Waits until they leave

Emily stood in the now-silent shower stall, steam still curling around her bare body. Her hair clung damp to her neck, her skin warm and flushed. She’d waited. Listened. The voices had faded. The water had stopped. The locker room was quiet again.

Now or never.

She reached for her towel, wrapped it once loosely around her hips—no time for a full cover—and slid the curtain open.

And walked directly into someone.

Hard.

Her bare chest smacked solid muscle. A loud oof punched out of her as she bounced back a step—and her feet slipped out from under her, the slick tile giving way beneath her heels. She landed flat on her ass with a wet smack, one hand splaying behind her, the towel now completely discarded from the impact.

Dazed, blinking, she looked up—

Straight at the man who had just been reaching for the curtain.

He was young. Maybe nineteen. Tall—towering. Built like an Olympic gymnast, wide shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every line of his body defined, tight, cut. His skin glistened faintly with fresh sweat, not yet showered, his hand still hovering in the air where the curtain had been.

And he was completely naked.

And she was completely naked.

And his cock—thick, long, rising—was right in front of her face.

Emily’s breath caught. Her eyes locked, unthinking, on the sight—perfect angle, so close, half-hard and pulsing visibly as blood surged through it.

Her nipples tightened instantly. Her thighs squeezed together. Her whole body flashed hot, a dizzy flush rolling up her spine.

“Oh—shit, I—I thought this one was empty,” he stammered, stepping back an inch, hands up but not covering himself.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her voice had abandoned her.

Her eyes were still locked where they shouldn’t be. And his cock—now fully hard—wasn’t making it any easier to look away.