Accident or not

It started with a door.

Saturday morning. The apartment was quiet. John was still asleep. Claire, fresh from the shower, stepped into the hallway in nothing but a towel, skin damp and warm, hair clinging to her shoulders.

She passed Marcus’s room—and paused.

The door was ajar. Just a sliver, maybe a few inches. Light spilled out. Steam curled from the adjacent bathroom.

Something made her stop.

Maybe curiosity. Maybe something else.

She tilted her head and looked in.

Marcus stood near his bed, completely naked. Drying his arms slowly with a towel. His posture loose, casual, like he was alone in the world. Then he turned slightly to toss the towel on a chair, and Claire’s breath caught.

She saw all of him.

His cock hung between thick, powerful thighs, long and heavy, resting against one side with a slight, natural curve. Veins traced its length like roots under the skin—thick, pulsing, masculine. Even soft, it had weight and girth, more than she’d ever seen on a man before.

Below it, his balls hung low and full—dense, dark, swollen with heat. They moved slightly as he shifted, like they were too heavy to stay still.

Claire’s chest tightened. A flush of heat spread across her face, down her neck, into her belly.

She didn’t move. She didn’t blink.

Then, quietly, she stepped back into her room, heart racing. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it, her towel suddenly too warm.

She breathed.

Then crossed to her desk. Opened the drawer. Pulled out a ruler.

Thirty centimeters.

She sat on the bed and stared at it, running her finger slowly from end to end. She imagined the length, the curve, the thickness. She placed the ruler across her bare thigh and traced a mark where she thought Marcus’s cock had ended.

Then added a few centimeters.

She bit her lip.

Then tucked the ruler under her pillow.