ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the quiet room, illuminating the delicate dust motes dancing in the air between them. Millie’s breath hitched as his gaze, heavy with unspoken longing, traced the line of her jaw. His hand, warm and slightly rough, found hers, their fingers intertwining with a tenderness that spoke volumes. A soft sigh escaped her lips as he leaned closer, his forehead gently resting against hers, closing the small, charged space. She could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart echoing her own frantic pulse. His other hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin with an almost reverent slowness that made her shiver. The world outside the window ceased to exist, the only sounds being their shared, shallow breaths and the whisper of fabric. Every nerve in her body felt alive, hyper-aware of his proximity, his warmth, the scent of his skin. A profound sense of rightness, of coming home, washed over her, bringing a sheen of tears to her eyes. In that suspended, silent moment, their souls seemed to touch, communicating a depth of feeling words could never fully capture.
Comments
Post a Comment