ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of rain-kissed jasmine, clinging to our skin like a whispered promise. His fingers, tracing the line of my jaw, were a delicate tremor of heat against the cool night. I leaned into his touch, my own hands finding the solid warmth of his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath my palm echo my own. Our breaths mingled, a silent conversation of want and hesitation in the hushed room. His lips found the sensitive curve of my neck, not a kiss but a soft, lingering pressure that sent shivers cascading down my spine. A low, helpless sigh escaped me, the sound swallowed by the gentle hum of the city beyond our window. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the space between our bodies, charged with an unspoken, aching need. His gaze, when he finally pulled back, was dark and deep, holding mine with an intensity that stole my breath. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the scant inches separating us, a delicious torment. I knew then, with a certainty that shook me, that this was a hunger that could never be fully sated.
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