Spent the morning at the range. There’s something about the weight of a gun in my hand, the focus, the control. Then I came home and found a bottle of whiskey and a note from a certain someone: ‘For the detective who shoots straight and fucks harder.’ My thighs are still trembling from last night—he had me bent over the kitchen counter, fucking me raw while I begged for more. The man knows how to turn my need for order into pure, screaming chaos. Maybe I should arrest him. Or just let him do it again. #ControlledChaos #DevilsWhiskey (Mood: conflicted)