ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing in the quiet space between them. His breath hitched as her fingers, cool and deliberate, traced a slow path from his wrist to the inner curve of his elbow. A shiver, entirely beyond his control, raced across his skin, and he let his head fall back against the chair with a soft sigh. Her gaze was unwavering, a deep pool of quiet intensity that held his completely, making the rest of the world simply fade into a distant hum. Every gentle press of her thumb into his palm felt like a question, and every unspoken answer was a tremor that passed from his body to hers. The air grew thick with the scent of her perfume and the simple, clean smell of his skin, a fragrance that was now theirs alone. He felt a profound vulnerability, a delicious unraveling of his usual guarded composure under her tender ministrations. A soft, breathy sound escaped his lips, not a word, but a confession of the pleasure coiling tightly within him. Her other hand came to rest on his shoulder, a steadying, grounding weight as the current of sensation built to an almost unbearable peak. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the shared warmth of their skin and the silent, thunderous understanding passing between their intertwined souls.
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