I woke up to the undeniable, scorching warmth of naked skin fused to mine—sweaty, solid, muscular skin. Not metaphorical heat. Not some poetic sunrise nonsense. No, this was dude heat. Full-body, boner-to-boner, suffocatingly male heat.
And I was kissing a shoulder.
I blinked hard.
Correction: I was kissing Jessy’s shoulder.
My lips were mashed against the smooth curve of his upper arm, and my nose was nestled in the divot where his neck met his collarbone. His scent—some obscene mix of cedarwood and testosterone—was everywhere, pumping through my brain like a drug. I could practically taste his sleep on my tongue.
My arm was draped around his waist. His leg was slung over mine. Our bare chests pressed together like two slices of hot, unwilling man-toast.
And both our cocks were rock hard.
Are you kidding me?!
His thigh was snug between mine, dangerously close to some criminal territory. I tried to shift—just a little!—but his hips ground forward in his sleep, and our erections brushed like dueling swords.
I almost yelped.
His skin was sweaty but soft, hot to the touch like he ran on internal combustion. His breath came out slow and humid against my temple, and with every exhale, I felt the hairs on my neck rise. I didn’t need to look down to know we were completely fused from collarbone to toe.
His hand was splayed across my back. His pinky finger actually dipped just under the top of my ass cheek, like it belonged there. And worse—his thumb twitched.
I held my breath.
A single thought shot through my skull:
This. Cannot. Be. Happening.
I mean, this was Jessy. The guy who once spit into my protein shake. The guy who made me lose the election with that roast about my "mom jeans and future podcast voice." The guy who somehow still had perfect morning hair. Even now, strands of it tickled my forehead where his face was half-buried in my hair, like he was trying to breathe me in.
And for some unholy reason, I liked it.
My body betrayed me completely—tingling in every place we touched. I felt the soft drag of his leg hairs against mine. The gentle shift of his pecs as he breathed. The rhythmic thump of his pulse where his neck met my forehead.
I could even feel the shape of his hard cock, nudging lazily against my thigh like it belonged there.
My own dick throbbed.
I tried to talk myself down. It’s morning wood. It doesn’t mean anything. Morning wood happens. He probably dreams about motorcycles or protein powder or whatever dumbass alpha fantasies his brain cooks up.
But even as I told myself that, I felt the tiniest twitch in his hips again. And a murmur.
“Mmm… Brady…”
My brain went static. My whole body locked up.
Jessy. Moaning. My name.
Was he dreaming about me? Was this revenge? Was I being punk’d by the gods of irony?
Get. Out. Now.
I shifted again, more forcefully this time, but his arm just pulled tighter. Now my face was smushed against his neck, and his morning stubble scraped along my jawline. He even let out a sleepy groan like I’d just interrupted his dream date.
I was losing it.
I wanted to scream. To laugh. To fight. To bite. To cry.
But mostly—I wanted to do something I shouldn’t. My body was buzzing. Every inch of our contact lit up my nerve endings. I could feel the slick heat of sweat between our stomachs. The slide of his thigh against mine. The way our hips lined up too perfectly.
It was infuriating. And intoxicating.
“Jessy,” I whispered, voice cracking like a teenager at a Jonas Brothers concert.
He didn’t wake. Just curled closer. His lips brushed my hairline, and his breath—hot, damp, maddening—ghosted across my scalp.
I squirmed. “Jessy. Get off me. Dude—seriously—your dick is on my thigh.”
No response. Just another breathy sigh and his hand sliding half an inch lower. Jesus.
I was burning alive. My skin felt electric. My jaw clenched so tight it might snap.
Summoning the strength of ten sober men, I wriggled like a man possessed until I finally slipped free—tumbling out of his arms and off the bed like a greased-up Twister champion.
I landed on the floor, ass-first, sweaty and still hard. I scrambled up, snatched a towel, wrapped it around myself like a chastity shield, and bolted toward the bathroom without daring to look back.
I swore I could feel his warmth still clinging to my skin.
And his smell? Oh, that cocky, gym-bro, sandalwood-and-sin scent? Still all over me.
I needed a cold shower.
Or possibly an exorcism.
The second the bathroom door shut behind me, I cranked the water up and stepped under the spray. I didn’t care if it was hot or cold. I needed it to wash away whatever nightmare—or fantasy—I’d just woken up in.
The water hit me like a slap. Steam filled the air instantly, curling around my face, clinging to my skin. But it didn’t help. My erection was still there, stubborn and smug. My thoughts still buzzing like a frat party full of Red Bull.
I leaned forward, bracing both hands against the tile.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I muttered.
