ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The moon cast a silver net over the sleeping castle, its light tracing the curve of her neck as she leaned into the shadowed balcony. His calloused thumb, a gentle trespasser, swept across her lower lip, and she felt the sigh escape her before she could cage it. Every nerve hummed like a plucked string, a silent symphony building under her skin as his breath warmed her temple. The cool stone beneath her palms was the only anchor in a world tilting dangerously, her knees trembling not from the night’s chill but from the wildfire in his gaze. She arched into the solid warmth of his chest, a forbidden sanctuary, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his tunic as if holding onto a dream. A soft, broken sound, half plea and half surrender, whispered into the space between them, swallowed by the distant murmur of the sea. The air itself grew thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the intoxicating promise of a touch yet to come. Her eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the exquisite tension coiling deep within, a delicious ache spreading from her core to the very tips of her fingers. It was a silent crescendo of feeling, a wave of pure sensation that left her breathless and clinging to him, utterly unraveled. In the profound quiet that followed, she buried her face against his shoulder, the frantic rhythm of her heart slowly settling into a new, shared tempo.
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