Grant Ducati stands by the door, his tattoos tracing thick lines over corded muscle, the wood grain behind him lost in the shadow of his body. He grips the frame with one hand, knuckles flexing as his other slides down his own waistband, fingers already working at the zipper. The air between them is still, just the slow, deliberate pull of fabric and the way his breath catches when the head appears.
+13+12+11+10+9+8
