ManoJob
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The evening air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, wrapping around us like a silken shawl as Sage’s gaze held mine, a silent question lingering in the dusky light. His fingers, when they finally brushed against my cheek, were a whisper of heat, sending a cascade of shivers down the length of my spine. I felt my breath catch, the world narrowing to the space where our bodies almost touched, a current of pure anticipation humming between us. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against mine, and I could feel the quiet thunder of his heart echoing my own frantic rhythm. The warmth of his hand settled on the small of my back, a firm, grounding pressure that promised both safety and delicious ruin. My own hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength there, a fortress I longed to explore with trembling fingertips. When his lips finally met mine, it was not a conquest but a slow, melting surrender, a tender exploration that tasted of mint and unspoken yearning. Every careful movement of his mouth over mine was a verse in a poem I had waited my whole life to hear, stirring a deep, aching need within my core. I melted into the kiss, into him, my senses drowning in the feel of his hair between my fingers and the intoxicating scent of his skin. In that suspended moment, we were no longer two separate beings, but a single, breathless entity floating in the warm, dark sea of the night.
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