ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The moon painted silver stripes across the linoleum floor where we stood, the only sound our shared, unsteady breath. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with a reverence that made my knees feel weak, a silent question in the gentle pressure. I leaned into his touch, my forehead finding solace against his shoulder, inhaling the faint, clean scent of his skin. The world outside the window was a blur of sleeping city lights, but here, in this quiet room, everything was sharp and achingly clear. A shiver traced its way down my spine as his fingers laced with mine, our palms pressing together in a perfect, heated fit. I could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing my own, a wild, syncopated drumbeat against the stillness of the night. When his lips finally met mine, it was not a conquest but a homecoming, a slow, tender exploration that tasted of whispered secrets and unspoken promises. Every careful barrier I had built around my heart crumbled into dust under that patient, devastating softness. In that endless moment, I was not lost but profoundly found, anchored only by the feel of his hand resting on the small of my back. We were two solitary stars who had finally collided, creating a new, gentle universe in the dark.
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