ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city lights blurred into a golden river far below our secluded balcony, a distant hum the only soundtrack to our suspended intimacy. His hand, warm and sure, found the delicate curve of my neck, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic rhythm along my jawline. A shiver, delicious and unbidden, cascaded down my spine as I leaned into his solid strength, my own fingers trembling against the fine wool of his suit jacket. Our breaths mingled in the cool night air, a visible testament to the heat building in the scant space between our bodies. He dipped his head, and his lips, when they finally met mine, were not demanding but questioning, a soft exploration that tasted of night and whispered secrets. My world narrowed to that single, perfect point of contact, a fusion of tenderness and raw, aching need that made my knees grow weak. A soft sigh escaped me, lost against his skin as he pulled me closer, his embrace a sanctuary and a promise all at once. Every nerve ending felt alive, singing with the electricity of his nearness, the scent of his cologne and the night weaving an intoxicating spell around us. In that endless moment, there was no past or future, only the profound, heart-stopping truth of our connection. It was a silent language of longing and surrender, spoken only through touch, taste, and the frantic beating of two hearts aligning as one.
Comments
Post a Comment