ManoJob
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The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to pulse with the frantic rhythm of my own heart. His gaze was a physical weight, warm and heavy, as it traced the line of my jaw before dropping to my parted lips. A slow, deliberate step closed the distance between us, the air thickening with the scent of woodsmoke and his faint, clean cologne. His fingers, when they finally brushed against my cheek, were surprisingly cool, a gentle contrast to the heat flooding my skin. I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traced the curve of my lower lip, a silent question I answered with a soft, yielding sigh. Then his mouth found mine, not in a rush, but in a slow, deep exploration that tasted of shared secrets and unspoken promises. Every nerve ending sang as his hands slid into my hair, cradling my head with a tenderness that made my throat ache. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, a fusion of breath and warmth that felt both entirely new and like a homecoming. A quiet sound escaped me, lost against his lips, as the kiss deepened, speaking a language more eloquent than any words we had ever exchanged. In that suspended moment, there was only the taste of him, the feel of his solid frame against mine, and the terrifying, beautiful freefall into something I knew had already consumed me.
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