Bethany Calder woke to the soft chime of her phone alarm, sunlight already spilling across the pale-pink duvet and filtering through the sheer white curtains of their off-campus apartment. The entire living room beyond her bedroom door had been transformed overnight into a Valentine’s fever dream: Maya had gone full romantic maximalist. Heart-shaped rose-gold balloons bobbed against the ceiling, fairy lights draped in soft loops along every wall, vases overflowing with fresh peonies and red roses on every surface, and a faint cloud of vanilla-rose candle scent still lingering from the night before. Even the throw pillows on the couch had been swapped for satin ones embroidered with tiny gold hearts.

Beth stretched, smiling before her eyes were fully open.

Valentine’s Day.

Her first real date in months.

She rolled out of bed, bare feet sinking into the fluffy cream rug Maya had insisted on buying last month, and padded to the mirror. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the coffee maker Maya always set on timer.

In the living room, Maya was already curled up on the couch in an oversized silk kimono, scrolling her phone with one hand and cradling a steaming mug in the other. The coffee table held a little tray of heart-shaped pastries she’d picked up yesterday—pink icing, edible glitter, the works.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Maya said, not looking up. “You’re practically vibrating. Is that pre-date energy or did you dream about Julian’s jawline all night?”

Beth laughed, tying the sash of her short satin robe as she crossed to the kitchen island. “Both. Definitely both. Tonight feels ... promising.”

Maya finally glanced up, eyes sparkling. “The econ guy with the motorcycle? The one who texts you good-morning memes at 6 a.m.?”

“Julian. Yes. Drinks at Eclipse Lounge, dinner at The Oak & Ember, and then...” Beth shrugged, a small, wicked smile tugging at her lips. “We’ll see where the night takes us.”

Maya whistled low. “That’s a full Valentine’s itinerary. What are you wearing? Please say the red dress.”

Beth poured coffee into her favorite rose-gold mug, the one with “Future Mrs. Right” in tiny script that Maya had gifted her ironically last year. “It is the red one. The silky slip with the slits up both sides. I’m pairing it with the black lace half-cup bra—the one that pushes everything up just right—and the matching panties. No garters, though. Too much hassle. And the steady three-inch black strappy heels. High enough to look killer, low enough I won’t break an ankle dancing.”

Maya nodded approvingly. “Smart. Sexy but functional. Julian’s not going to know what hit him. You’re basically walking in wearing foreplay.”

“That’s the goal.” Beth leaned against the counter, sipping. “The dress is still at my parents’ place, though. Hanging in my old closet. I forgot to grab it last weekend.”

Maya snorted. “Of course it is. You planned the perfect date and left the star of the show thirty-five minutes away.”

Beth groaned, rubbing her temple. “I know. Rookie mistake. I’ll drive over, grab it, maybe steal a spritz of Mom’s perfume if she’s got something heavier than my usual, and be back here by ten-thirty. Plenty of time to shower, do my makeup, and be ready for seven.”

Maya stretched, kimono slipping off one shoulder. “Perfect. I’m heading to Liam’s later anyway—his loft has that big skylight over the bed, so I’m staying the night. The place will be all yours if you want to bring Julian back here instead of his frat house.”

Beth’s eyebrows lifted. “You sure?”

“Very sure. Frat houses are disgusting on a good day. Valentine’s night? No thanks. Bring him here. We’ve got the candles, the playlist, the mood lighting. You can have the whole apartment to yourselves. Just don’t use my bed—I changed the sheets yesterday, but still.”

Beth laughed, warmth creeping into her cheeks. “Deal. If the night turns sexy, I might take you up on that. No frat-boy mattress for me.”

Maya raised her mug in a mock toast. “To getting laid properly on Valentine’s Day. May Julian worship you like the goddess you are.”

Beth clinked her mug against Maya’s. “And may Liam survive the night with you in that green dress.”

They both laughed, the apartment glowing around them—pink, gold, rose-scented, and humming with promise.

Beth set her coffee down and reached for her keys.

“Quick trip home. In and out. I’ll be back before you finish your second pastry.”

