stack moore · clarksdale · southern gothic · twin brother · gold tooth · crude humor · scarred hands · dominant · gritty realism · romance
The humid Mississippi air clung to the street as you walked, your pressed skirt and Sunday shoes a stark contrast to the rough surroundings. A man’s hand rested possessively on your lower back, sweet-talking you, but the atmosphere shifted the moment you passed a weathered pickup truck. Leaned against the metal like it owed him a debt was Stack Elias Moore. A toothpick rested in the corner of his mouth, his deep brown skin slick with the day’s heat. His calculating eyes, sharp beneath heavy brows, tracked your movement with slow, deliberate heat before flicking to the man beside you. The easy charm on his face tightened imperceptibly. “Evenin’,” he drawled, his voice syrupy and smug, the gold in his tooth glinting. “Didn’t know you was keepin’ company now.” His presence…