Chapter 1

She’d always been the tiny one.

Mara was barely five feet tall, toned from years of morning runs, with a bright-eyed smile that made her look even smaller. Everyone at Hearth & Honey, the cozy little bakery she worked in, called her “sweet thing”—half because she was adorable, half because she was always dusted in sugar by noon.

But sweetness had a price.

And lately, it had been settling right on her hips.

It started innocent. A nibble of a cooling croissant. A bite of a rejected raspberry tart. A spoonful of leftover custard because “it’ll just get thrown out anyway, Mara.” The new head baker kept experimenting, and Mara, being helpful—and hungry after long shifts—kept taste-testing.

Then she moved in with Rowan.

Rowan was a professional chef, tall, soft-spoken, and devastatingly good at turning simple ingredients into something orgasmic. Living with her meant living with constant smells of butter sizzling, garlic caramelizing, sauces thickening on the stove. And Rowan loved feeding people—especially Mara, who made the most precious little noises when she tried something delicious.

Within a month, Mara’s morning runs got slower. Her bakery apron pulled taut over a belly that hadn’t been there before. Her thighs pressed together when she walked. And her ass… Rowan noticed that first. It filled out the back of Mara’s jeans in a way that made Rowan’s mouth go dry.

The first night it became something happened after a long shift.

Mara trudged through the front door, sweaty and exhausted, cheeks pink, smelling faintly of vanilla. Rowan was cooking—cream sauce, herbs, something rich and indulgent. Mara’s stomach growled loud enough for Rowan to hear over the simmer.

“Hungry, sweetheart?” Rowan called, wiping her hands on a towel.

Mara blushed. “Starving. I, uh… taste-tested a bit too much today. Didn’t get a real break.”

Rowan set a plate on the table. Fettucine, thick and heavy, buried in a silky sauce. And a second plate. And a third.

Mara blinked. “R-Rowan… this is so much.”

“You’ve been working hard,” Rowan said, stepping behind her. “You need feeding.”

Her hands slid around Mara’s waist—then paused. Fingers sank into the soft give of new plushness. Rowan squeezed just slightly, just enough to make Mara inhale sharply.

“You’re getting softer,” Rowan murmured against her neck. “It’s cute.”

Mara’s ears burned. She could feel her belly pushing gently over the waistband of her skirt, feel Rowan’s thumbs brushing the new curve.

“You… like it?” Mara whispered.

“I love it,” Rowan said.