ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The afternoon sun bled honey-gold through the grand windows, catching in the spun-silk of Dayna’s hair as she turned. Her gaze, a silent question, met his from across the room, and the very air grew thick with unspoken words. He watched the delicate flutter of her pulse at her throat, a tiny, frantic bird beating in time with his own heart. When his fingers finally brushed against hers, a shiver, delicate as a spiderweb, traced its way up his arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She leaned into the touch, her cheek finding the familiar hollow of his shoulder as if it were a home she had long been seeking. The scent of her skin, a blend of vanilla and summer rain, filled his senses, drowning out the distant city sounds. Her breath hitched, a soft, broken sound that spoke of vulnerabilities carefully guarded and now willingly surrendered. In the quiet space between heartbeats, he felt the profound weight of her trust, a gift more intimate than any kiss. The world narrowed to this single, suspended moment, a sanctuary built from shared warmth and trembling hands. And as the swallows dipped and soared outside, their joyful dance mirrored the silent, soaring delight unfolding within their entwined souls.
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