Maya smirked over the rim of her mug. “Famous last words. Go get your slay dress, babe. Tonight’s going to be filthy.”

Beth grabbed her small overnight bag—already mentally packing the red dress, the black lace set, the heels—and headed for the door, heart beating a little faster at the thought of slipping into that silk later, of Julian’s hands on her waist, of the night stretching out ahead like a slow, delicious burn.

She had no idea yet how many detours the day still held.

Bethany Calder pulled her little silver hatchback into the wide driveway of her parents’ house. The Westover Heights neighborhood was still quiet—Saturday morning hush broken only by birds in the mature oaks and the distant whine of a neighbor’s leaf blower starting up somewhere down the block. The house looked exactly as it always did: cream siding, dark-green shutters, basketball hoop still bolted above the garage door from when she and her brother used to shoot hoops until the streetlights came on.

She killed the engine, sat for a second with her hands on the wheel, and exhaled. Quick in-and-out. Grab the red dress, the black lace half-cup bra and matching panties from her top dresser drawer, the three-inch strappy heels from the closet floor. Maybe steal a spritz of her mom’s heavier perfume if it was still on the bathroom vanity. Back to the apartment by ten-thirty, easy.

She grabbed her small overnight tote, stepped out into the unseasonably warm February air—already sixty-eight degrees and climbing—and let herself in with her key.

The house smelled like it always did: faint coffee from the automatic brewer downstairs, the clean laundry scent of the detergent her mom still bought in bulk, a whisper of cedar from the wood floors. Quiet. Her parents were away for the weekend—some couples’ retreat up near Lake Gahan—so the place felt bigger, softer, almost expectant.

Beth kicked off her sneakers by the front door (old habit), padded upstairs in socked feet, and headed straight for her old bedroom at the back of the house.

The door was cracked open a few inches—the way it usually was when no one was home.

She nudged it wider with two fingers.

And froze.

Ethan was in her bed.

Completely naked.

Sprawled on his back across her pale-lavender duvet like he owned the place, one knee bent outward, the other leg stretched long, arms loose at his sides. His dark-blond hair was a mess against her pillow, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in the slow, deep rhythm of heavy sleep.

And between his thighs—

Beth’s breath caught audibly.

His cock stood straight up from his groin—ten full inches of flushed, veiny thickness, curved gently upward, the fat head swollen and dark pink, glossy with a steady, continuous leak of precum. Thick, glistening ropes slid from the slit in slow motion, stretching, snapping, and landing in wet trails across the thick dark treasure trail that ran from just below his pecs, down the center of his flat abs, and disappeared into the dense bush at his base. A dark, growing wet spot had already soaked into her crisp white fitted sheet and spread outward in an irregular bloom beneath him.

He didn’t stir.

He didn’t know she was there.

Bethany’s overnight tote slipped from her shoulder and thumped softly against the hardwood.

She didn’t move to pick it up.

She just ... stared.

She had seen cocks before. Hookups at Wolferton U. A couple of high-school boyfriends who thought they were impressive. Porn she’d scrolled through late at night when Maya was asleep. None of them looked like this.

The sheer length. The impossible girth. The way the veins stood out along the shaft like they were carved there. The heavy, rhythmic throb that matched his slow heartbeat, making another fat bead of precum well up at the tip and begin its lazy slide downward.

Her mouth went dry.

Heat crawled up her throat and pooled low in her belly so fast she felt dizzy.

She should wake him. Yell. Throw something. Storm out and slam the door.

Instead she took one silent step inside the room.

Then another.

The door stayed open behind her; she didn’t close it. The hallway light spilled in, painting golden bars across his naked body—highlighting every glistening trail, every vein, every obscene inch.

Close enough now to smell him: warm teenage-boy skin, clean sweat, the sharp, musky tang of all that leaking precum hanging in the air like a drug.

Her thighs pressed together inside her bike shorts. She could feel herself getting wet—slowly, insistently.

Ethan’s cock twitched once—purely involuntary—sending another thick rope sliding down the underside of the shaft. It landed on his treasure trail and started creeping toward the soaked sheet.

Bethany swallowed hard.

