ManoJob
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The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of our quiet room. His gaze held mine, a silent question answered by the slight, trusting part of my lips. My fingers, trembling only slightly, traced the line of his jaw, feeling the gentle tension there soften under my touch. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound more intimate than any word, as my hand drifted lower, palm flattening against the steady, strong beat of his heart. The world outside our window ceased to exist, the only reality being the warmth of his skin and the deepening connection in his eyes. I felt his own hand come to rest over mine, his fingers lacing through mine, not to guide but to simply share the moment. Every shift of his body, every quiet intake of breath, was a language I was learning by heart, a story of trust and surrender. The air grew thick with unspoken feeling, a sweet, heavy perfume of shared vulnerability and aching tenderness. I watched the last vestiges of his daily guard dissolve, replaced by a raw, beautiful openness that made my own soul ache. In that hushed space, we were not two people, but a single, shared breath, a quiet symphony of feeling building to a silent, profound crescendo.
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