ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of honey and vanilla, clinging to our skin as our eyes met across the dimly lit room. His gaze was a tangible warmth that traveled down my spine, a silent question that made my breath catch. He stepped closer, the space between us vanishing into the charged silence, and his hand rose to gently trace the line of my jaw. I felt the whisper-soft touch of his fingertips as they brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, his thumb lingering to stroke the sensitive skin just below my ear. A soft sigh escaped my lips, a sound I didn't recognize as my own, as I leaned into the solid comfort of his chest. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart against my own fluttering pulse, a frantic drumbeat answering his calm. He dipped his head, his lips finding the delicate hollow of my throat, planting a kiss so feather-light it was almost a memory. My fingers tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, holding him there, anchoring myself against the dizzying tide of sensation. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the intoxicating heat of his breath on my skin and the profound safety of his embrace. We were a universe contained within a single, breathless point of contact, forever changing.
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