I picture him shirtless with an ax in his hand, hauling it over his shoulder and sending it into a block of wood with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Sweat slipping through the curves surrounding his pecs and . . . And what the fuck is wrong with me? He’s not a sexy lumberjack making thirst traps for social media. He’s the man holding me hostage, and I need to get the fuck away from him.
LMFAO
