ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city lights blurred beyond the rain-streaked window, casting a soft, silver glow upon our secluded sanctuary. Her head rested gently against my chest, her quiet sigh a warm whisper against my skin that made my heart stutter in response. I traced the delicate line of her shoulder with my fingertips, feeling a shiver ripple through her in answer to my touch. Our breaths fell into a synchronized rhythm, a silent language more intimate than any words we could have spoken. She tilted her face upward, her eyes holding a universe of unspoken promises that stole the air from my lungs. When my lips finally found hers, the world dissolved into a haze of pure, aching sensation, a slow burn that started deep within my soul. Her hands slid up my back, her nails lightly grazing my skin, each point of contact sending a jolt of lightning through my veins. We moved together in a slow, timeless dance, every shift and press of our bodies a new verse in a sacred poem. A soft, breathless murmur escaped her lips, a sound of pure contentment that I felt more than heard, vibrating through me. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the feeling of her, the scent of her hair, and the profound rightness of being utterly, completely entwined.
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