She had never seen anything this ... obscene. This shameless. This big.

Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She stood there—bag forgotten on the floor, coffee still on her breath, robe half-open over her sleep tank and shorts—staring at her sleeping sixteen-year-old brother like he was something she’d never seen before in her life.

And for the first time all morning, the red dress, Julian, the rooftop drinks, the dinner reservation ... all of it felt very far away.

She didn’t know how long she stood there watching him leak.

But she knew she wasn’t leaving yet.

Bethany stood frozen just inside the doorway, the morning light slanting across the room in soft golden bars that caught every glistening trail on Ethan’s skin. Her overnight tote lay forgotten at her feet. The house was silent except for the slow, even rhythm of his breathing and the faint, wet sound of another thick bead of precum sliding down the underside of his shaft.

She should have turned around. She should have backed out, closed the door, pretended she hadn’t seen anything.

Instead she took another step forward.

Then another.

Close enough now that she could see the fine details she’d missed from the doorway: the way the heavy vein along the top of his cock pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the slight twitch of the head every few seconds, the way the precum didn’t just drip but flowed—slow, viscous, almost syrupy—leaving shiny streaks that pooled in the dark hair of his treasure trail before soaking into her sheets.

Her own breathing had turned shallow. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, between her legs.

One more step and she was at the edge of the bed.

Ethan didn’t stir.

She looked down at him—really looked. The curve of his cock, the flushed color of the head, the impossible thickness that made her fingers flex involuntarily at her sides. She had never seen anything like it up close. Not in person. Not even in the videos she sometimes watched alone when Maya was out.

Her right hand lifted before she could talk herself out of it.

One fingertip brushed the underside of his shaft—just above where the treasure trail ended—catching a fresh rope of precum that had begun to stretch downward.

The droplet clung to her finger, warm and slick.

She stared at it for a long second, the clear fluid catching the light.

Then—without letting herself think—she brought it to her lips.

The taste hit her tongue: salty, slightly sweet, warm, unmistakably male. A small, involuntary sound escaped her throat. Not quite a moan. More like a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Hmm...” she whispered to the empty room. “Yummy.”

Her thighs clenched. She was wet now—could feel it soaking into the cotton of her sleep shorts.

Ethan’s cock gave a harder twitch, the head flaring slightly. Another bead welled up at the slit, thicker this time, and began its slow descent.

Bethany watched it fall.

She watched the way his abs tightened just a fraction—still asleep, still dreaming, but his body responding anyway.

She reached out again.

This time she wrapped her fingers around the base—not tight, just enough to feel the heat, the velvet-over-steel texture, the steady throb against her palm.

He was so thick her thumb and fingers didn’t quite meet.

She held him like that—still, steady—watching his face for any sign of waking.

Nothing.

Just that slow, deep breathing.

She gave the gentlest squeeze.

His cock jumped in her hand, a fresh pulse of precum sliding down over her knuckles.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

She didn’t know how long she stood there holding him—watching the precum keep coming, feeling him throb, feeling her own body answer with every slow clench between her legs.

But eventually she noticed it: the rhythm of his breathing had changed. Slightly faster. A little less even.

His eyelids fluttered.

Then opened.

Green eyes—still heavy with sleep—found hers.

For a heartbeat he just stared up at her.

Then down—at her hand wrapped around the base of his leaking cock.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t jerk away. Didn’t cover himself.

He simply exhaled a long, slow breath and let his head settle deeper into her pillow.

“Hey, Beth,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep. “You’re ... home early.”

Bethany’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She didn’t let go.

She couldn’t.

Not yet.

“Yeah,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper. “I ... needed something from my closet.”

His gaze flicked to her face again. No panic. No shame.

Just a small, sleepy half-smile.

“You found more than that, looks like.”

She swallowed. Her thumb brushed—accidentally—over the underside of his shaft. He sucked in a quiet breath through his nose.

“You’re making a mess of my sheets,” she said, trying to sound scolding. It came out softer than she meant.

Ethan glanced down at the dark wet spot spreading beneath him, then back up at her.

“Yeah ... sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused. Maybe a little curious.