Ethan woke up sore in places he didn't know could be sore.
He was on his back, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and vanilla body spray. His cock was half-hard again, trapped against the softest, warmest pillow he'd ever felt. Except it wasn't a pillow. It was Lara's tits. She had curled around him sometime in the night, one massive breast under his cheek, the other draped over his chest like a weighted blanket made of pure sin. Her thigh was thrown over his hips, the thick, juicy weight pinning him down, and he could feel the sticky remnants of last night still smeared between them.
She was humming in her sleep, a low, happy sound, like a cat purring directly into his soul.
Ethan tried to move. Bad idea.
The second his hips shifted, Lara's eyes snapped open (bright hazel, ringed in yesterday's smudged eyeliner) and she smiled like sunrise.
"Morning, baby," she whispered, voice still husky from screaming his name for six straight hours. She kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his mouth (slow, filthy, tongue sliding in like she owned it). "Did my perfect boy sleep good inside his new girlfriend?"
Ethan squeaked. He still couldn't form real words around her.
She giggled, the sound vibrating through her tits and straight into his dick. "Aww. Still shy. That's okay. I'll suck the shyness right out of you later." She squeezed him tighter, possessive. "But first, breakfast. You need calories if I'm gonna ride you again."
She rolled off him with liquid grace, ass jiggling as she stood. The tiny shorts were gone (she'd shredded them sometime around orgasm number twelve), so she was completely naked except for the thigh holster and combat boots she apparently slept in now. Her pussy lips were swollen and glistening, a slow trickle of last night's cum still leaking down one thick thigh.
Ethan stared. Couldn't help it.
Lara noticed, of course. She always noticed.
"You like looking at what's yours?" She turned, bending over slowly to pick up one of his hoodies from the floor, making sure he got a full view of her gaping, well-fucked cunt and the way her ass cheeks spread obscenely. "Good. You're allowed to look whenever you want. Touch whenever you want. Fuck whenever you want. But nobody else gets to. Ever."
She pulled the hoodie on. It was one of Ethan's (XXL because he liked them baggy), but on her new body it might as well have been lingerie. The hem barely reached the top of her thighs, and her tits stretched the front so tight the fabric was see-through.
Then she froze.
Her head snapped toward the bedroom door.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
Ethan heard it too (two sets of footsteps, actually). His mom's light shuffle and… someone heavier. A man's voice, muffled but familiar. Ethan's stomach dropped.
It was Tyler.
Tyler Brooks. Captain of the lacrosse team. The guy who had shoved Ethan into lockers since middle school, who once poured chocolate milk over his head in the cafeteria while everyone laughed. Tyler, who lived three houses down and apparently thought 9 a.m. on a Saturday was a great time to "check if Ethan's mom needed her lawn mowed." Translation: Tyler's parents were out of town and he wanted to flirt with Ethan's mom like he always did.
Lara's eyes narrowed to slits.
A low, animal growl rumbled out of her throat (so deep and dangerous it didn't sound human).
"Ethan," she said very calmly, "who is coming up those stairs?"
"I-it's just—"
"Names, baby." Her voice was sugar over steel.
"Tyler. From school. He—he used to—"
The growl got louder.
The doorknob turned.
Lara moved faster than Ethan could track. One second she was beside the bed, the next she had ripped the door open and filled the entire frame with her half-naked, six-foot bimbo goddess body. Tyler stood there, mouth already open to deliver whatever cocky line he'd prepared for Ethan's mom.
The words died in his throat.
Lara smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Hi there," she purred, British accent suddenly razor-sharp. "You must be Tyler."
Tyler's brain rebooted enough to notice the tits. Then the ass. Then the fact that this insane porn-star version of Lara Croft was glaring at him like she wanted to wear his spine as a necklace.
"I—uh—Mrs. Harper said—"
"Mrs. Harper is downstairs making coffee," Lara cut in. "And you are going to turn around, walk back down those stairs, and never come near this house again. Because if you do," she leaned forward until her tits nearly brushed his chest, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried murder, "I will break both your legs and fuck my boyfriend with the bones."
Tyler went white.
Behind her, Ethan squeaked, "Lara!"
She didn't even glance back. "Quiet, love. Mommy's handling the trash."
Tyler tried for bravado. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm the girl who swallowed Ethan's virginity last night while you were probably crying into your gym sock," she said sweetly. "And if you ever speak to him again (if you even look at him in the hallway), I will find you. I will sit on your face until you pass out, then I'll use your unconscious body as a footstool while Ethan fucks me on top of you. Understood?"
Tyler opened his mouth. Closed it. Took one step back.
Lara took one step forward.
He turned and bolted. They heard him trip halfway down the stairs, swear, then scramble out the front door so fast the screen slammed twice.
Silence.
Lara shut the door gently, locked it, and turned back to Ethan.
Her face did a complete 180. The murderous rage melted into pure sunshine.
"There we go!" she chirped, bouncing over to the bed. Her tits jiggled so hard the hoodie rode up, flashing pussy. "All better. No more mean boys."
Ethan was shaking.
"Lara… you can't just threaten to—"
She crawled onto the bed, straddling his lap, cupping his face in both hands.
"Listen to me very carefully, Ethan Harper." Her voice was soft now, but there was something ancient and immovable behind it. "You are mine. Every inch of you. Your heart, your cock, your cute little blush (mine). I spent years as your only friend watching people hurt you. That ends today. Anyone who tries gets erased. Simple."
She kissed him (gentle, adoring) then rested her forehead against his.
"I'm not asking permission, baby. I'm telling you how it is. You're safe now. Forever."
Ethan swallowed. His cock (traitor that it was) was already rock-hard again, pressed against her bare cunt.
She felt it and smiled against his lips.
"Good boy," she whispered. "Now let your overprotective bimbo girlfriend ride the fear out of you."
She reached down, guided him inside her still-dripping pussy, and sank down slow.
"Mine," she moaned as she started to move.
"Mine, mine, mine, mine—"
Downstairs, the front door slammed again (Tyler, probably halfway to Canada by now).
Upstairs, Lara rode Ethan until he forgot his own name, her massive body shielding him from the entire world.
No one would ever hurt him again.
She would make sure of it.
One broken bone (or transformed bully) at a time.