He stands, stretching backward. Hands resting on his hips as he arcs his back, as strong and laboriously as a weary housecat. A tight black t-shirt shifts upward, revealing the slightest hint of tantalizing pale skin just above a slightly sagging pant line. His pistol hangs steady at his side as he looks over at me with those lusty sea-green eyes, and for a brief moment, his mischievous little grin reminds me that maybe... Just maybe... There are still some things in this world worth fighting for. |
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