Oh my God, what am I doing?

The tall, dark, sexy beast with tattoos crawling up his arms stares at me. His deep, espresso eyes peer right down into the very depths of me, just like when he first walked in the door. He looks angry. Some sick, twisted part of me likes it. My cheeks flush and I have to tear my eyes away from him, focusing my attention on the lounge chair in front of me.

I perch on the edge of the seat, trying to maintain some sort of composure. I’m pretty sure I’m failing. Can he see me trembling? Does he know I’m out of breath...