ManoJob
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The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing around them like tiny, suspended stars. He watched her, his gaze a tangible warmth that started a slow, melting heat deep within her core. Her breath hitched as his fingers, feather-light, traced the delicate line of her jaw, a silent question in his touch. She leaned into his palm, her eyes closing as she surrendered to the overwhelming tenderness of the moment. The scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something uniquely her, wove around them, an intoxicating ribbon of anticipation. A soft sigh escaped her lips as his thumb gently brushed them apart, the touch sparking a tremor that traveled all the way to her toes. In the quiet space between heartbeats, the world narrowed to this single point of contact, this breathless precipice. He moved closer, his forehead resting against hers, their shared air becoming a warm, intimate cocoon. Every nerve in her body felt alive, humming with a sweet, aching need for more of his gentle, exploring caresses. This was a language spoken not with words, but with trembling hands and racing hearts, a delicious, unspoken promise of what was yet to come.
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