Zoey grew with a smile—not in inches at first, but in attention. Every gaze she caught fed the delicious current under her skin. Then came the rush: a hush of air, a quiver of light—and suddenly she was towering, legs like marble columns, lips like forbidden altars, eyes daring every man below to worship… or run.

She took one slow step. The city held its breath. “Up,” she purred, crooking a finger the size of a streetlight. “Closer.” Laughter rolled like thunder as they obeyed, spellbound by the sway of her hips, the velvet in her voice, the promise in her smile. “You want to be brave,” she teased, bending low until the horizon vanished behind her curves, “but we both know you were made to stare.”

Switch that she was, Zoey made the world her toy—sometimes sweet and soft, a fingertip tracing a shiver along a rooftop’s edge; sometimes wicked, letting them feel how small defiance is when she lifts her chin and murmurs, “Kneel.” Mercy grazed like silk. Hunger bit like lightning. Hearts raced. Knees weakened.

“Look at you,” she whispered, lips glossed with moonlight. “Tiny. Thrilled. Mine… for as long as I desire.” And when she straightened to her full, breathtaking height, the stars seemed closer—or maybe that was just Zoey, tempting heaven itself to watch her play.