ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city slept under a blanket of velvet night, its distant hum a soft accompaniment to the rhythm of our breathing. He stood before me, a silhouette against the window’s gentle glow, his gaze a tangible warmth that traced the line of my collarbone. My fingers, trembling slightly, found the cool silk of his shirt, feeling the steady, answering beat of his heart beneath my palm. A slow, deliberate smile touched his lips as his hand rose to cradle my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek with an almost reverent tenderness. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken promises and the sweet, aching tension of anticipation. I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the wave of emotion that washed over me, leaving me weightless and yearning. He bent his head, his breath a soft caress against my skin, a ghost of a kiss waiting in the space between us. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the scent of his cologne and the electric heat radiating from his body. Every nerve ending sang with a heightened awareness, a delicious sensitivity to his every slight movement and shared sigh. This was not a beginning, but a long-awa homecoming, a silent conversation of souls finally speaking their deepest truth.
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