ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The rain traced silver paths down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into a soft, golden haze. He stood across the room, a silent silhouette against the storm, and the air grew thick with unspoken words. I watched the slow, deliberate way he turned his head, his gaze a physical warmth that traveled across my skin. My breath caught as he stepped closer, the space between us shrinking into a charged and fragile thing. His fingers, when they finally brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, were trembling, or perhaps it was I who trembled. The scent of his cologne, of rain and warm spice, wrapped around me like a forgotten promise. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of surrender, but of a long-held tension finally, beautifully, breaking. He leaned his forehead against mine, our shared breath creating a private universe in the quiet room. In that suspended moment, every fear and restraint melted away, leaving only the raw, aching truth of our connection. I felt his heart hammering against my own, a frantic, synchronized rhythm that spoke of a temptation both terrifying and divine.
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