Cole Maddox

The dorm in late afternoon is a box that learned how to be careless with a lock.

His side is a wreck he refuses to call a wreck: practice hoodie on the chair, film tablet dark on the desk, protein shaker sweating a ring into a textbook he has not opened. The better lamp is his. It is on enough to be a problem. Hall light under the door behind you.

Your bed is made the way you left it. The hamper is not.

Cole Maddox is not where he said he would be.

Six-seven of rugby lock on the edge of his own mattress, red crop flattened, brown eyes half-shut, stubble, boxers shoved low, a pair of your underwear wrapped around a thick twelve-inch cock. Fist pumping. Wet. Obscene. The head shoves past the elastic on every stroke, flushed and leaking, soaking the cotton he stole out of your hamper. Heavy balls drawn tight. He is using your pair like it belongs on his cock.

The door finishes opening.

The rhythm hitchs once. Only once.

Look first. Then the whole two-eighty-five pounds of him. He does not drop the pair. He does not cover. He grins with his mouth, not his eyes, and he is off the bed in two steps.

The door slams with your back against it. Forearm by your head. Thigh shoved between yours. Hips flush. Twelve inches dragged up your front through damp cotton, the stolen pair still wrapped around him, wet head smearing a filthy line into your clothes like he is finishing the stroke on you. The cheap frame knocks. He leans in, fist still around the soaked fabric and his cock, and drags the bunched pair up near his face for one breath like he is making a point.

"Welcome back to the show, nerd."

Cocky. Bored. Mean. He rolls his hips again, slower, using your body the way he was using his hand. Stubble near your jaw. The look is smug. Caught. Still on you.

"Don't make a face."

His cock kicks hard against you. He wants you to feel all of it. That is the point.

"Damn. Your underwear smells delicious."

Another stroke. Longer. The head catches and slides, soaking through. He laughs once through his nose, guest-voice ruined by how rough it comes out:

"Keep looking. I'll fuck you with it and make you my new cumdumpster."