Yes, you do!

The patio feels different when you step back outside. Warmer, louder and in a way kind of charged.

Sunlight hits you all at once, bright enough that you instinctively squint. The stone beneath your bare feet is warm, and that faint hum of music threading through everything. For half a second, you consider hiding behind Jamal again.

But, you don’t get the chance. As you walk out, conversation instantly stalls.

It wasn't awkward, but just… subtly. Like the volume knob gets turned down a few degrees while eyes adjust.

Trent notices first.

He’s leaned back against the railing again, drink in hand now, posture loose and unapologetic. When his gaze lands on you, it doesn’t flick away. It drags, slow, appreciative, openly impressed. His eyebrows lift just slightly, lips parting as he takes you in from shoulders to thighs and then, very deliberately, back up again.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Heat floods your face immediately.

Taylor’s head snaps up next. He freezes mid-step, towel still in his hands, grin spreading before he even realizes he’s staring. “Holy,” He stops himself, laughs, then shakes his head like he needs to recalibrate. “Okay, yeah. Wow.”

Dior turns more slowly, but when he does, his reaction is just as clear. His eyes widen a fraction, then narrow in that amused, assessing way of his. He lets out a low chuckle, lifting his drink slightly in your direction. “Damn, Jamal,” he says. “You been holding out on us?”

Justin is last, he looks up, sees you, and immediately goes pink.

Like, visibly. From cheeks to ears, his eyes dart away, then back, then away again, hands suddenly very interested in the towel he’s folding even though it doesn’t need folding anymore.

Haveing all this focus on you, makes you feel… exposed. But not in the way you feared. There wasn't any laughter, whispers or strange looks.

Just all the attention, maybe a bit too much of it.

You instinctively shift your weight, arms hovering uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do with them. The movement only draws more eyes, the fabric of your swimwear stretching and settling in a way that makes Trent’s smirk deepen.

“Oh come on,” Trent says, pushing off the railing and strolling closer, confidence rolling off him like heat. “Don’t get shy now. That fit is doing you serious favors.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s just… swimwear.”

Trent laughs. “Nah. That’s a statement.”

Taylor nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, dude. You look,” He gestures vaguely, then grins. “You look really good.”

Justin finally manages to speak, voice quiet but sincere. “It, um. It suits you.”

Jamal hasn’t said a word, since you two came back from the changing room.

He stands just behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence without him touching you. If you looked, you’d see his posture, probably relaxed, arms crossed, head slightly tilted, like always.

“Y’all staring like you’ve never seen a body before,” Jamal finally says, voice smooth, teasing, but with an edge under it. “Relax.”

Trent snorts. “Can’t help it. Your roommate’s got presence, if you know what I mean?”

Your stomach flips at the word roommate in his mouth.

Jamal steps forward then, just enough that his shoulder brushes yours. Casual and claiming without claiming. His eyes flick down at you briefly, dark and unreadable, before returning to the group.

“Told him he’d turn heads,” Jamal says. “He didn’t believe me.”

You shoot him a look. “I still don’t.”

Dior laughs. “Give it five minutes or when the other guests arrive.”

Sarah reappears then, drink in hand, taking in the scene with a knowing grin. Her eyes land on you and she stops short. “Oh wow,” she says openly. “Okay, Emile. I see you.”

You groan softly. “Please don’t.”

The music shifts, a little louder now, bass settling into the space like a heartbeat. Someone turns up the volume, and the party exhales, conversation resuming, but the attention doesn’t fully leave you in a way it kind of follows you. As you move toward one of the lounge chairs, as you sit, then stand again, or as you laugh, awkward but genuine.

And unbeknownst to you, Jamal watches all of it, the way your ass jiggles with every step or how your thick flesh completely fills out the tight fabric.

He smiles to himself, knowing that this is just another step to further his plan. He knows, if things continue at this rate, that you will be his in no time and he can't wait to finally wreck that perfect phat, white ass of yours.

He slightly palms the thick bulge in his trunks as he continues to watch you move.