ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was soft as a whispered promise, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine through the open window. He did not speak, but his gaze was a tangible warmth that traveled over my skin, leaving a trail of quiet fire in its wake. I felt my own energy begin to unfurl, a delicate, luminous thing I had long kept sheltered. As his fingers gently traced the line of my collarbone, a shiver, not of cold but of profound recognition, cascaded down my spine. My head tilted back of its own accord, a silent surrender to the intoxicating gravity between us. The world narrowed to this single, breathless moment, where the only sound was the frantic, hopeful rhythm of my own heart. His lips found the pulse at my wrist, and it was as if he was drinking the very essence of my being. A soft sigh escaped me, carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken yearnings into the hushed room. In that tender collision of souls, I felt not just seen, but truly known, as if he was gently coaxing a dormant power to wakefulness. This was not an invasion, but a homecoming, a sacred space where my spirit felt both utterly vulnerable and completely, radiantly free.
Comments
Post a Comment