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Savannah Sixx, Tommy Gunn Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the lingering perfume she always wore, a fragrance that now clung to another man’s home. He stood in the shadows, watching the warm glow from the windows, his knuckles white as he gripped the cold, damp railing. Each burst of laughter from ide was a fresh, sharp sting, a vivid reminder of the life that had been stolen from him, of the soft curves and whispered promises that were now another’s to claim. He could almost feel the ghost of her touch on his skin, the memory of her warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into his bones. His jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he envisioned their intimacy, the casual way his replacement would now trace the delicate line of her spine. A fierce, possessive heat bloomed deep within him, a burning need to reclaim what was his, to feel her shudder agat him once more in breathless surrender. The image of her, flushed and wanting under his hands alone, fueled a dark, resolute purpose that settled in his gut. Tonight, the quiet street would bear witness not to a plea, but to the raw, unyielding force of a man wronged, ready to exact his own form of retribution.
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