All characters in this story are 18+
This story is completely fictional.
All acts in this story are fully consensual.
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I swear I didn't mean to see it.
But I didn't click out either.
It was supposed to be just a casual study session. One of those late-night group calls that didn't really need to exist--just an excuse to feel less alone while pretending to be productive. Cameras on, mics muted. The occasional sigh, the rustle of notes, a shared sense of quiet frustration. There were five of us at the start. Just five tired students and their laptops.
He was one of them.
The one.
The one I always stared at a little too long. When I thought no one was looking. When I could get away with it. He had that kind of body you don't forget after seeing once--sharp jawline, cocky half-smile, those thick shoulders that looked even broader in a tank top. Which, of course, he always wore. Every session. Always slouched just right, always sprawled like the chair was made for him. Like the world bent around his comfort.
Eventually, people started dropping off. One by one. A wave, a nod, a "catch you later."
Until it was just the two of us.
Then... he disappeared.
No goodbye. No flicker of sound. Just stood up, turned off his mic, and stepped out of frame. I figured he'd left, maybe got bored, maybe forgot to leave the meeting. I minimized the window, tried to focus on my reading. But a part of me kept glancing back. His name was still there. The little green dot beside it. His camera still on.
And then--
A few minutes later, he came back.
Wearing nothing but a white towel. Low. So low on his hips it felt impossible. His hair was wet, darker than before. Drops slid down his neck in slow rivulets, tracing over his collarbone, catching in the valley of his chest. I blinked. My stomach flipped.
I froze.
My mouse hovered over "leave meeting."
I didn't click it.
He didn't say a word. He didn't even look at the screen. Just walked across his room, muscles moving like liquid under skin, and tossed his phone on the bed. Then turned around--back to the camera--and dropped the towel.
My breath caught.
He was naked. Completely. Just standing there for a second like it meant nothing. Like he'd done this a thousand times. His ass--round, solid, effortlessly perfect--was right there. I covered my mouth even though no one could hear me.
He crawled onto his bed. Stretched out on his back like a model in a shoot. One knee bent, arms above his head for a second. Then settled. Relaxed. Let his cock fall naturally against his thigh--half-hard, heavy.
I couldn't look away. My mic was muted. My camera was off. And I was burning.
