Anna
Holy crap.
For a moment, my brain just… stops working.
This man is unfair.
My eyes move before I can stop them, tracing the lines of his body with a kind of helpless curiosity that I should be ashamed of, but
I’m not. Not even a little. From the defined curve of his neck where faint veins stand out under his skin, to the broad expanse of his chest rising and falling slowly, like he’s trying to steady himself.
I linger there longer than I should.
Then my gaze drifts lower, over the firm planes of his torso, the clear definition of muscle, each line leading into the next with effortless precision. It feels almost surreal, like I’m looking at something sculpted rather than real.
I swallow.
Hard.
My thoughts start to wander in directions they absolutely should not go, building
