I knew on some level that Bryce was in this for the end goal, for after the pregnancy and the inevitable result of it. That led to a certain kind of logic, explaining perhaps why the woman he’d chosen to bear his child looked nothing like the woman that he’d once dated. Lust being inextricably separate from the end goal of our arrangement.

So it would be easy enough to logically say that he didn’t choose this body for looks. That he chose it for other purposes, for other reasons. But standing naked in her skin and thinking about this only made me think how different we were, how tall and broad he was in contrast to my slight and feminine form. It only made me consider the scene, a freeze-frame sight of me beneath his bulk, me astride his hips, of me bent over and taking him again and again.

But a shake of my head was enough to break me out of that spell.

“Are you out there Bryce?” I called out to him, taking note of how my voice sounded different, high and almost squeaky.

The footsteps stopped and there was a pregnant pause before he responded, “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” I reassured him, “It happened. I’m… I’m changed and I’ll just… Go downstairs and I’ll be down in a minute I just need to get dressed.”

And I blushed as I heard no footsteps, thinking of the fact that he knew that I was naked in here and wondering whether he’d listen or whether he’d walk in and take a real look, a proper look, at what his money and his demands had wrought.

It took a long time for me to hear his footsteps walk away, but that might have just been because my heart was pounding so loudly.

“So I think I found one problem,” I said finally as I walked down the stairs nearly a half-hour later after sorting through clothes and finding that there was little that fit my petite frame, “I think we’re going to need to go shopping again.”

I settled at the foot of the steps and stared at the back of his head as I waited for him to get up and turn to take me in.

My wardrobe had consisted almost entirely of things that I’d be comfortable wearing, though resized to fit the demands of my new body. The sort of usual things that I wore around the house, t-shirts and jeans and the like.

But apparently we were both terrible at judging women’s sizes because everything was far too big for me. The only things that I’d managed to find that could fit me were a pair of tiny sleep shorts that hugged my hips in a way that was unstintingly pleasant. Over top of that I’d gone with a shirt so big that it was more like a dress, coming down to mid-thigh and leaving an abundance of my legs on display.

I still wasn’t terribly comfortable with bras, either the concept or the mechanics of putting them on, so I’d grabbed an old jean jacket and slung it overtop so that my curves weren’t quite as much on display and in order to make the ensemble convincing as a dress I’d cinched a thin belt around my waist and drawn it in tight.

Hair down, loose and flowing. Natural look with no makeup because god knows how I’d apply that. I waited with bated breath as I watched him turn and set eyes on me for the first time, my stare intent on him as I tried to puzzle out the look he was giving me.

Because as his eyes ran up and down my body I knew it was nothing like any look that I’d seen from him before. I could cross joy and happiness and intense concentration off the list. I could strike through anger and anything negative.

He was just looking at me like he was appraising me. The closest analog I could find was when he looked off into the distance while he was solving his puzzles.

But today he wasn’t looking into the distance.

Today he was looking right at me.