ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading afternoon sun cast long, golden fingers across the room, gilding the dust motes dancing in the still air. His breath hitched as her gaze, heavy with unspoken promises, met his from across the space. She moved closer, a whisper of silk and warmth, her fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path up his arm. Every nerve ending awoke beneath her touch, a map of fire being drawn upon his skin. A soft sigh escaped his lips as her hand came to rest against his cheek, her thumb stroking the line of his jaw with infinite tenderness. He leaned into the contact, his eyes closing, surrendering to the wave of feeling washing over him. The world narrowed to this single point of connection, a silent conversation spoken through pressure and heat. Her other hand found his, their fingers intertwining, a perfect, desperate fit. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared rhythm of their breathing and the profound intimacy of being truly known. It was a quiet exploration, a gentle claiming that left his soul feeling both soothed and utterly unraveled.
Comments
Post a Comment