My breath hitches when I see him standing beneath the showerhead, facing the wall as water cascades in rivulets down the intricate ink on his back, sliding to the dips in his arse and over his muscular tattooed thighs. He tilts his head back to rinse away the shampoo and his black hair gets glued to his neck, reaching the blades of his rippling shoulders. My lips part as I watch his closed eyes beneath the stream, the sharp line of his jaw, and the dark shadow of his stubble. He’s, hands down, the hottest man that ever walked the earth. I just can’t keep my eyes or hands off him.
