ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The afternoon sun cast long, golden fingers through the silent house, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air. He stood before her, his gaze a tangible warmth that started a slow, melting ache deep within her. Her breath hitched as his thumb, calloused and gentle, traced the delicate line of her jaw, a whisper of a touch that sent shivers cascading down her spine. She leaned into his palm, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the profound quiet of their shared solitude. His other hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer until she felt the solid, reassuring beat of his heart against her own frantic rhythm. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not a sound but a feeling, a release of all the tension she had carried for days. The world outside the sun-drenched windows ceased to exist, narrowed to this single, breathless point of contact. Every nerve ending sang with a heightened awareness, from the scent of his skin to the faint tremor in his fingers as they laced through her hair. It was a silent conversation of yearning, spoken through trembling touches and searching looks. In that suspended moment, she felt utterly known, completely unravelled, and more beautifully whole than ever before.
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