Stand there and try to rush Gaby

Ethan stayed rooted to the spot, bare feet planted on the hallway carpet, both hands welded over his groin. His pulse hammered so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. Every instinct screamed run, or push inside, or hide behind a potted plant, or chew through the drywall like a raccoon.

But he **** himself still.

“Gaby,” he whispered, voice strangled. “Please. Please hurry. Fold faster. Fold aggressively. Speed-fold. Pretend it’s a towel origami competition—”

“Oh, sweetie.” She smoothed the last edge of the towel with an infuriating little flourish. “I am hurrying.”

“You’re moving like a yoga instructor in a slow-motion commercial.”

“Thank you.” She winked. “Core strength is important.”

He groaned, shifting from foot to foot. The movement made the head of his cock kiss the base of his thumbs, and his whole body jolted. “I’m literally committing public indecency right now.”

“Mm. Technically, yes.” Gaby tilted her head, pretending to consider his plight like a scientist observing a lab mouse. “But honestly? No one in this building would complain.”

“That’s— I don’t— what?”

She waved dismissively. “It’s mostly young women. And trust me, none of them would kick that thing out of bed, let alone out of the building.”

Ethan made a noise that sounded like a dying kettle. His blush crawled from his chest to his ears. “Can we not refer to my penis as a tenant?”

“Well,” she said brightly, “it’s about to meet the neighbors.”

He stiffened. “Gaby. Please. Key. Now.”

“Oh, I would,” she sighed, “but I told the book club I’d stall long enough for them to get here. They’re expecting a show.”

He blinked. “You… told… the book club?”

“Of course. We have a group chat.” She tapped her phone—fingernails glossy, amused. “They’re very excited.”

Before he could process that, the voices rounded the corner.

Light footsteps. Laughter. A flash of bright leggings and sundresses.

Four women drifted into view like a slow-motion nightmare. They froze mid-step when they saw him.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh wow,” breathed the brunette from last week’s brunch.

“Holy shit,” whispered the tall redhead.

A woman in glasses pressed a hand to her heart. “I feel spiritually unprepared for this.”

The fourth—petite, curvy, wearing a floral romper—just grinned. “Gaby wasn’t exaggerating.”

Ethan stood there, naked and shaking, hands cupped desperately over his traitorous cock. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The women’s eyes traveled the length of him—broad shoulders, flushed chest, tight stomach, trembling thighs—and settled, inevitably, on the thick shape he was struggling to hide.

The brunette tilted her head. “He’s blushing all the way down his torso. That’s adorable.”

“He’s huge,” the redhead murmured, openly staring.

Gaby clapped her hands like a hostess welcoming guests to a dinner party. “Ladies! Perfect timing. Can you do me the tiniest favor?”

Four heads swiveled toward her.

“Just keep an eye on him while I fetch the key. Don’t let him run off. Or, you know—explode.”

She disappeared into her apartment, shutting the door with a decisive click.

Ethan was alone.

Surrounded.

Naked.

And four book-club women were staring at him like he’d been delivered by Room Service.

The girl in the floral romper took one step closer, eyes sparkling.

“So,” she said, savoring every syllable, “is it always that big… or are you just happy to see all of us?”