ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city slept beneath a blanket of oppressive heat, but in our room, the air was charged with a different kind of electricity. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from my shoulder to my wrist, leaving a trail of shimmering awareness on my skin. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart where my head rested against his chest, a silent drum answering the unspoken question between us. The moonlight, pale and liquid, spilled through the open window, illuminating the faint sheen of perspiration on his temple. When his eyes met mine, they held a universe of quiet longing, a deep, pulling tide that I felt in the very core of my being. My own breath hitched as he leaned closer, his forehead gently pressing against mine in a gesture of profound tenderness. The world outside, with its distant sirens and humming life, faded into an indistinct murmur, unimportant and far away. In that suspended moment, there was only the scent of his skin, the warmth of his breath mingling with my own, and the overwhelming sense of coming home. Every nerve ending sang with a quiet anticipation, a thrilling hum that promised everything and demanded nothing. We were two souls adrift on a silent, star-dusted sea, finding our anchor in each other’s embrace.
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