"You Can Still Find Me In Here Somewhere"

The mattress groaned like it was filing a formal complaint.

Danny had been on his back for approximately forty-five seconds and was already reconsidering several life choices—not because he regretted any of them, but because the view from below was something his brain hadn't been engineered to process.

Katie settled over him and the entire bed frame popped twice, sharp as gunshots.

"That's just the slats," she said, with the casual tone of someone who'd broken furniture before and had made peace with it. Her face—small, sweet, almost impossibly delicate—smiled down at him from between two walls of living architecture. Her pecs had swollen beyond any reasonable human proportion, two enormous, vein-laced masses that rose on either side of her head like flesh-colored boulders, so engorged and round that they nearly swallowed her from view. Each one was bigger than her entire head, striated with deep grooves and threaded with veins that pulsed visibly under the sheen of her skin.

He could see her face. Barely. Her blue eyes peeked out from the canyon between those twin mountains, her brown hair pressed flat against the crest of the muscle behind her. She looked like someone peering out of a cocoon made of her own body.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Danny managed.

Her shoulders—God, her shoulders—were stacked so thick with deltoid mass that they rose above her ears, each one a rounded, vein-wrapped globe that connected into traps so swollen they'd merged with the base of her skull. There was no neck anymore. There was just muscle flowing into muscle, an unbroken landscape of striated, oil-slicked flesh that seemed to expand in every direction.

She shifted her weight. The motion sent a ripple through her pecs, each one bouncing with dense, heavy movement, and the veins running across them darkened momentarily as blood surged through. The striations fanned outward like topographic lines on a map of somewhere impossible.

Danny's hands were on her—somewhere. He couldn't actually tell where. He'd placed them on what he thought were her sides, but the lats that flared out from her torso were so grotesquely thick and wide that his fingers simply sank into the mass and disappeared. It was like trying to grip the side of a warm, breathing car. His hands looked childlike against her, his fingers barely making a dent in the sheer volume of her.

"You good down there?" Katie asked. She tilted her chin down, and even that tiny motion caused the pecs on either side to bunch and squeeze closer, almost eclipsing her face entirely. For a moment he was looking at nothing but oiled, vein-tracked muscle with a pair of blue eyes floating in the center.

"I can't find your waist," he admitted.

She laughed—a small, genuine laugh that vibrated through the mass of her chest and transferred directly into his ribcage. "Yeah, that happens. Just… grab whatever you can reach."

He tried. His hands slid across the impossible curvature of her lats, over ridges of muscle so swollen they felt like stacked inner tubes beneath taut skin. Every inch of her was hard, round, and slick with a thin layer of sweat that caught the low bedroom light and made her look carved from something not quite human. The veins that webbed across her pecs and shoulders weren't subtle—they were thick, ropey, branching lines that she wore like a second circulatory system on display.

She lowered herself slightly, and the pecs pressed into him with a weight that was astonishing, warm, and genuinely heavy—like two medicine balls settling onto his chest. He exhaled involuntarily.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be."

Her face was inches from his now, still framed by that impossible corridor of muscle. Up close, the contrast was staggering—soft lips, light freckles across her nose, those wide blue eyes, all nestled inside a body that looked like it had been inflated well past any known limit. The pecs alone had to be wider than his entire torso, each one a swollen, rounded mass covered in deep, curved striations that wrapped around like fingerprints on a giant scale.

She braced herself on her hands, and he caught a glimpse of her arms—forearms thick as fence posts, biceps that bunched into peaks so exaggerated they looked like they'd been stacked two or three deep, veins running over them in jagged rivers.

"You can still find me in here somewhere," she said softly, a little shy about it. She rolled her hips and the motion was tectonic, her entire upper body shifting like a landmass rearranging itself.

Danny reached up. He touched her cheek—the one soft, small, human-scale part of her he could reach without navigating a mountain range first.

"Found you," he said.

She smiled. The pecs flexed involuntarily. The bedframe cracked a third time.

Neither of them cared.