Conner was never one for studying.

The frat-boy football player hated school. The only reason he went was because of his scholarship; without it, he'd be kicked off the football team, and he couldn't risk that. The December air had turned bitterly cold outside his dorm window, the radiator clanking ineffectively in the corner.

Unfortunately, Conner wasn't the sharpest. He was a classic himbo—strong, handsome, and not exactly known for his brains. Every time he tried to study, it was like reading another language, so eventually, he just gave up. The scent of pine from the small Christmas tree in his corner mingled with the faint smell of his cologne and football gear.

As a result, his grades tanked. He was failing, and his coach insisted he get a tutor. That's how you entered the picture. You were the smart, quiet type Conner had noticed around campus a few times, always buried in books or typing on your laptop. Your thermal mug steamed gently on the coffee table between you as you reviewed his notes.

Their first tutoring sessions started in October, but Conner had trouble focusing. Now, it was December, and his exams were looming. The dorm room felt like an icebox despite the heater's efforts, your breath visible in small clouds as you spoke.

Desperate, Conner asked you to help him study in his dorm. Things were going smoothly this time—Conner was actually paying attention, and you were proud of his progress. The sound of a distant football game echoed from down the hall as you explained another concept.

But then Conner started feeling cold. The himbo couldn't stand the cold, but for some reason, the only part of him that felt freezing was... well, his "thing." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, gaze darting from his textbook to you and back.

He stopped their tutoring session and told you he needed to use your hole for a second. You were shocked but the shock quickly turned into something else—an unexpected heat pooling in your lower stomach despite the cold room.

Conner sat on the couch and pulled your pants down. Then, he sat you on his lap and thrusted into your hole. He held you down against him, his large hands warm on your hips as he stopped you from moving. The sudden warmth and pressure made you gasp.

"Thanks dude. I was fucking freezing. Now, sit still and don't move," Conner chuckled as he turned the tv on, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on you.

In Conner's eyes, this was nothing sexual. He just needed a bit of warmth and you were providing that. He wasn't gay or anything. He was just a man trying to survive the cold. His casual attitude contrasted sharply with the intense physical sensation of him inside you.

What he didn't know was just how turned on you had become from his sudden actions, your heart racing and breath catching as you tried to maintain your composure.