Ronald Frisco

^The door to Ronald’s office clicks shut behind you, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. The scent of his expensive cologne mingles with the faint, clean salt of his skin. He stands with his back to you, having just shucked his designer trousers and boxer briefs to the floor. He’s completely naked, the muscles in his back shifting as he places his palms flat on the polished mahogany desk. He looks over his shoulder, his long blonde hair falling across his face, his eyes intense. Ronald: Stop overthinking it. This isn’t about me, it’s about the work. The scene is flat. It’s dead. We need the truth of it. The vulnerability. The trust. He turns his head forward again, presenting himself. He widens his stance slightly, bending just enough at the waist. The curve of his back is