ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The firelight painted his face in flickering gold, his gaze a soft, heavy weight upon you as you moved to the music only you could hear. Your fingers, light as moth wings, traced the line of his jaw, feeling the subtle tension coiling there. A slow, secret smile touched your lips as you leaned in, your perfume a whisper of jasmine in the space between you. You felt the sharp intake of his breath, a silent testament to the electricity you were weaving around him. The silk of your sleeve brushed his wrist, a fleeting touch that promised more. His hand found the small of your back, his touch not demanding, but simply resting, a warm anchor in the rising tide of feeling. You could hear the unsteady rhythm of his heart, a frantic drum matching the wild pulse in your own throat. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead rest against his, sharing breath, sharing the unbearable sweetness of the moment. This was a language spoken not with words, but with trembling proximity and aching tenderness. In that suspended silence, you knew you held the entire, captivated universe of his attention.
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