Nash Lawler sits back in the chair, fingers tugging at his shirt until the fabric parts, revealing his muscular chest and the way his dark hair falls just past his collarbone. He leans forward, hands gripping the armrests as the shirt slides off his shoulders, leaving him shirtless against the chair’s wood, his light skin catching the light. One hand rests on his thigh, then his face, then his head, each movement deliberate as he stretches out, fully exposed, the green foliage behind him framing the slow unraveling.