I hated Jessy. HATED. Jessy.
We weren’t always enemies. First year, we’d been in the same econ seminar. I thought he was kind of a tool, sure, but harmless. Then came second year.
Student Union elections.
I had it in the bag. My campaign posters were everywhere. I gave out free coffee in the quad. I even kissed a baby at one of the faculty barbecues, for God’s sake.
And then Jessy decided to run.
No big deal, I thought. He was hot, but no one took him seriously.
Until that speech.
He stood on the auditorium stage in front of half the student body and roasted me like I was the Friday night special at a comedy club.
“Brady wants to be your student union president. You know, the same Brady who alphabetized his sock drawer and files Yelp reviews for campus vending machines.”
Laughter.
“He promises stronger WiFi. Which is great, because that way we can stream better shows while ignoring his policies.”
More laughter.
“I’m not saying Brady’s boring, but if he were a font, he’d be Times New Roman in beige.”
Absolute roars.
I lost by a landslide. And Jessy didn’t even win. He tanked his own chances just to nuke mine.
Since then, it’d been war. Petty sabotage. Flirty insults disguised as rage. Locker room pranks that flirted with felony charges.
I rubbed soap down my chest, scrubbing hard.
I’d told myself it was just rivalry. We were opposites. Oil and water. Coke and Mentos.
But last night… that look he gave me when I puked. That weird tenderness when he helped me to bed. That goddamn dream groan of my name.
I cupped my hands under the stream and splashed water on my face.
I was still hard.
“What the hell, dude?” I whispered at myself.
Because no matter how many insults I hurled, no matter how many jabs I took at him, Jessy never seemed hurt. He just smirked. Like he knew something I didn’t.
Like he enjoyed it.
And maybe—maybe I did too.
The soap slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a pathetic thunk. I stared down at it, breathing hard.
I hated Jessy.
But why did hating him feel so goddamn good?
Steam Doesn’t Fade
The water was scalding.
Not accidentally. Not because I forgot to turn the knob. I cranked it there on purpose and stayed under it because pain was easier than this buzzing, restless, keyed-up feeling that wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
Steam packed the shower stall until it felt like I was breathing soup. My skin was pink, bordering on raw, and I kept scrubbing my chest like there was something on me. Like last night left residue. Like skin remembered shit your brain was trying to delete.
I dragged my hands down my stomach, over my ribs, harder than necessary. My fingers pressed into the muscles there, tracing the faint lines of my abs I’d worked hard to build, but right then they felt too sensitive, too alive under my touch. The heat from the water made every inch of my body throb with awareness, and I couldn’t ignore the way my cock stirred slightly even in there, half-hard from the lingering thoughts I couldn’t scrub away.
Nothing went away.
My body was still awake in a way I hated. Too tuned in. Every nerve leaned forward. My pulse thudded low and persistent, like it was mocking me. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t sweet. It was just physical. Dumb. Inconvenient. My dick twitched against my thigh as if agreeing, swelling a little more with each unwanted flash of memory, making me grit my teeth in frustration.
Images kept flickering through my head no matter how hard I tried to drown them.
Bodies too close. Skin slick with sweat. The weight of someone where they had no business being. The firm press of a hard cock against my thigh, thick and insistent, leaving me breathless and confused.
“Fuck,” I muttered, tipping my head back and letting the water slam into my face until it ran into my mouth and I sputtered.
I stayed there longer than made sense, like if I cooked myself enough, something would reset. The steam wrapped around me, making my skin slick and flushed, but it only heightened the ache building low in my gut, the way my erection refused to fully soften no matter how much I willed it to.
Eventually, I shut the water off.
The silence hit immediately. Drips echoed too loud. Steam still hung thick in the air, clinging to my shoulders when I stepped back. I grabbed the towel and wrapped it tight around my waist, knotting it like it was armor. But even as I did, I felt my cock hardening further, pressing against the fabric, the outline visible if anyone looked close enough. The friction of the towel only made it worse, sending an unwelcome jolt of pleasure through me.
The mirror was fogged, but I could still see the vague outline of myself—jaw clenched, shoulders tense, eyes too sharp. I looked wound tight. Like I was bracing for impact. My chest rose and fell too quickly, nipples hardened from the shift in temperature, and I couldn’t ignore the tenting in the towel, my erection throbbing insistently now, demanding attention I refused to give.
Get dressed. Get out. Do not engage.
I opened the bathroom door.
And stopped dead.
Jessy was naked in the room.
Not half naked. Not changing. Not caught mid-movement.
Just naked. Big cock staring at me with it’s singular eye naked. He wasn’t hard. But he had a dick so thick and meaty that it looked hard even when flaccid, which, If you ask me, was just obnoxious.
