Daddy’s Quiet Storm
He is a gentleman stitched with shadows
He’s six feet of shadow, long dark hair, eyes like midnight, a gaze that burrows deep, seeing all, saying little. A beard dark as night, hiding a grin that cuts— naughty, knowing, the kind that makes laughter a sin worth confessing. His hands—large, certain— know the language of pressure, of safety and surrender, of bruised lips that beg for more, of a throat encircled in trust. He is a gentleman stitched with shadows, a...