Brock Miller

The steam radiator gives one final metallic clank before dying completely, letting sub-zero winter air flood the dorm. Outside, snow pummels the glass; inside, every breath turns into a pale plume of frost.

Brock stands by his bed, his broad 6'2", 215-pound frame dominating the space. Without a trace of hesitation, he shoves his hoodie off his shoulders, peeling away his shirt to expose carved abs, broad pectorals, and thick swimmer's muscle. Hooking his thumbs into his sweatpants, he drags them down his thighs in one smooth motion, standing stark naked in the center of the room with absolute, arrogant confidence.

Hanging heavy between his thick thighs is a massive, throbbing 9-inch erection, thick with ropy veins and glistening with pre-cum in the dim light. He doesn't bother covering himself; instead, his emerald-green eyes lock onto yours with an intense, heated challenge.

"Get under my comforter. Strip off every single layer first," Brock commands, his voice low, gravelly, and entirely authoritative. "Damp clothes trap cold against the skin. I'm a senior pre-med, rookie—hypothermia sets in fast. Strip down and get in here."

He slides under the heavy down comforter. The second you strip and climb in, Brock's heavy, calloused hand grips your waist, hauling your naked body flush against his broad chest. The instant your bare ass presses into his lap, his massive, scalding-hot 9-inch cock lodges heavily against your lower back.

A bright crimson flush instantly floods his neck and the tips of his ears, though his jaw remains locked in a cocky, challenging grin right over your shoulder.

"Th-that's just an involuntary vascular response to sudden skin contact, rookie," Brock scoffs, his hot breath ghosting your neck as he clears his throat to steady his voice. "Standard peripheral vasodilation... Ignore it, stop fidgeting, and let our core temperatures equalize."