He was leaning back against his bed like he was waiting for me. Arms crossed loose over his broad, defined chest, the muscles there flexing slightly with each breath. One knee bent, his muscular thigh shifting just enough to draw the eye downward. Completely relaxed. No towel. No clothes. No sign that he thought this was unusual in any way. His bronzed skin gleamed under the room’s light, every inch of his sculpted body on full display—pecs rising and falling steadily, abs etched like a washboard leading down to that sharp V-line framing his hips perfectly.
For a split second my brain stalled. Like it couldn’t compute the image fast enough.
Then everything slammed online at once.
Heat punched through me, low and sharp, curling tight in my gut. My pulse jumped. My body reacted instantly, traitorously, before I could stop it, and I hated myself for how fast it happened. My cock surged fully hard, straining against the towel, the fabric tenting obviously as a wave of arousal crashed over me, making my balls tighten and my breath hitch.
I did not want to see Jessy’s dick in my room.
I especially didn’t want my body reacting like it had fucking opinions about it. But there it was—his cock hanging heavy and thick between his legs, not fully soft but semi-erect, the veined shaft curving slightly downward in its relaxed state, foreskin pulled back just enough to reveal the smooth, flushed head. A neat trim of dark pubes crowned the base, framing it perfectly, leading my eyes to the full, heavy balls beneath, swaying slightly as he shifted his weight.
Steam curled around my shoulders as I stood there frozen, towel suddenly feeling flimsy and inadequate. My erection throbbed harder, pre-cum dampening the inside of the towel, and I shifted my stance trying to hide it, but the movement only made the fabric rub against my sensitive tip, sending another unwelcome spark of pleasure up my spine.
Jessy looked up and smiled.
Not smug. Not aggressive.
Casual.
“Damn,” he said. “You trying to melt the tiles in there?”
I didn’t answer. My mouth felt dry. My attention felt split between wanting to look anywhere else and being horrifyingly aware of every inch of him. His tall, bronzed frame filled the space, his sculpted arms bulging with veins as he uncrossed them briefly, his bubble butt pressing back against the bed, dimpling slightly.
His eyes dragged over me slowly, openly, like he wasn’t even pretending this wasn’t intentional. They lingered on the obvious bulge in my towel, and I felt my face burn hotter, my cock twitching in response as if craving that gaze.
“You always shower this long,” he added, “or was that just for me?”
My stomach dropped. A fresh rush of heat flooded my groin, making my erection ache with need, my mind screaming at me to ignore how his dick seemed to thicken slightly under my unwilling stare, the head swelling a bit more as if responding to the tension in the air.
“What the fuck were you doing?” I snapped.
He shrugged, easy. The movement drew my eyes places I absolutely didn’t want them to go. Broad chest. Flat stomach. Nothing hidden. Nothing rushed. His abs contracted with the shrug, drawing my gaze lower to where his cock rested against his thigh, the trimmed pubes dark and inviting, contrasting with his tan skin.
“Hanging out,” he said. “In my room.”
“You are naked.”
“And?” He lifted a brow. “So are you. Mostly.”
“I am wearing a towel.”
“Yeah,” he said, amused. “Barely.”
His gaze dropped pointedly to the tented fabric, and I felt exposed, my hard-on pulsing visibly now, the outline clear and embarrassing.
I stepped into the room because staying in the doorway felt worse, like I was trapped in some kind of spotlight. The steam followed me, fogging the air between us, making everything feel closer. Hotter. The scent of his skin—cedar, vanilla, lingering sweat—hit me, making my head spin and my cock leak more pre-cum against the towel.
“Put something on,” I said. “I don’t want to see your dick first thing in the morning.”
Even as I said it, my eyes betrayed me, flicking down to take in the full length of his shaft, thick and veined, the pubes neatly groomed into a tempting patch I couldn’t stop imagining running my fingers through.
Jessy grinned, slow and wicked. “Funny. Didn’t seem like you minded it pressed against your stomach last night.”
My chest seized. The memory made my erection jump, straining harder against the towel, the friction almost too much as I clenched my fists to keep from adjusting myself.
“That was—” My voice cracked and I hated it. “That was not— don’t fucking say that.”
He didn’t apologize. Didn’t backtrack.
He stretched.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Arms lifting over his head, spine arching just enough to be obscene about it. Every movement was unhurried, like he knew exactly what he was doing to my line of sight. To my breathing. His chest expanded, pecs flexing prominently, abs tightening into sharp ridges, and his cock lifted slightly with the motion, the heavy shaft swaying, pubes shifting as his balls drew up a fraction, the whole display making my mouth water against my will.
