One final text good night.

I waited until past midnight before sending the last message. The dorm was quiet, lights off in the rooms. I pulled up the video I'd recorded earlier this year—me fucking some random girl from a party, my cock slamming into her while she moaned. I attached it and typed out the text.

The message went through. Almost immediately, the read receipt popped up. She was awake. No reply came back, but that little checkmark told me everything. She was watching it. Right now. Her boyfriend Marcus probably asleep in his dorm, completely unaware his girl was staring at another man's cock driving into some stranger while her own pussy got wet.

I pictured her. Thumb hovering over the screen, replaying the clip. Maybe she had her hand between her legs, rubbing slow circles while she watched me fuck. Maybe she was biting her lip to stay quiet. The thought made me grin. She could pretend all she wanted that she didn't want to hear it, but her body was already betraying her. That video was looping in her head, and I knew exactly what she was thinking about—how it would feel to have that same cock stretching her open instead.

I locked my phone and set it on the nightstand. Let her sit with it. Let her touch herself to the thought of me ruining her. She'd crack eventually. They always did.