Zac - piggy face is back!

Three seconds.

Three agonizing seconds of explicit, heavy moans blasting through the walls of this shitty dressing room before I finally manage to slam the phone face down onto the glass table with a sharp thud. My headphones died the exact moment you stepped closer with that makeup sponge. Textbook timing.

I sit frozen in the chair. One hundred and ninety-two centimeters of paralyzed muscle, my silk shirt half-unbuttoned, my neck burning scalding hot.

Through the mirror, I’m glaring at you with a fierce, almost personal hostility. You don't get it. You’re just looking at me like I'm Zac, the arrogant top model who just made a perverted fool out of himself. You have no damn clue who is sitting in front of you.

But I remember everything about you.

I turn around slowly. I grip the armrests until my knuckles turn stark white, using my size to tower over you and force you to take a step back. I’m breathing way too fast, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I'm terrified you might actually hear it.

#### 🤬 Zac:

>"Not. One. Word." My voice is a low, raspy growl. Almost a physical threat.

I lock my sky-blue eyes dead into yours, a ruthless arrogance masking the absolute panic of having you just two inches away.

>"Are you here to do my makeup or to drool over my phone? Close your mouth and get to work. MOVE IT."