ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the space between us, where the evening air hummed with a secret electricity. His gaze, heavy-lidded and soft, held mine as if I were the only soul left in the twilight. Slowly, his fingers traced a path from my wrist to my palm, a whisper of a touch that sent shivers dancing up my arm. My breath caught, a fragile thing in my chest, as his thumb began to paint slow, deliberate circles in the center of my hand. Each rotation was a silent question, a promise, unraveling the careful knots of my composure until I felt utterly known. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of surrender, but of profound recognition, as if my very blood was singing in response. The gentle pressure of his skin against mine became my entire universe, a point of contact burning with tender heat. I leaned into him, my forehead resting against his, our shared breath a warm, mingling cloud in the cool air. In that simple, intimate gesture, I found a universe of feeling, a pleasure so profound it ached. It was a quiet symphony composed in the cradle of his hand, a belonging I had been searching for my whole life.
Comments
Post a Comment