ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening sun cast long, golden shadows across the room, painting his skin in warm, honeyed light. His fingers, tracing idle patterns on my arm, were a language of their own, speaking in soft pressures and lingering caresses. A gentle sigh escaped my lips as his touch feathered up my neck, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine. I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart against my back, a quiet drumbeat syncing with my own. His breath was a warm whisper against my ear, stirring the fine hairs there and making me tremble. Every point of contact between us felt electric, a current of pure, unspoken affection. He shifted, his hand cradling my jaw with an impossibly tender reverence, his thumb stroking my cheek. The world outside our quiet cocoon ceased to exist, leaving only this shared, breathless intimacy. I leaned into his palm, my eyes closing, completely enveloped by the profound safety of his embrace. In that suspended moment, every touch was a silent vow, and every glance held a universe of feeling.
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