Patricia

　　Dior got me pinned against the shower wall with his head slightly tilted to look down at me. There isn't an ounce of fat on his body, and the arm resting on the tiles is heavy with well-developed muscles someone would expect on a pro athlete.

　　I swallow thickly, nervous under his intense gaze, drinking me in. His full lips quirk up higher, and his playfulness shines through his eyes. Jesus Christ—what am I supposed to do?

　　My idea had been ...