Ask him to show you more
From Create Your Own Story
The glow of the laptop screen casts flickering shadows across Sam's face as you lean in, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "You're spying on guys from our school through their laptop cameras?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hovering between slamming it shut or diving deeper into this twisted discovery.
Sam freezes like a deer in headlights, his mouth hanging open just enough for you to spot the faint tremor in his lower lip. His wide eyes dart between you and the screen, where Elijah Blake lounges in his bedroom, oblivious. The soccer captain's toned abdomen flexes as he shifts on his bed, phone in hand, wearing nothing but snug black briefs that leave little to the imagination.
"Move over," you demand, already sinking onto the carpet beside him. The musty scent of old library books mixes with Sam's nervous sweat as your knees bump together behind the shelter of towering bookshelves.
Sam emits a strangled "Huh?" His eyebrows shoot up so high they disappear under his messy bangs.
"I said let me see." You flash him a grin that's equal parts predatory and playful, your own pulse quickening as Elijah runs a hand through his short curls onscreen.
"Uhh... sure," Sam stammers. His fingers shake as he slides the laptop across the worn carpet until it rests between your crossed legs. The wooden floor digs into your thighs, but you barely notice—not when Elijah's stretching now, the hem of his underwear riding up to reveal the dark trail leading south.
"How many guys' cams have you hacked into?" Your breath fogs the screen as you lean closer, watching Elijah's thumb swipe lazily across his phone.
Sam swallows hard. "A few." His Adam's apple bobs. "Just... just the hot ones."
Elijah Blake—star striker, the guy who held the door open for you last week even though you were carrying nothing but a single notebook. His chocolate skin glows golden in the afternoon light filtering through his bedroom curtains. When he scratches his stomach, the muscles ripple beneath his skin, and you bite your lip hard enough to taste copper.
"Elijah Blake..." You whistle low, turning to see Sam's dilated pupils. "Fuck, man. He's sexy."
Sam doesn't blink. "He sure is." His voice cracks as Elijah rolls onto his stomach, the fabric of his briefs stretching taut across what's undoubtedly an impressive backside. The quiet sound of Sam adjusting his jeans is louder than any confession.
