated skirt, bck with a thin white trim at the hem.

  She swallowed thickly.

  Moments ter, she wriggled into it, tugging it up over her hips.

  The waistband was snug but not tight. It fit like it belonged to her.

  The skirt fred out around her thighs in pyful little ripples, teasing just enough skin to make her squirm.

  She stared at her reflection.

  For the first time since the whole insanity had started, she really looked at herself.

  God.

  She was...

  Hot.Not in an arrogant way.Not even in a self-aggrandizing way.

  Just... real. Undeniable.She looked like a girl who could ruin lives just by smiling.

  Sam shifted her hips experimentally, watching the skirt flutter around her thighs.

  She squeezed her thighs again absently, marveling at the plush softness against her own palms.

  A low, shaky ugh escaped her.

  "This is dangerous," she whispered to herself, the words trembling with giddy awe.

  She turned sideways, checking her profile.

  The crop top clung to the curve of her bust perfectly. The skirt framed her legs, teasing just enough without giving anything away.

  Her thighs brushed together with every tiny motion, sending little sparks of sensation skipping up her nerves.

  She flexed experimentally.

  They jiggled.

  Not much—but enough.

  Sam's cheeks burned scarlet. She pressed her hands against her face, trying and failing to smother the wild, delirious smile spreading across her lips.

  She looked down again, hands wandering to her hips.

  The fabric of the skirt whispered against her fingers.Her body felt alive in ways she hadn't even known she was missing before.

  Powerful. Beautiful. Dangerous.

  And it was all hers.

  Sam bit her lip, heart hammering.

  She spun slowly, watching the skirt fan out, then settle back around her thighs like a living thing.

  She liked this.Too much, maybe.

  She caught herself brushing her hands up her sides, smoothing over her waist, up over her ribs to where the crop top ended.

  The curve of her breasts moved under her fingers, soft and inviting.

  Her breath hitched.

  Her fingers curled, squeezing gently through the thin fabric.

  A shiver raced down her spine.

  "Focus," she growled at herself, cheeks bzing.

  She stepped back, tugging at the hem of the crop top like that would somehow fix the rising tide of sensations bubbling up inside her.

  It didn’t.

  It just made her more aware of how the fabric stretched across her chest, how her nipples pressed faintly against the thin cotton with every tiny breath.

  She yanked the bin closer with shaking hands, desperate to distract herself.

  More clothes spilled out—another skirt, tighter and shorter; a cy bralette she barely remembered buying; a pair of thigh-high socks with little bck bows at the tops.

  Sam whimpered quietly.

  She couldn't wear all of it.She shouldn't.

  She was already dangerously close to losing her grip.

  But her hands moved on their own, grabbing the socks, tugging them up her legs.

  The feeling of the soft, stretchy fabric hugging her thighs made her shudder.

  It shouldn't feel so good.

  It shouldn’t make her feel so goddamn good about herself.

  She stood there, breathless, trembling, dressed in a crop top, a short skirt, and thigh-high socks.

  She looked like a walking weapon. A nerd's dream.Her own dream.

  Sam sank down onto the bed, staring at herself in the mirror across the room.

  Her thighs spread naturally, soft and inviting.

  Her skirt rode up just enough to tease a hint of upper thigh.

  The crop top clung to her chest, her curves impossible to hide.

  She pressed her hands against her thighs again, squeezing experimentally.

  Warm.Soft.Her.

  A tiny, desperate noise escaped her throat.

  She shifted, squeezing her thighs tighter together.

  The friction was dizzying.The feeling of her own body against itself was dangerous.

  She could feel herself blushing all the way down her chest.

  The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension.

  She flopped back onto the bed, legs kicking in frustration.

  "This is so not fair," she groaned into her pillow.

  She peeked over at the mirror again, heart pounding.

  She looked...

  God.

  She looked like trouble.

  Pure, innocent trouble wrapped up in short skirts and soft socks.

  And she had no idea what to do about it.