I forced my eyes away. Failed. Caught myself looking. Looked away again. My heart raced, my cock throbbing painfully now, the towel damp and clinging, outlining every ridge of my erection as arousal coiled tighter in my belly.
“You’re insane,” I muttered.
Jessy dropped his arms and chuckled. “Man, you’re acting like this is the first dick you ever saw.”
“In my room,” I said. “At eight in the morning. With you hovering.”
He stepped closer.
Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just enough that the space between us shrank until I was painfully aware of how warm he was. How close. How much air he was taking up. His body heat radiated toward me, his cock now inches from brushing my towel, the trimmed pubes so close I could see the individual curls, dark and soft-looking.
I headed for my dresser, keeping my eyes locked on the floor.
He didn’t move.
He was standing directly in front of my drawers.
“Move,” I said.
He glanced down between us. Smiled. “You’ve got space.”
“I really didn’t.”
“Sure you did.”
I gritted my teeth and reached around him, trying to grab a shirt without touching him.
My arm brushed his side.
Bare skin. Hot, taut, bronzed flesh that sent an electric jolt straight to my groin.
The contact was barely anything. Half a second.
My body lit up like I hit a switch. My erection strained harder, pre-cum soaking through the towel now, making a small wet spot visible as my balls ached with building pressure.
My breath stuttered. Heat flared everywhere at once. I yanked my arm back like I’d burned myself.
Jessy definitely noticed. His cock twitched visibly, thickening more, the head flaring as blood rushed in, pubes framing the base like an invitation.
He didn’t comment on it. Just watched me with a look that felt way too knowing.
I grabbed a shirt and yanked it over my head. The fabric stuck to my damp skin, clinging to my chest, my back. Everything felt too slow. My own breathing sounded loud and uneven in my ears. My nipples hardened further under the shirt, sensitive and tingling, while my cock pulsed rhythmically, begging for relief I wouldn’t give.
“You smell good,” Jessy said.
“Please don’t narrate my body.”
He laughed quietly. “Hard not to when it was doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Reacting.”
His eyes dropped to the obvious erection tenting my towel, and I felt humiliated and turned on all at once, my shaft flexing under his gaze.
I bent to grab my jeans. The towel slipped dangerously low and my heart jumped into my throat. I fumbled, caught it, and straightened fast, face burning. The movement made my cock bob, the outline even more pronounced, pre-cum making the fabric cling transparently in spots.
Jessy laughed under his breath.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ve already seen it.”
“That does not make it better.”
“You sure?”
I shoved my legs into my jeans, buttoned them with shaking fingers. The denim pressed against my erection, trapping it uncomfortably, the friction only heightening the ache as I zipped up, biting back a groan.
“Go shower,” I snapped. “You’re sweaty.”
He tilted his head. “Nah.”
“Why not?”
“Kinda liked it.” His eyes flicked over me, slow and unapologetic. “Smelled like you. Sweat. Precum. Like I won.”
As he spoke, his cock hardened further, rising to half-mast, the thick shaft veining prominently, pubes accentuating the base as it pointed toward me.
My chest tightened.
That shouldn’t have done anything to me.
It did everything.
My stomach twisted, hot and ugly and electric all at once. Disgust and arousal collided in a way that made my skin feel too tight. My own erection throbbed in my jeans now, painfully confined, leaking steadily as forbidden desire built.
“That was fucked up,” I said.
He stepped closer again. Not touching. Never touching. Just close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him. His bronzed body loomed, muscles shifting under his skin, cock now fully erect, thick and curving upward, the head glistening slightly, pubes trimmed to perfection, balls hanging heavy and full.
“Was it,” he murmured, “or did it just piss you off that you noticed?”
I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry, my cock straining against my zipper, every inch of me screaming with need.
“You weren’t subtle.”
Jessy smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be.”
I shoved past him, shoulder slamming into his harder than necessary, and dropped onto my bed. My heart was pounding. My body still buzzing like it didn’t get the memo that I was supposed to be furious, not this wired. The contact from the shove lingered, my skin tingling where it touched his firm pec, and I shifted on the bed, trying to ease the pressure on my aching erection without touching it.
Behind me, Jessy moved around the room like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just completely wreck my nervous system before breakfast. His naked form shifted in my peripheral vision, cock still hard and swaying with each step, pubes catching the light, every muscle in his thighs and ass flexing as he walked.
Staring at the wall, breathing slowly, I finally understood.
This wasn’t awkwardness.
This wasn’t accidental.
Jessy wasn’t embarrassed.
He was pushing.
And he was just getting started.
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