ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The rain traced delicate paths down the windowpane, a soft percussion against the silence of the room. Her breath hitched as his gaze, heavy with unspoken longing, finally met hers. He lifted a hand, his knuckles grazing her cheek with a reverence that made her heart stutter. A shiver, not from the cold, danced down her spine as his thumb traced the line of her jaw. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the warmth spreading through her chest. His fingers, those naughty little fingers, then wandered to her neck, tracing the sensitive skin there with an artist’s deliberate slowness. Every point of contact felt like a tiny, blooming star against her nubile skin. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unguarded emotion that hung in the air between them. In that suspended moment, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the map of his touch and the territory of her response. It was a silent conversation of yearning, a prelude to a symphony they were only just beginning to compose together.
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