I can just imagine him. He is standing there in a plain white shirt that is just too tight. And the blue jeans are practically painted on. His hair is frazzled and he is standing up straight. He looks stern, determined. His blades are out, and he is defensive. A snarl rests on his lips. I walk up to him. He just stands there and looks down at me. His posture softens as he grins slightly at me. He retracts the blades, and stands firm in front of me. I run my hands under his shirt, feeling the rock-herd muscles that line his trim, strong body. I help him remove his shirt, and he stands there before me so beautiful, I am speechless his muscles flex slightly as he changes his stance. I want him so bad, and he wants me. I can see him looking down at my low neckline. My tempting cleavage screams up at him and I hear him let out a soft growl. I know that sound. I run my hands down his front again and discover the growing bulge in his pants. I kneel in front of him, dying to find out what it is that is pushing so relentlessly. His hard stomach is in front of me now; the top of his jeans is right there, contrasting with his tanned abs. I undo the jeans and they are stuck on him. He is swelling out to my touch. How I want him so bad.