When he stands and loosens his tie, I’m still under control. It isn’t until he unbuttons his black dress shirt and pulls it off that I almost topple over backward in a dead faint. The muscles. Good God, the muscles. His chest is broad and rock-hard. His nipples are pierced with small silver studs. His abs look like they were carved from marble. His shoulders are wide and his biceps bulging. Everything is hard, defined, and tight. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him. And the tattoos. Mercy, the tattoos.
